#But uhhh yeah I think I should stay out of the tag.

[kalu-chan]

Being on Tumblr is just like. Going into a fandom tag. Reading like 3 posts. Vowing to not go into that tag again.

Going back into it the next day.

[thebookofeibon]

a sweeter alternative

Rating: T Chapters: 1/1 Words: 6868 Fandom: Ensemble Stars Ships: ReiKao Relevant "tags": blood time. uh sex mentions and allusions i don't write it though i'm not at that comfort level yet.

“You know how he uses it in place of blood?” Kaoru kept his eyes on Rei, catching Adonis’s nod in the corner on his eye. “Well the past couple of months, it hasn’t been doing the job.” “Huh? What do you mean past couple of months?” Koga eyed Rei. “He’s been drinking twice the amount he usually does, he’s been drinking different brands, and he’s still slow as if he’s low on energy.”

i'll add squidgeworld link when i post to there

for now u can read under the cut!

i suppose i can start putting my notes here in the mean time. uhhh this one's been in the works since october, just chipping away at it here and there. idr what the inspo was i think i just wanted to address the vampire thing.

his vampirism works how i want it to work bc it's a disability and i am also disabled and that's that. idc that vampirism isn't real

this is in my little series i had on ao3 where they live together in an apartment and i don't know the timeline for realsies i'm making shit up. this is actually the first one in the series to not have a pinocchioP title and it's bc. i couldn't find one. what can i say he doesn't have any vampire songs. the vocaloid vampire song also didn't fit but it was the working title of this.

i'll also make a page for this series on this blog since. gestures to no longer using ao3

~~~~~~~~~~~

“Rei-kun.”

“Mmm.”

“Don’t ‘mmm’ me, you heard exactly what I just said.”

Rei doesn’t answer, entirely pissing Kaoru off. “You have had two large containers of tomato juice this week and you’re still falling asleep in random places. It’s not working the way it used to.” Rei’s grip on his pillow grows tighter as he really pushes the limits his face can go into it. “It’s 8pm, and I’ve been trying to wake you up for almost two hours.” He walked over to the bed to take the pillow, only to find Rei’s resistance to be much stronger than it should be. “This. Has been happening. For two months!!!” He tugged at the pillow with all of his might, though he really couldn’t get anywhere with it. “You need blood!” A final tug that still resulted in nothing causes Kaoru to let go, huffing as he caught his breath. “I don’t pretend to know your condition, but I fear that staying strictly with tomato juice isn’t going to work anymore!”

Rei stayed with his head buried in the pillow, only letting out a groan in response.

“You’re acting like a child.”

Rei mumbled a response into the pillow, completely inaudible.

“I can’t hear you.” A beat. Two. “You are impossible.” He huffed, walking with a little too much force out of the room.

Only when he was sure Kaoru was out of sight did Rei lift his head to look out into the living room. He frowned, eyebrows scrunched together in…it’s not anger, it’s not disappointment, dismay?

He didn’t really want to accept that Kaoru was right. Rei has known for a few months now that something was wrong with his juice intake, but he’d hoped that it wasn’t obvious, and it hasn’t really been to the kids. But Kaoru? Of course he’d figure out, it was dumb to even entertain the idea that the man he lives with and sleeps next to wouldn’t notice something was wrong. He laid his head sideways on the pillow, still looking out into the hallway. He was still tired.

He even tried changing brands, thinking maybe his default brand was the problem, but after trying all the ones available on the market, something else that Kaoru for sure would’ve noticed, he also began to come to the same conclusion.

This vampire does need blood to survive.

He began questioning family members after the first month, especially those he knew took alternatives for blood. But he didn’t receive answers he liked.

“Yeah, it stopped being viable after I turned 25, like its good when I’m in a pinch but I don’t rely on it anymore”

“I stopped relying solely on tomato juice when puberty hit, it’s still my primary source but I do need actual blood every other month to be at top shape.”

“There’s no alternative that’ll provide you accurately with the amount of iron our bodies need. As an idol, I’m surprised you’ve made it this long before realizing the faults in your juice alternative.”

Rei’s brought out of his head by the sound of a loud “clink” on the bedside table and he looks up to spot Kaoru, placing a full glass of tomato juice on the bedside table.

“Decided to show your face after all?” Kaoru teased, ruffling Rei’s bed head.

“You just said the juice isn’t working.” Rei grumbled, eyeing the damned glass. He hates this brand, he’s learned. Too sugary for his tastes.

“Well, you have a whole thing still and you’re fighting this theory so it's the best I can do.” He shrugged and walked out again.

Rei watched him with a scowl. “Come back here.”

Kaoru turned his head back pensively. “Hmmm? Does his wicked highness finally see fit to have my offering?” He turned around with a grin and a bow.

“What’s wrong with me just wanting to have you near?” He didn’t let up on his scowl. “Senior year you would be appalled by this behavior.”

“Hmmm? Why are you so caught up with how senior year me would feel? This is nothing! What senior year me would be devastated by is the amount of time we spend making out. Or how much sex we’ve had.” Kaoru smiled as he walked back into the bedroom. “Seriously Rei-kun! My one time of being pissed off at you for biting me has been waaaaay overshadowed by how many times you have given me head in the last, what? Four years? Since that whole ordeal.”

Rei buried his face again by the end of Kaoru’s ramble, burning red ears all that’s visible of his immodesty. He was right, technically speaking. High school Kaoru is at this point a different person than his current partner, that Kaoru would faint if he even knew they lived together.

“Honestly, Rei-kun?” Kaoru was next to his ear suddenly, causing Rei to jump and look over to catch the smug grin spreading across his tan skin. “I think it’d be suuuper hot if you took my blood during sex.”

“Gross, did talking about my mouth get you horny?” Rei pushed Kaoru’s face away and reburied his own.

“Hmmm? You act like you’ve never thought about it~.” He can hear the grin he still has. Hands grasp at his shoulders and begin to rub. “Like you don’t linger when giving me hickeys, or when you can’t help yourself and still bite slightly too hard.” He pressed harder into the knot Rei had there, the vampire letting out a moan.

“You almost sound like you want me to feed on you for your pleasure more than my well being.” He grumbled into his pillow.

“I can bring up non-sexual examples too~” Another tight push against Rei’s shoulder has the vampire letting out a small whimper. “Whenever we cuddle, you always nuzzle into my neck at least once. In fact, it’s more rare that you don’t immediately bury your face into my neck. I’m always thinking, wow, I feel super vulnerable with how close his mouth is to my neck!”

Rei whined into his pillow, half in embarrassment, half in pleasure from the massage. He turned his head so he wasn’t talking into it anymore. “Really? Always?”

Kaoru laughed. “So you don’t even do it on purpose?”

“No!”

“When I wear my turtlenecks, sometimes I catch you staring at my neck when I move in a way that exposes more skin.”

“Kaoru-kun, this is embarrassing me. I’m going to cry. Do you want me to cry?” He pouted, holding back a whine when Kaoru removed his hands from him. “Why do you hate me? What did I ever do to you?”

“Not drink my blood.” The pillow Rei had been attached to this whole time quickly left his hands and collided with Kaoru’s face.

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

It was a bad day from the minute Rei woke up, but they had an important media interview today so he really pushed himself to get out of bed and face the day.

Honestly? It’s been a bad week for the vampire. With no real reason for his energy to be completely depleted, he understood what it meant. He really didn’t want to admit it though, he really didn’t want to have to rely on blood.

“Hey, Rei-kun.” Kaoru nudged at him on the couch, gaining only a groan from the vampire. “I know you’re tired, let’s try and get some food in you before we have to go.” Rei opened his eyes at that, already concerned.

“What time is it?”

“Really? It’s only been 20 minutes since you woke up.”

“…Really?” He almost wanted to cry at that, it’s felt like an hour.

Kaoru frowned at him. “Seriously…I know it’s an off day for you but even that’s a little concerning. Come on, let’s go eat.”

They stopped at a diner nearby that Kaoru likes, ordering something small each with some coffee. Coffee doesn’t usually work on Rei unless he’s really lucky, but it’s the thought that counts here.

“Oi-hey! No falling asleep.” Kaoru tapped on Rei’s plate with his fork to make noise, startling Rei from what he supposed was dozing. “Finish eating, maybe that’ll keep you awake.”

He stared down at his half-eaten omelette with a frown, picking up his fork again. Every little bit helps.

“We’re here, wake up.” Kaoru nudges Rei awake again. The cab had come to a stop and Kaoru was in the middle of paying her. Rei seemed to be only capable of frowning today, mainly at himself. Kaoru glanced to him, offering a smile as he started to push Rei out the door.

“This is the fourth time in the last two hours he’s fallen asleep.” Kaoru sighed. “I know I shouldn’t complain, it’s out of his control, but it’s really frustrating today.” Rei blinked his eyes open, watching Kaoru and Koga talk in the waiting room outside of the recording studio.

“Maybe once he gets talking he’ll stay awake.” Adonis shrugged beside Rei on the couch. “Oh, good morning Sakuma-san.” He smiled at him, and Rei couldn’t help but return the smile.

Kaoru sighed again, much more audibly than before. He dug into his bag and pulled out a juicebox, tossing it to Rei. “Please, this is just an hour and a half, Rei-kun.”

Rei fumbled to catch the juicebox, but he did nonetheless, and he carefully detached the straw and stuck it into the top. “I’m sorry, you know I’m not usually this bad…” He sipped slowly on the box.

“The weather’s kinda whack right now, more than usual, s’probably what’s affecting you.” Koga crossed his arms. “Plus the thing you were complainin’ about the other day with your juice.” He gestured at him with his chin.

“Yeah…” Rei deflated a bit into the couch, feeling everyone’s eyes on him.

“What’s wrong with your juice?” Adonis tilted his head.

“You know how he uses it in place of blood?” Kaoru kept his eyes on Rei, catching Adonis’s nod in the corner on his eye. “Well the past couple of months, it hasn’t been doing the job.”

“Huh? What do you mean past couple of months?” Koga eyed Rei.

“He’s been drinking twice the amount he usually does, he’s been drinking different brands, and he’s still slow as if he’s low on energy.” Rei tried to shrink down as much as he could in the couch, trying to avoid eye contact. It’s embarrassing. Kaoru tutted. “You are so annoying sometimes.”

“Then…are you saying he needs blood?” Adonis tilted his head.

“Exactly. And he’s refusing to take any.”

Koga clicked his tongue, then finally brought his eyes off Rei to look at Kaoru again. “We can’t really force him.”

Kaoru kept his eyes on his partner however. “…No, I suppose not.”

“UNDEAD?” A woman’s voice called out, breaking the tension. “We’re ready to get you guys set up.”

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

Rare, these days, for Rei to turn down showering with Kaoru when they got home, and with how his health has been, he really should’ve taken the opportunity to share the shower with him. But he wanted time alone to think.

He’d really been trying to ignore it, not even out of pride really. He’s grown accustomed to admitting when he needs help. He has friends willing to accommodate his needs and he couldn’t be more grateful for them because of it.

It’s not pride, it’s…arrogance. That’s it. The refusal to admit that he’s wrong. It’s been several months now, at this point the tomato juice hasn’t been helping longer than it has this year. It’s at least worth a try now to take blood, no matter how little he actually wants to do it.

It partly has to do with Kaoru’s refusal that Easter, the fear of hurting him always at the back of his mind, but a lot does have to do with how he just doesn’t want to drink blood. He’s trying so hard to be human, he’s doing everything he can to be human. Drinking blood is not a human activity!

And he hates the taste of it!!! That’s why he settled with tomato juice, because it actually tastes good!!! Why should he have to do something he can’t even-

“Your turn.” Kaoru walked past Rei brooding on the couch and ruffled his hair, drawing him out of his thoughts for the moment. He looked up, lifting his head out of his hands, just when had he slouched over? He probably looked just as crazed as he felt. “Don’t think too hard in there, you might overheat.” Kaoru smiled.

Rei huffed a laugh, relaxing his shoulders a bit. “Yeah, of course.” He stood up with a few joint cracks and began to walk up the bathroom-

“I’m serious though. Try to sit while you’re in there, and leave the door unlocked, okay?” Kaoru dropped his smile. Ah, alright.

“Mm, of course.”

The shower was nice, he supposed, though it would be quicker to stand, sitting at least gave him time to think again. He really could just ask. It doesn’t need to have some special occasion. Though it’s kind of embarrassing at this point to admit defeat, after being urged to do this from family and friends for so long now. And again, sometimes just the smell of blood was enough to upset his stomach, thinking about the smell is even-

A trail of blood running down the drain with the water appears and it startles him, jumping back a bit to try and locate where the bleeding is coming from, knocking some bottles down in the process. He lifted a hand to his face and sighed as he drew it back. A nosebleed. Okay, sure, this might as well happen.

The bathroom door opened a crack. “You alright?” Right. The noise.

“Yea-” A cough, “Yeah I’m fine- Nosebleed.” He breathed in, head going light. “Could you come turn the water off, dear.” He lifted a hand to his head. A vampire who can’t even look at blood, how inane.

Kaoru opened the door further and walked in, opening the curtain on the side closer to the valve to shut it off. “Are you alright?” He asked again.

“A bit lightheaded is all, mind getting me some tissues?” He did his best to keep his head tilted downward until Kaoru pulled the curtain back, sitting on his knees, with a few tissues in hand. Instead of letting Rei take them from him, he instead reached in himself to block the nostril the blood was coming from.

“I told you not to think too hard.” Kaoru laughed, using his other hand to cradle Rei’s head. Rei leaned into his touch instinctively, doing his best to keep his head lowered. “It’s hot in here too, were you trying to instigate a nosebleed?” 

Rei glowered at him, taking a deep breath in. It was a joke, he understands, and Kaoru simply chuckled at the stare. He pulled the tissue away momentarily to assess the bleed, then quickly repositioned it to a cleaner area to hold against the nostril again. Rei sighed, his health was never going to be easy, was it?

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

Rei lie on his back on the bed, shirtless as he didn’t want to risk staining any shirts, fingers interlocked over his chest as he stared up at the ceiling, wad of tissue paper plugged up his nose to get the remaining blood taken care of. Kaoru entered the room after a few more minutes, bringing with him some tart slices that he had bought earlier that day.

“I got one for both of us~! Recovering from a shower nosebleed seems fitting time to eat it!” He smiled and sat on the edge of the bed. “Usually eating in bed is against our rules but what’s the harm in bending this once?” He set the plate down on his lap and patted the spot next to him. “Come, sit.”

“…I…” Rei squinted with tightly knit brows, not looking away from the ceiling.

“Hm?” Kaoru was already picking up his slice to eat.

Rei stayed silent a moment before finally shifting his gaze to Kaoru. It softened when he saw how content he was with the bite he’d taken, a small smile stretching across the blond’s lips that he probably didn’t even notice he had. He opened his mouth again, then closed it when nothing came out and turned back to the ceiling.

Kaoru’s head tilted. “Babe, I’m not a mind reader, and if I was, your’s would be impossible anyways.”

“…” Rei turned his head completely away, embarrassed just a little. “I need blood.” It was quiet, small, not meant to leave this one piece of furniture. He refused to look in Kaoru’s direction. He could already feel his gaze on him and he wasn’t really keen on the teasing that would follow.

But there wasn’t a verbal response, he heard some movement, likely Kaoru setting the plate down, then felt the bed move as slowly his light was obstructed. Kaoru’s hand landed next to his head and he frowned, still refusing to look up at him.

“You open yourself up to me and yet refuse to look at me? You wound me, Rei-kun.” Kaoru sighed. Using the hand on the opposite side of Rei’s face, he lifted Rei’s chin to face him upwards, smiling a little at the blush covering his cheeks, then frowned when Rei still focused his gaze on the wall. With a huff, he pulled his waist up further onto the bed and placed his legs on either side of the vampire, sitting down onto his stomach. “What’s a guy got to do to get even a glance, huh?” He scowled as he watched Rei’s gaze shift not towards him, but upwards to further avoid looking at Kaoru.

Rei’s hands fidget on his chest, unlocking themselves to tap idly without thought. Kaoru clicked his tongue watching them, evidence that Rei isn’t entirely spaced out from the moment. In one swift motion, they’re taken from their place on his chest and pinned above his head, taking Rei off guard enough to finally look back at him with wide eyes.

“There we go~ All I had to do was surprise you!” Kaoru grinned, releasing his grip on Rei’s hands to lean in and place a kiss on his lips. “I don’t like being ignored, you know~” To punctuate, he pulled the tissue out of Rei’s nose, only taking a moment to examine how fresh the blood on it was before tossing it to the floor.

Rei watched the tissue fall to the floor with a frown. “Gross.” He couldn’t help but laugh, though, when Kaoru tried to go in for another kiss. “Hold on, hold on.” He placed a hand in front of his face to catch Kaoru’s, laughing when Kaoru still tried to push through. “Down boy!” He jokingly raised his voice.

Kaoru grinned. “Down?” The glint in his eye was mischievous. Rei sighed as Kaoru took the hand placed against his face and laced his fingers with it. “Easy command~” He followed through and started to kiss down Rei’s neck, hovering when Rei’s laugh bubbled out.

“You’re going to agitate my nosebleed, then I’m going to get blood all over the bed.” He squeezed Kaoru’s hand, using his other to slide into his blond hair.

“Oh you’ll be fine.” Kaoru hummed as he trailed further down. “We have tissues in here if it comes back.” He paused at Rei’s collarbone, glancing up at him. “It doesn’t help when you’re encouraging me, either.” He smiled, free hand aimlessly wandering Rei’s chest. Rei grinned down at him, then gripped his hair and pulled back with enough force to pull him away. “Ah!” Kaoru laughed. “Hey!”

“As much as I’d like to continue,” Rei let go of his hair to dramatically drape his arm across his forehead and closed his eyes, “I am oh-so tired from losing blood-”

“Then take some of mine.” Kaoru narrowed his eyes playfully.

Rei opened his eyes to peek down to him again. “Aside from the tart, have you eaten recently?”

Kaoru blinked, then looked up in thought. “Uhh…”

Rei clicked his tongue with a smile. “No blood drinking tonight then, dear.” He lifted his arm off his head to cup Kaoru’s cheek. “Thank you for the offer, though.”

“Come on, we’re in bed, it’s not like I’m going to go on stage right after.” Kaoru pouted.

“No, you’re still wanting to fool around though, which is still quite a rigorous activity, don’t you think?” Rei’s thumb brushed against Kaoru’s lips, which only prompted the blond to open them and take the digit into his mouth. “Kaoru-kun.”

“We can always stop if it gets too much~?” Kaoru leaned down again to be just in front of Rei’s lips. “I can be the one resting?” He lowered his voice as he lowered himself to brush lips.

Rei ran over the options in his head, subconsciously wetting his lips. Their hands let go of each other, Rei’s landing on Kaoru’s thigh and Kaoru’s coming to Rei’s face to tip him far enough to close the distance.

He still wasn’t keen on the idea of drinking blood, thinking about the taste is almost enough to make him pull away from the warmth of Kaoru’s mouth in disgust. He could feasibly take only a little bit, work himself up slowly to drinking more over time. He slowly pushed himself to sit up, Kaoru taking the hint to help ease the transfer of positions. They parted from each other temporarily to allow Kaoru to lie down and Rei to climb on top of him, then came back to each other as quickly as possible. Rei shuffled his hips further down on Kaoru so he could trail down his neck with ease.

Were they not idols, in some other universe, Rei would love to mark Kaoru up as much as possible, he hesitated in one spot on his neck and debated if it was too high up to cover with a turtleneck before deciding it was. He moved lower before taking the skin in his lips. Not biting, not here. A sigh leaves Kaoru’s mouth as Rei’s hand travels up underneath his shirt. Makeup would definitely need to be used to cover this one, but it won’t be as noticeable.

“A bit high up, don’t you think?” Kaoru carded his fingers through Rei’s hair.

Rei took a moment longer before pulling away, using both hands now to pull Kaoru’s shirt up, which Kaoru obliged and lifted his arms to remove the article. “I just wanted to do that one.” Once the shirt was removed, he moved back to where he was and traveled further, pausing once again in a spot, but this time to try and gauge where to bite. “I’ll only take a little…I’m not exactly…fond of the taste.” He hovered around a general area around Kaoru’s neck and collarbone.

“Alright, fair enough.”

“Don’t be offended if I don’t like it.”

“You’re still human, I think it’s rather normal to dislike the taste of blood.”

The reassurance was nice, it was almost the push that Rei needed to dive in. He checked the pulse in one spot and took a deep breath in before pressing his lips to the spot, then lightly placed his fangs against it. It’s not like he hasn’t bitten Kaoru before, or drawn his blood from a bite either, but those were different. Those were just bites to bite, this is fairly common practice in any couple. This bite was different, this is…

Kaoru’s fingers slowly brushed through Rei’s hair and it almost made Rei laugh. Why is the guy getting blood taken from him in such a monstrous way more relaxed about this than the one taking the blood?

No, he can’t be anxious about this when he’s already poised to strike. With another deep breath taken through his nose, he bites down, incisors piercing through Kaoru’s unblemished skin. Kaoru lets out a grunt at the bite, fingers gripping somewhat tighter into Rei’s hair. It takes everything in Rei to stay biting and let the blood into his mouth.

It wasn’t as bad as he had been dreading, not necessarily good either, but he isn’t immediately repelled by the taste and texture. It tasted like blood, that’s for sure, but perhaps it’s the thought that it’s Kaoru’s blood that has Rei thinking that it has something unique to it, a sweetness that Koga and Adonis’s blood didn’t have. The indifference didn't last for much longer, however, as the texture on his tongue began to become too much for him to handle and he released Kaoru, licking the puncture wounds as he had been taught in the past.

He pulled away completely to look Kaoru in the eyes once he was sure the blood wouldn’t flow too much more. Kaoru looked at him with a smile, eyes only slightly distant. “Are you alright?” Rei broke the silence first.

“I am, I think if you had gone any longer I would’ve had a problem, though.” He chuckled. “Are you alright?”

Rei nodded, returning Kaoru’s smile. “I am…I’m sorry, I should’ve stopped sooner, I spaced out.”

“I thought you didn’t like the taste?” Kaoru clasped his hands together to rest on his chest, mirroring Rei’s earlier pose.

“I…didn’t really. But it tasted different than I thought it would.” Rei huffed, averting his gaze. “I was distracted by that thought for a moment longer than I should’ve been.”

Kaoru chuckled. “Perhaps the necessity of it is what changed your thought process?”

“Perhaps.”

“Rei-kun.” He unlaced his fingers and slid his hands to Rei’s thighs, Rei’s gaze coming back to him. Kaoru’s smile widened, eyes squinting. “Ready to resume where we were?”

Rei blinked, then grinned back at him. “Wasting no time at all, are you?”

Kaoru’s hands traveled up Rei’s thighs to his hips. “What can I say? You’re like, glowing right now, and it’s kinda hot.”

Rei chuckled, then leaned back down to kiss him.

Kaoru doesn’t tell him that he still has blood on his chin, and when Rei’s nosebleed does come back a few minutes later, it covers up the prior blood when it leaks onto Kaoru’s face mid-kiss, making Kaoru laugh. They absolutely have to clean the sheets after this.

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

It’s immediately apparent the next day at practice that Rei was feeling better. He was more energetic, more aware, more talkative. Koga and Adonis didn’t comment on it until Kaoru entered the practice room late after leaving his badly scheduled photoshoot and changed to a t-shirt, revealing just enough of his neck that the bite marks are visible.

Koga almost growled at him. “Why do you need to wear a collar that loose?”

He grinned. “It’s easier to practice choreography in loose clothing, isn’t it? Besides, don’t I usually wear shirts like this to practice?” He started his warm up stretches, eyeing Koga.

“So you let Sakuma-san take your blood?” Adonis chimed in to try to break up the tension.

“Mhm~ Though it’s more like he let himself take my blood.” He switched to a new stretch as he talked.

“That’s good.” Adonis smiled and looked over to Rei. “You seem a lot better.”

Rei returned the smile and began to start talking when Koga cut him off.

“Should Hakaze-san even be at practice today then?” He said it almost accusatory, pointing with his thumb over to him.

“He didn’t take a lot.”

“Mm, as Kaoru-kun says, I only took a small amount to ease myself into drinking blood. As you know, I don’t like the taste.” Rei nodded. “But yes, even that small amount did make me feel much better than I have in a while.”

“What made you decide to do it finally?” Adonis had shifted onto the floor to help Kaoru with his last stretches.

Rei hummed, closing his eyes in thought. “I am tired of feeling so weak. Kaoru-kun had me sit in the shower last night because he was worried I’d faint standing up and hurt myself. Then when I was in there, I got a nosebleed that usually wouldn’t be a problem, but since I’ve been this way, it nearly knocked me out.” He opened his eyes. “I need to do what is best for my body, I suppose.”

Adonis nodded. “I understand, I’m glad you feel better then, even if it requires doing something you don’t like. It’s like taking a medication with a bad taste.”

“Exactly, Adonis-kun.” Rei smiled.

Kaoru stood up with one last stretch. “And with Rei-kun feeling better, we should get on our practice, hm?”

“Agh, yeah we need to catch you up.” Koga groaned. “Alright. We’re moving on then.”

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

As spring began rolling in, it became harder for Kaoru to cover up the bite marks on his neck, and they weren’t exactly keen on flaunting their relationship so publicly since they’re idols, so problem solving began. Because of Rei’s vampirism, he was able wean himself off of taking from Kaoru as often as he was—which was only every other week, changing it to every three weeks—and was able to play off his new fatigue as a sun problem, which wasn’t entirely a lie either. Supplementing it with tomato juice offered some extra relief, even if it wasn’t as good as blood.

Thankfully, there are other places to get the best blood flow that also weren’t dangerous for Kaoru. In a pinch, Rei could go for the inner elbow as if he was a doctor, though it’s not easy to bite there. If he’s well aware of what clothing Kaoru will be wearing for the next week and a half, Rei can go for practically any spot that’s likely to be mostly covered.

But the best area that is a catch all for privacy and decency, they found, was the thigh, which unless for some reason Kaoru wanted to wear more revealing swimwear, was completely hidden. Unfortunately, this required proper planning ahead, as it wasn’t something they could do last minute in a public place by sneaking away for a few moments.

“I suppose it was only a matter of time before we had to start planning our sex lives out.” Kaoru laughed as Rei dragged him to the bedroom.

Rei snorted in response. “It doesn’t have to end with sex every time, dear. We watched a movie after the last time.” He lightly pushed Kaoru to sit on the bed. “Besides, we’re not completely scheduling that out, this would be an outlier.” He lowered himself to his knees and scooted towards Kaoru’s legs.

“I suppose you’re right.” Kaoru grinned down as Rei unbuttons his pants. Rei looked up at him as he slid the jeans down. “You’re so pretty.”

Rei hummed, slipping his fingers into Kaoru’s waistband. “I’m beginning to think all this is just a means for you to get off instead of a means of me getting energy.” He slid his underwear down, revealing both thighs, one of which was still very bruised from the last feed. He heard Kaoru laugh above him.

With his own teasing remark and the bruised leg in sight, Rei hesitated as he really took in the severity of the situation again. He rested his hands on the inside of Kaoru’s thighs as he sat back on the balls of his feet with a frown. A minute passed and then there’s a hand on his chin, tilting his head to eye level. He looked past Kaoru, unable to meet his eyes all of a sudden.

“This is for you, babe.” Kaoru moved his head to try and catch Rei’s gaze. “I’m playing it up a bit, I’m sorry if it came out serious.” He smiled.

Rei still avoided looking him in the eye, staring at his forehead instead, then looked back down to his bruised leg. “Perhaps we should bump the frequency down to once a month…” He mumbled. “Or drop it entirely for the summer…”

Kaoru frowned. “It’s your life, if that’s what you want to do, we can. I’m just concerned about your energy levels if we were to drop this entirely, you’ve been much more active since we started doing this.”

He couldn’t fight the claim, this is the most awake he’s been since before the war, it’s kind of nice, all things considered. The bruises are turning green as they get closer to healing. “I don’t know.” It was hard for him to admit, he’s so accustomed to having to know everything.

Kaoru watched him for a moment, then sighed, sitting up. “Come here.” He held his arms open. “Let’s rest today, then. We have no other responsibilities until tomorrow afternoon.” Rei stood up, wrapped his arms around Kaoru, and immediately shifted all of his weight on him, causing them both to fall back on the bed. “Whoa!” He laughed, patting Rei’s back. “Hold on hold on my pants are still down-“

“Just kick them off.” Rei mumbled into the crook of Kaoru’s neck.

“Not when you still have pants on! The sensory problems I’ll have are chilling to think of!”

“Then take mine off.”

Kaoru laughed. “Fine!”

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

As the weather cooled down again, Rei permitted himself to go back to two feedings a month, as Kaoru had begun to wear higher collars again. There was something about feeding from his neck that Rei didn’t have problems with like he had with the legs. Perhaps it was the cliche of it, or the intimacy, or the way it looks when he’s done.

It was frustrating to him how much he clearly needed the blood, life could never be simple for him. He pulled away from Kaoru with hesitation, watching the blood trickle down his collarbone for a moment. Kaoru’s hand in his hair ran through his curls lightly. It was the intimacy, he decided, that drew him more to the neck than anywhere else.

“Still find blood gross?” Kaoru whispered, not so much for privacy as they sat alone in the meeting room, waiting for their juniors, but more so from the lack of energy after having given it to Rei.

Rei licked at the wound, peppering light kisses around it. “A bit.” He murmured back.

“You’re not fooling me, you know. Perhaps you just like my blood~ I’m your exception now~.” With his other arm available now, he pat Rei’s back.

Rei chuckled and sat back, looking down at Kaoru’s face. “I didn’t take too much, did I?” He brushed some of Kaoru’s hair out of his face.

“I didn’t eat necessarily well today is all, no worries.” He let his arms fall to Rei’s thighs.

Rei idly fixed Kaoru’s collar to cover the bite, mainly to make sure it’s coverable. “And you let me drink from you? Bad Kaoru-kun.”

Kaoru opened his mouth to speak when the meeting room door opened, Rei quickly threw himself down next to Kaoru on the off chance it wasn't Koga and Adonis coming in. Koga paused at the door at the sound of Rei hitting the couch quite heavily.

“Should I be concerned?” He eyed them, watching Rei sigh.

“No, I was just being safe.” Rei smiled.

“You have blood on your chin, it wouldn’t have worked.” Koga sighed as he walked in, followed by Adonis, whose eyes widened at the sight. Rei bristled and lifted his sleeve to wipe at it, lightly slapping Kaoru’s arm.

“I wanted to see how far into the meeting we’d get before you noticed.” Kaoru grinned. “Thought it’d be funny.”

Adonis sat down across from them. “I fear it wouldn’t have lasted very long.”

Koga closed the door before sitting beside Adonis. “You two are disgusting.”

“You say that yet you haven’t complained about Rei not being active recently, so you have to pick~” Kaoru shot him a very cheeky grin.

“What is this, a game? I have 0 control over you freaks.” Koga scoffed. “You know, when you stopped flirting with girls I was glad because it made you less annoying, then you immediately began flirting with Sakuma-san-“ He squinted. “And you just dropped the honorific! Shameless!”

Kaoru cackled at his response, throwing his head back as his chest shook for a moment.

“Oh my, you did drop the honorific.” Rei smiled, a hand coming up to his face to try and hide his smile.

“Both of you! Disgusting!”

Adonis smiled, letting out a small chuckle before speaking. “As fun as this interaction is, we do need to discuss funding.”

Rei beamed. “Yes yes.” He clapped his hands twice. “Serious mode everyone!”

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

Adonis and Kaoru left the booth to go to the bathroom while they waited for their food to arrive, leaving Koga and Rei sitting across from each other. Rei hummed a song he had been fine-tuning for the last week while watching the direction of the bathroom. He faded out his humming as he glanced to Koga, feeling the other’s gaze piercing through him. “What’s on your mind, Koga-kun?”

Koga bristled for a second before sighing softly. “Are you happy? With drinking blood?” He frowned. crossing his arms.

Rei blinked, turning so he could look properly at his friend. “What do you mean?”

He slanted his lips as he thought of an answer. “You hate blood. Is it worth the energy?”

Rei thought for a moment, humming softly as he did. “I wonder the same thing, sometimes.” Is what he comes up with. “It’s different, having all this energy again.”

Koga huffed. “I don’t really think that answers the question.”

Rei closed his eyes, picturing the image of blood running down Kaoru’s neck. A year ago it would’ve made him queasy to think about drinking it, but now he felt indifferent towards it. “I guess I just don’t have an answer. It’s complicated.”

Koga was quiet, glancing to the bathroom’s direction again. “If the two of you weren’t dating, would you still do it?”

That was something that hadn’t really occurred to him. Would he? He can’t even imagine another reality where he was in this situation and he wasn’t in a loving relationship with Kaoru. He thought then about the possibility of it being Keito, or Wataru, maybe even Shu or Kanata. In each scenario, he could see it happening so long as they loved each other. “Hm…” But then again, would Keito be willing? The other oddballs would be different for sure, each one of them would have a different relationship to the act of blood drinking that just aren’t the same. “No. I think I’m only okay with it because of our relationship.”

Koga hummed. “Okay.”

“Any other questions?” Rei watched him as Koga tapped his fingers against his opposite arm. “You’re still curious, I can tell.”

“…Hakaze-san is fine with it?”

Rei laughed. “He was begging me to drink his blood, actually.”

Koga’s lips twitched almost into a smile before he caught himself. “Okay. That’s all I wanted to know.”

Rei opened his mouth to respond, only to close it as Adonis sat back down next to Koga and Kaoru next to him.

“Still no food?” Kaoru sighed. “I’m sooo hungry.”

“You went to piss, there’s no way the food would’ve come out in such a short amount of time.” Koga barked, uncrossing his arms.

“A man can hope! You’re hungry too, right, Adonis-kun?” Kaoru looked to Adonis pleadingly.

Adonis blinked, then raised his hands in defiance. “I am, but he’s right, we weren’t gone long enough.”

Rei smiled, watching the three of them bicker. It was strange to think about how distant the four of them were during school, he couldn’t imagine a world where they went their separate ways after graduation. The possibility of that was so real at one point, but now he’s sure only death would separate them, both as a unit and as friends, and these days, Rei didn’t feel that impending doom as hard as he once did.

“Rei, I can feel you thinking.” Kaoru nudged him out of thoughts. “Anything of note?” He smiled.

Rei hesitated to answer, then shook his head. “Just having my regular old man musings~ Pay me no mind, Kaoru.” Even though he had practically been waiting to drop the honorific since graduation, it still felt strange coming out of his mouth.

“Hmmm, I’ll have to pick your mind later then~” Kaoru glanced at the others, grinning when Koga made a disgusted face at them. He opened his mouth to say something more before the waiter finally came with their food. “Oh sweet!”

Rei kept his eyes on Kaoru, only glancing up at the waiter to give him a smile as his food was handed over.

Yeah, there’s no one else he would ever consider relying on for this. The only reality he cares about is this one.

“Are you not hungry, Sakuma-san?” Adonis didn’t necessarily sound concerned though, he surely understood Rei’s hesitance. He looked over to Adonis, then shook his head.

“My apologies, I was still caught up in my thoughts.” He put his hands together, said his thanks, and picked up his chopsticks, catching Koga shake his head at him out of the corner of his eye.

No other reality would be better than this one.

[dino-fart]

*pulls up to order* Uhh, yeah can I get a #9 from your Kiss Prompt menu with your original Stephen sauce and uhhh, *turns around* Whatcya want? Oh, ok and can I get a #57 with that? Oh, and buffalo sauce.

"That'll be $6.16. Pull forward."

Ok, thank you!

@thealleydog​

“Here’s your happy meal toys, and your milkshakes that bring all the men to the yard. You also get a smooch from our mascot squirrel.”

Kiss Prompt #9 and #57: First kisses, Kisses with trembling lips

It was pouring rain and Stephen was standing at your doorstep with a wilted bouquet. He had missed the date he planned with you due to a creature attacking Kamar-Tajj. While he knew you understood, he always felt guilty. He knocked on the door and waited for you but he would understand if you never answered. His heart skipped a beat when you opened the door. 

“Stephen?” You said softly. You were in your pajamas and your hair was in a messy bun. 

“I am so sorry that I missed our date. I was called to handle a creature and...I told you I was difficult.” Stephen joked nervously. 

“Come in before you catch a cold!” You scolded and he walked into your house. You gestured him to sit on the couch right by the fireplace where the fire was cracking. You left for the kitchen and came back with two cups of hot cocoa. “Here, warm up.” You handed him the cup and he took it. 

“Your flowers wilted in the rain, sorry about that.” He set the cup down and took the wilted bouquet and brought it back to life. He handed it to you and you took it and set it in the kitchen. 

You came back over and sat next to him. You took his hands in yours, “You’re so cold, Stephen how long were you out there for?” 

“Not long...Are you...Upset?” Stephen said softly. 

You chuckled and laced your fingers with his, “No Stephen, you told me when you asked me out that you could be called away. I never took it personally and I definitely appreciated the text from America, because they were cutting me off on the breadsticks.” 

Stephen laughed with you. You moved to warm your hands on the cup of cocoa and placed your hands on his cheeks. Stephen blushed as he gazed in your eyes. “Thank you...” He leaned in close to you, his lips trembling from the cold. You met him halfway and kissed his lips softly. Stephen kissed you deeply and wrapped his arms around your waist. He pulled back and smiled softly. 

“I just want to let you know, if you think you are going to walk back out there in the rain, you’ve got another thing coming. Whenever you’re ready, you should take a hot shower.” You smiled softly. 

“You...Want me to stay the night?” 

“If you’re okay with it.” You blushed. 

“I’d love to.” Stephen kissed you again.

Tagging: @starksbf​​, @strangelockd​​, @thealleydog​​, @wolfie-west​​, @k1mikoz​, @fizzybubbletea​, @pinkthick​, @silver-shadow​, @strangesthirdeye​, @mynamehasbeentakenbysomeperson, @lucimorningst4r, @evelyn-kingsley, @strangesgirl

[crystalninjaphoenix]

One Last Puppet Show

A JSE Fanfic

SepticHeroes AU: Part 22

First Part | Previous Part

Heyyyy besties :) Are you ready for a nearly 8000 word chapter of this AU? I know I am! I'm actually so excited for this that I'm posting it a whole day early. Think of this chapter as the end of the first arc. Jackie has a confrontation with the Puppeteer. Schneep and Marvin come, too. Things go well, until they don't. And, somehow, we finally see who's behind the Puppeteer's mask =) There are payoffs and twists and a whole bunch of superhero action, so stay tuned! And enjoy :D :D :D

===============

Jackie spent the train ride back to their apartment glued to his phone as he obsessively checked local news and social media. He had no idea what the Puppeteer could possibly be planning, but it wouldn’t stay silent for long. The rest of the city must be panicking. They’d all seen the Puppeteer hijack the airwaves. 

He wanted so badly to get off at the next station and fly the rest of the way, but he wasn’t about to leave Chase alone when there was a threat on the loose. So he had to just stand there, one hand holding the train handle, one hand continuously refreshing the feeds on his phone. Chase sat on the seat nearest to him. He was quiet. So were a lot of the other train passengers.

Until—

Vrrr. Vrrr. Vrr. The train car was so silent that the vibrating sound could easily be heard. Chase took his phone out of his pocket, glanced at the screen, then picked it up. “Hey, Schneep,” he said. “No, we’re still on the train. Yeah. Are you with, uhhh, our other friend? Great. What’s—oh. Oh.” Chase’s eyes widened. “All of the buildings, or just central SepTech?”

Jackie’s head snapped over. Chase held up a hand, asking him to wait. Nodding, Jackie looked back at his own phone. He silently cursed that it was so hard to get recent posts on most social medias. It was really helpful to have a live update from the people, but only if he could actually see those updates!

“Oh shit,” Chase cursed. “Yeah no that sounds bad.” He glanced around. A fair number of passengers were staring at him, being the loudest thing on the train at the moment. “Windstorm should get on that. Maybe if he knew where the guy doing this was he could, uh, go after that.” Jackie raised his eyebrows. “Does anyone have any idea about that?... Oh. Well, uh, it’s bound to be at one of the buildings, right? Yeah. Yeah, that’s a great idea. Hey, it’s crazy out there, so be careful, alright? Okay. You can call again later. Or you can call Jackie. Yeah. Promise. Bye.” And then he hung up.

“Is there something going on?” Jackie asked, trying to sound like a curious bystander and not like he absolutely needed whatever information Schneep found.

“Yeah, there’s some crazy stuff happening at one of the SepTech locations,” Chase said. “Maybe all of them.”

“SepTech, huh?” Of course. Jackie adjusted his search, looking for posts that were specifically tagged around the SepTech buildings in Daindover. There were all the live updates. The SepTech buildings had gone dark. Pedestrians on the sidewalk reported people running out of them and screaming. Someone posted a picture of a window with a man inside one of the buildings. A man carrying... was that a baseball bat?

The train announcer came on, reporting that they were nearing the station closest to Chase and Jackie’s apartment. Jackie kept checking and re-checking until the train came to a full stop and the doors opened. At which point he put the phone away and grabbed Chase, pulling him out of the train with Frosty hurrying behind.

“Whoa, hey careful!” Chase protested.

“Sorry,” Jackie muttered, then leaned closer to him and whispered, “What did Schneep say?”

Chase looked around; luckily no other passengers were getting off and the station was fairly empty. He whispered back, “He’s with Marvin, who apparently, uh, mentioned SepTech somehow, and the two of them decided to check it out. There’s like—people storming the buildings. Or at least the center one, they haven’t checked the rest yet. They think the Puppeteer has to be there or at another building, so they’re checking things out. Stealthily. You know, how Schneep does it.”

Jackie nodded. His heart was racing, adrenaline pumping through his veins. “We have to get you home fast. Can you run?”

“Yeah, but if I fall, you have to catch me.”

“I’m fine with that. Let’s go.”

The two of them broke into a sprint.

===============

When they reached their building, Chase encouraged Jackie to fly up to their apartment and get in through the window. “I’ll be there in... a few minutes,” he said, panting. “Your stuff inside... is more important. I’ll... be fine.” Jackie reluctantly agreed; the sooner he was in his supersuit and out there, the better.

He tumbled in through the window, rolling back to his feet and immediately lunging for the box where he’d left his supersuit. It only took him a minute or so to completely change. A new record. If only it happened under different circumstances.

As he was pulling on his gloves, he remembered what Jameson had said before they’d left his shop. Maybe when you go out, you can wear the gift I gave you? The bracelets. He wanted to leave them behind, but then after a second’s hesitation, he grabbed them both and slid them onto one wrist, pulling the glove over them. They were small and under the thick fabric of the suit; they wouldn’t get in the way. And maybe JJ would freak out if he heard Jackie wasn’t wearing his ‘good luck charms.’ Jackie had known some people who put real stock in stuff like that, and JJ had been stressed enough without worrying about little things like that.

His phone rang. Jackie searched through the pockets of his discarded jeans until he found it. “Hello?”

“Jackie? It is me.” Schneep was on the other end.

“Yeah I figured. Chase told me some of what you called him about. You could have called me directly, y’know.”

“Well I was not sure if you had changed yet. Superheroes do not carry their phones with them. I thought Chase was safer.”

In the background of the call, Jackie heard a far-away “Just get on with it!” Spitfire Cat was not known for patience and a cool temper.

“Yes, yes,” Schneep dismissed. “In any case. My friend. We are at the East SepTech location, and we think the Puppeteer is here too.”

Jackie’s stomach dropped. “Did you see him?”

“Distantly. He is on the roof. I saw him peer over the edge.”

“That building is fucking ten stories tall how the fuck did you see—?!”

“I made some modifications to my goggles a while ago,” Schneep said vaguely.

“How?!”

“Is this really the time for that?! The point is I saw a man in black with a green glowing face!”

Jackie took a deep breath. “No, you’re right, it’s not the time for this. What else is there? You told Chase people were storming SepTech?”

“We only saw the Central and East locations, but the same story for both of them. There are people with weapons attacking. No guns, but there are knives and crowbars and axes—”

“How do you get a fucking axe in central Daindover?!”

“It’s actually remarkably easy, but that is not the point. Chances are this is happening at all of the SepTech buildings. The attackers are all breaking things and grabbing people, but I don’t think they are trying to hurt them. We think they are converting them. Putting strings around their wrists.”

“Fuuuuck.” The Puppeteer’s numbers were growing. A breeze swept around the room, matching Jackie’s growing worry. “Okay. Okay. He’s on the roof of the East location. That’s good, actually. I can fly right up there and take him out. Fuck, where’s my neutrinalin?! Oh right.” He’d put the syringes and injection gun at the bottom of his supersuit box. He hurriedly picked up the gun, checking that it was loaded, and then secured it to his belt. And put a couple syringes in his pouch, just in case.

“We are going to help,” Schneep said.

“Are you sure? If they’re stringing people up—I mean, the building is probably full of—of puppets—”

“They will need to touch me first,” Schneep said, a bit smugly.

“What about Spitfire?”

Marvin must have heard that, because Jackie heard the sound of a short scuffle, and then Marvin’s voice. “I said I wasn’t going to let this fucker get away with this! And trust me, I’m more angry at him than scared of them.”

“Let go of my hand, thanks!” Schneep’s voice said, getting louder as he returned the phone to his ear. “We can find a way in without getting puppetted. I am good at this, I can make sure of that. You just get here soon! Hopefully you will be here before we even get to the roof.” And then he ended the call.

“See you th—oh you hung up.” Jackie didn’t have time to be offended at that. He put his phone down on the dresser and instead picked up the Red Line. There was a special app on this gadget. All he had to do was press it, and it would immediately send out a signal for other Heroes to come to its location. If there was ever a time for Heroic reinforcements, this was it. He activated the signal without hesitation.

The apartment door opened. “Jackie?” Chase called.

Jackie ran out of his room and down the hall, stopping at the living room entrance. Chase was there, looking winded, with Frosty, looking excited. “The Puppeteer is at the East SepTech location, and so are Schneep and Spitfire,” he hurriedly said.

“That one?” Chase blinked, surprised, then shook his head. “Well why are you talking to me?! Go go go!”

“Stay safe,” Jackie said, and turned around, running back to his room, shoving the Red Line into his pocket as he went. He opened the window again and jumped out, flying off to the scene of the crime.

===============

The East SepTech building was the newest of the SepTech locations. Not because of age, but because it had collapsed two and a half years ago during a fight between Timekeeper and Earth Shaker. It had been rebuilt in remarkably fast time—something that couldn’t be said for the other buildings around it, many of which were still visibly under construction. The new East building was ten stories of glass and white concrete. It was a triangular shape, with one side that curved outward. Normally there was a green neon sign along the top with SepTech’s logo, but that had gone dark.

Jackie circled above the building, far higher than the roof, hoping that he couldn’t be seen from this distance. He wished his mask had whatever ‘zoom and enhance’ features Schneep’s goggles apparently had. From up here, he could only vaguely make out dots of people on the ground. He dropped lower and lower with every circle, assessing the situation.

There were some people on the sidewalks and streets, but no cars. At least, none moving. He couldn’t tell what they were doing from so high up. But he could clearly see the crowd of people on the roof. How many were there? Thirty? The Puppeteer must have them gathered up there to protect himself. Smart move. But when you could fly, you could just drop right on top of the Puppeteer and inject him with neutrinalin before any of the puppetted crowd could react.

He kept slowly descending until he was able to pick out the Puppeteer. He was the only one wearing all black, standing out against the pale concrete roof. Jackie zeroed in on him and dove.

He was only ten feet away when something slammed into his side. Taken by surprise, Jackie was thrown through the air until he hit a concrete wall. He was only just able to slow himself before impact, barely avoiding what surely would have been broken ribs. Even so, he fell to the roof gasping for air.

“That was an excellent shot,” said a familiar, computerized voice.

Jackie looked up, taking stock of his surroundings. He hit the concrete wall right next to a door—clearly the roof access entrance. It was blocked by about five people holding various weapons. Twenty-five others were scattered around the roof, slowly walking closer to him. They all held weapons. Mostly knives or blunt objects like crowbars. But one man was holding what looked like a giant compound crossbow. And over all of their heads, Jackie could see the Puppeteer’s glowing LED grin.

He gritted his teeth and stood up, trying not to stagger or wince as his body screamed at him. As he moved, he noticed something wrapped around his waist. A metallic rope with two heavy-looking balls on either end. That must be what knocked him out of the air. He glanced back at the man with the strange crossbow and noticed two more ropes coiled at his feet. “Clever,” Jackie grunted, untangling the rope from his waist.

“Isn’t it?” The Puppeteer said, managing to sound delighted despite the robotic tone of his voice. “They just had that in storage here, you know. A prototype built just for this purpose: knocking flying supers out of the sky. It never made it to completion. They branded it ‘too dangerous.’”

“Oh shut up,” Jackie said.

“I don’t think you are in a position to tell me what to do.” The Puppeteer folded his arms, and every single person pointed their weapons at Jackie.

His eyes darted around. Sure enough, he could see strings around many of their wrists. Varying in color, but all there. None of these people wanted to be here. He could see it in their eyes. “Alright,” Jackie said slowly. “So... now what?”

The Puppeteer tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

“Are you going to tell them to kill me? And then are you going to take over the world? Put everyone under your control? Or just Daindover?” He was stalling for time and he knew it. He had to figure a way out of this.

The Puppeteer laughed, a strange sound. “Do you want me to explain my whole scheme to you? That seems very unwise for me.”

“What if I said please?” His back was literally to a wall. Sure there was a door only a few feet away, but he’d have to push past the five knife-wielding puppets guarding it. The Puppeteer was prominently displayed, standing on top of some sort of rooftop industrial unit. He might be able to fly for him, but he no longer had distance and surprise on his side; the poor puppets could attack him before he made it. “I gotta be honest, I don’t understand anything you’ve done so far. So, I’d appreciate some sort of closure in, uh, my last moments.”

“Last moments are never guaranteed,” the Puppeteer said. “But I suppose I could tell you what I had been intending to do. Before your discovery of my plan—and the failure of certain key parts—” His body twitched “—forced me to abandon it all. That would not take too long.”

“Great. Thanks. Much appreciated.” Some of the puppets walked closer, forcing Jackie to move forward to get away from their outstretched weapons. Farther from the door, closer to the Puppeteer. His options were becoming more limited.

“I suppose you know I was the one behind that crime wave in August,” the Puppeteer said. “That was only a test of abilities. That was only me seeing how far I could push. I focused on those with criminal pasts for two reasons. Because I knew the police would not take their claims of mind control seriously, and because of SepTech’s Reformation Program. Do you know about that, Windstorm?”

“It... it’s a program to give ex-convicts jobs at SepTech,” Jackie said slowly.

“Very good.” Again, the Puppeteer managed to give the computerized voice emotion. Now he sounded very condescending. “If I kept control of criminals, I could get them into SepTech through that program. And once I did that, I could get them to spread my control to other employees.”

“But why?” Jackie asked.

The Puppeteer laughed again. “Are you asking me why I would want to gain even more control over one of the biggest technology companies in the British Isles? I think that would be obvious.”

“So... it’s about power, then,” Jackie summarized. “That’s what it always is with you types. Power or money. I’m almost disappointed.”

“I’m glad I don’t exist for your approval then.” The Puppeteer leaned forward slightly. “My plan was going well. Progress was progressing smoothly until—”

“Did you just say ‘progress was progressing’?” Jackie interrupted incredulously.

“Shut up,” the Puppeteer said, now audibly annoyed. “As I was saying. Progress was going smoothly until you discovered my plan—far quicker than I expected. As well as other factors not working.” Again, he twitched. “So, I decided to shift direction. Now I would be more... straightforward.”

“By staging a hostile takeover of the company,” Jackie said. “And killing the city’s only Hero?” 

The Puppeteer tensed. “What makes you think—”

Slam!

The roof access door flew open and a bolt of orange energy shot straight for the Puppeteer, barely missing. Jackie spun around and saw Marvin—in full Spitfire Cat costume, standing in the doorway. Then Jackie spun back around and launched himself towards the Puppeteer. The puppets grabbed at him, some throwing their weapons, but his momentum was too great. He tackled the Puppeteer, knocking him right off the industrial unit he was standing on. They rolled across the ground.

For a moment, the puppets regained control of their bodies. Most of them dropped the weapons. Many ran for the door. One woman shrieked in surprise. “Something’s got me!” she shouted.

A figure flickered into view next to her. Schneep, wearing the Specter suit. “Something has got the strings off your wrist,” he said. “Now run! All of you who don’t have them!”

After a few seconds, eight people ran for the roof access door, passing by Marvin as he ran the other direction towards Jackie and the Puppeteer. He jumped onto the unit and peered down at the two of them. “Did we come in time?”

“I would’ve got it,” Jackie said, struggling to pin the Puppeteer to the ground. He kept wriggling and flailing. Jackie tried to take the injection gun off his belt, but he must have secured it a little too well.

Marvin rolled his eyes. “Yeah. Sure.”

“How were things?” Jackie asked through clenched teeth.

“Fine. The Specter knows what he’s doing.”

“Thank you!” Schneep shouted. “But it helps that most of the building was empty. It let me run ahead and find you up here.”

“So, while I was talking, you were invisibly taking the strings off. That’s pretty—hey!” Jackie ducked to the side, barely managing to dodge the wild punch the Puppeteer threw. “Spitfire stop fucking watching and help me the fuck out!”

Marvin chuckled, then climbed to the ground. “I thought you had it.”

“Shut up.” Jackie paused. “And thanks. Both of you.”

Was it over already?

===============

The apartment was deadly quiet after Jackie left. Chase stood at the window and watched him fly off into the distance. He watched until Jackie disappeared from sight, then shook his head. He couldn’t believe that was his roommate.

What does he do now?

He knew he should probably turn on the TV and watch the news to keep up with what was happening. But... quite frankly, he didn’t want to. If things went bad, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know. If he wanted to sit there in worry. But he would be sitting in worry anyway... ugh.

Chase wandered into his bedroom. Maybe if he had something physical to do while he watched the news, he wouldn’t feel sick with anxiety. What was there to do? He kept his hacky-sack in here. Maybe that. Where was it? On the dresser?

As he moved things around on the dresser by his bed, Chase’s hand brushed against something. It fell to the floor and immediately burst into lots of tiny bits. “Fuck.” He wasn’t going to be able to clean that up, and neither was Frosty. Too small. But... what was it that could have broken like that?

He squinted at the floor. Beads?

Beads. Like from a bracelet.

He looked back at the dresser. This was where he’d left the bracelets JJ had sent him and Jackie. Now only one was left. He picked it up to examine it closely. And as he lifted it up... the beads slowly fell to the ground. Until he was left holding only the string. A string that was still tied in a circle, but which looked less... solid somehow. As Chase stared, the string turned wispy, like a strand of fog, and then faded away.

Fear jolted through his stomach. Strings. Strings. Strings.

Chase fumbled for his phone. He unlocked it and navigated to the photos. The most recent thing on his camera roll was a video he’d made for himself, recounting everything Jackie had told him and the others about the Puppeteer. Just so he would remember. He pressed play, skipping forward every few seconds until he found what he was looking for. “—Jackie says that these strings don’t last forever. He said that when he got them off that uhhh ice lady they became sort of transparent and then fell apart, like... like the way steam fades away, y’know? And then they disappeared. So—”

He paused the video.

The world was tilting beneath his feet. He started listing to the side.

Frosty pressed his head against his side, gently righting Chase before he lost his balance and fell. “Thanks, Frost,” Chase said absentmindedly.

He’d been feeling guilty for constantly forgetting to wear JJ’s gift, but now he was relieved. These were not bracelets. These were the Puppeteer’s strings. How did JJ get them?! Why did he give them to Chase and Jackie?! Unless—he was—

Chase ran into Jackie’s room. He searched every surface for the bracelets—or at least the beads, if the string had faded. But he couldn’t see anything. JJ had asked Jackie to wear the bracelets for this. Jackie must have put them on. He must be wearing them now!

“Shit!” Chase opened up his phone contacts and called Jackie. If he could warn him, maybe—

A gentle ringtone came from the bed.

Dreading what he’d see, Chase glanced towards it. Jackie’s phone. Right there. Left behind.

He couldn’t reach him. He couldn’t tell him.

Unless—the East SepTech location—He knew how to get there, the Yellow train line had a station right in front of it. He might not be much use if there was a fight, but—but he had to tell Jackie!

“Come on, Frosty,” Chase said, running out of the room and towards the door. He wished he could leave him behind, but if there was ever a time he needed to avoid a fall, this was it.

===============

“Just hold him long enough for me to get this thing, okay?” Jackie said.

“Easier said than done,” Marvin grunted. “God damn, this guy’s a wriggly bitch. Hey!” He shot a pencil-thin beam of red energy at the ground right by the Puppeteer’s head. The Puppeteer immediately stopped moving. “That’s what I thought.”

Jackie leaned away from the struggle and glanced around. None of the puppetted victims were being controlled. In fact, Schneep had managed to free even more of them, leaving only half left. They were trying to help each other with the strings, but even with this lack of active control, they were unable to remove them on their own. He looked back at Marvin and the Puppeteer. Marvin had him incapacitated for the moment, twisting one of his arms behind his back. But Jackie knew this wouldn’t last forever. He had to—yes! Finally! He managed to take the injection gun off his belt. “Should’ve just put it in the bag,” he muttered.

Marvin glanced over at him. “That’s neutrinalin.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yep.”

“Well I don’t know if the needle will get through this outfit. That’s what the armor’s for.”

“I think there’s a spot near his neck. Can you hold his head still?”

The Puppeteer spoke up for the first time in a while. “Do you really think this is the end?”

“That’s what they all say,” Jackie muttered. “Spitfire?”

“Got it.” Marvin pushed the Puppeteer’s head to the roof. “I wasn’t kidding about the wriggliness, by the way. Do it fast!”

Jackie nodded. He made sure the gun was ready, then reached forward, and...

Stopped.

Marvin looked at him. “I said fast! This isn’t the time to hesitate!”

“I’m not, I’m—” His arm was trembling slightly. He tried to move it forward, but it simply would not respond to his commands.

The Puppeteer laughed.

Suddenly, Jackie’s arm darted forward, aiming not for the Puppeteer, but for Marvin. He gasped and ducked. The injection gun barely missed him, but the sudden movement gave the Puppeteer enough momentum to throw him off. Marvin went rolling as the Puppeteer climbed to his feet. Jackie stood as well and tried to grab him, but again, he suddenly stopped. “Wha...?”

“Windstorm, what the fuck?!” Marvin recovered and got up.

“I’m not—this i-isn’t—!” Jackie tried again to grab the Puppeteer, but he wasn’t able to get within arm’s reach. He strained, trying to take a step forward. He only managed to stumble for a second.

“I said it wasn’t the end.” The Puppeteer calmly walked away, going around the industrial unit he’d been standing on.

Marvin’s eyes widened. His head darted towards Jackie. “When did he get you?!”

“He didn’t!” Jackie protested. “I-I don’t know what—”

“Maybe you should double-check your gifts next time,” the Puppeteer said calmly.

Jackie’s heart dropped. “You mean—Jameson, the—the bracelets—?”

“Bracelets?!” Marvin gasped. “Jackie, you fucking idiot! Your friend gave you bracelets and you put them on even though I told you not to?!”

“When did you tell me not to put on bracelets?!”

“In the email! When I told you SepTech was compromised!”

“You didn’t say shit about bracelets!”

“You have to be careful sending messages online,” the Puppeteer said. “Sometimes parts of the message gets lost in transition.” He tilted his head. “Email isn’t that secure, anyway. I thought you would have learned that, Spitfire, after the fake mail I sent you from your Kanchana friend.”

Marvin snapped back towards the Puppeteer. His eyes narrowed and a growl escaped his throat. He clenched his fists and spheres of orange energy appeared around them. “You motherfucker. I’m going to kill y—”

“No you’re not.”

Against his will, Jackie stepped forward, right in front of Marvin, blocking the Puppeteer from his sight. Feeling it happen made his skin crawl. Marvin backed up. He looked around Jackie towards the Puppeteer. “You’re forgetting something.”

“Like what?” The Puppeteer asked.

“There were three of us.”

Suddenly, the Puppeteer was knocked to the side by something unseen. He fell to the ground, but then lashed out. A red string came from his hand and wrapped around something invisible. Schneep briefly flickered into view again. Then the string fell to the ground, limp as it passed right through the arm it had been wrapped around. “Everyone run!” Schneep’s voice shouted. The remaining puppets tried to flee, but they all froze in place before they could get too far.

“Let them go, you bastard!” Marvin lunged forward, hands burning bright. But then Jackie grabpped his arms around him, stopping him in his tracks. The energy spheres around his hands disappeared as he tried to pry Jackie’s arms away. “Damn it! Fight it, Windstorm!”

“I’m trying!” Jackie gasped. His muscles shook, but didn’t let go.

The Puppeteer was on his feet again. Red, green, and black strings trailed from his fingers as his head darted around. Then it snapped to the side, hit by something unseen. He staggered and whipped the strings around. They briefly caught on invisible Schneep before falling through. “Don’t think I cannot see you,” the Puppeteer taunted. His head turned to the side, tracking something. “This mask has many features!” He lurched forward. Schneep cried out and briefly appeared again as the Puppeteer knocked him down. 

Marvin managed to get Jackie to let go of him. He ran forward, shooting a beam of yellow energy that barely missed the Puppeteer’s legs. “Fight it! All of you!” he shouted at the puppets. None of them moved. They could only watch.

Jackie jumped into the air and dove down. The air whipped around him, pushing Marvin to the side. He landed right next to the Puppeteer.

“I never wanted to kill you, Windstorm,” the Puppeteer said. “You are of much more use this way.”

“Sh-shut up,” Jackie said weakly. His fist flung to the side, connecting with something. Schneep shouted, reappearing as he staggered back from Jackie. “I’m sorry!”

“Not your fault,” Schneep said. “I thought you could not see me!”

“I-I can’t.”

“But I can,” the Puppeteer said. Green strings curled around his fingers. “And that’s all that matters.”

All the puppets rushed forward, swarming. Marvin threw his hands up into the air and a grid of red energy surrounded the four supers, separating them. A few of the puppets ran into the grid, burning themselves, but none attempted to make it through. “Keep this between us,” Marvin said, glaring at the Puppeteer. “Leave them out of it.”

“...Alright.” The Puppeteer’s posture relaxed. “Perhaps that will be interesting.” And Jackie rose into the air and attacked.

It wasn’t too different from all the times he’d fought Spitfire Cat before. He stayed in the air, dodging beams and balls of energy, occasionally getting close enough to land a blow before another burst of energy pushed him back. But the devil was in the details. He was not an active participant in this fight. It was just his body, ducking and jumping and punching on its own as he struggled to stop. Like being in the passenger seat of a car with an out-of-control driver. But at least in a car he could have reached over and grabbed the wheel.

Marvin was trying not to hurt him. With powers like his, he could have easily caused permanent damage, maybe even killed Jackie if he wanted to. But he didn’t. And that was far different from any fight they had before. Jackie grabbed his arm to hold him back, but Marvin used Jackie’s own flying momentum to fling him into the distance, making the surrounding grid disappear just before he hit it. Jackie recovered mid-air and came charging back in. Marvin conjured a shield on his arm to block Jackie’s attack. Jackie’s fist managed to change trajectory at the last minute, but even a glancing blow against the shield burned the knuckles of Jackie’s gloves off.

Schneep was trying to fight the Puppeteer, but it wasn’t going well. He was able to phase right through the strings the Puppeteer kept flinging his way, but he couldn’t attack the Puppeteer while he was intangible. And since the Puppeteer couldn’t hurt him either, the two of them ended up in a stalemate. Schneep let out a cry of frustration, then turned and ran into the fight between Jackie and Marvin. He jumped up and grabbed Jackie’s ankle while he was hovering in the air, pulling him down to earth. Jackie’s leg reacted without input, kicking Schneep in the face before he had time to phase through the blow. Schneep’s head snapped backwards as something cracked.

“I’m sorry!” Jackie shouted again as his body flew up again and threw itself at Marvin.

Marvin jumped to the side, barely avoiding the tackle. “It’s not your fault, it’s his!” He pointed at the Puppeteer. A curved blade of orange energy flew out with the motion, but the Puppeteer dodged it easily. Then Jackie grabbed that hand and twisted it to the side. Marvin punched his chest with his other hand, knocking him back.

“I could make this worse, if you want,” the Puppeteer said. “Windstorm is dodging your attacks now, but only because I am making him. I could stop. Let your blows hit him.”

“No!” Jackie gasped. He saw Marvin pale with horror behind his mask.

A pair of arms wrapped around him from behind. Schneep was up again, trying to restrain him. Jackie stomped on his foot, and Schneep went intangible. Jackie passed right through him and went for Marvin again. He dodged the clumsy attack, but then Jackie flung out a hand, and a gust of wind blew him backwards. He spun around and did the exact same motion, knocking back Schneep as he tried to sneak up behind him.

“You’re right, it is more amusing this way,” the Puppeteer said.

“Fuck your amusement!” Marvin flung a red energy ball at him. The Puppeteer jumped, surprised, but still managed to duck. In retaliation, the wind knocked Marvin over again.

Slam!

Everyone looked towards the sound at once. The roof access door had burst open, and standing there was—

“Chase!” Jackie gasped. “No! Get back!”

Chase was too stunned to move, taking in the sight before him. “Ja—Windstorm?” he said. By his side, Frosty began growling.

The puppets moved again, closing in on Chase. Schneep ran towards him, pulling him to the side before they could get to him. “Why the fucking hell are you here?!”

“I—There were—Strings—” Chase’s eyes were locked on the Puppeteer as Schneep guided him past everyone. “I—He wasn’t answering, so—I knew the way here—”

“Chase Brody,” said the Puppeteer.

Chase stumbled. He slowly stepped back. “H-how do you know my name?”

“I know all your names,” the Puppeteer said. He looked around at the puppets. “Do you all want to know our Hero’s true name? He is—”

“No!” Marvin ran forward, flinging out another blade of energy. The Puppeteer barely dodged this one, and it cut through the armor on his upper arm. Jackie flew up into the air, landing in front of Marvin and throwing him backwards with the strongest push of air yet.

“Leave him alone!” Schneep shouted, sprinting straight for the Puppeteer as well.

Jackie spun around and sent another gust of wind towards him. Schneep had already gone intangible, so not even the air could touch him—

But beside him, Chase was as solid as ever.

The wind sent him flying backwards. He hit the edge of the short wall surrounding the rooftop. For a moment, he stayed there, arms flailing, trying to regain his balance. But he couldn’t. And he went over the side screaming.

Jackie felt something snap.

He was moving before anyone knew it, before he knew it. A low BOOM! echoed through the air as a shockwave of wind burst from the spot where he’d been standing, knocking everyone to the floor. By the time the sound ended he was already over the side. The air whistled past his face as he dove down, down, down, towards Chase’s limp, falling form. He wasn’t going to make it—No.He wouldn’t let himself not make it. 

He flew faster, faster, faster, outpacing the pull of gravity, the concrete ground growing closer by the second. Chase was a few feet away—a foot away—his arm brushed Jackie’s fingertips. Jackie closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around Chase, but now the two of them were falling together. No. No. No.

Wind kicked up dust on the ground, sending clouds of it flying. It pushed against the two of them, slowing them down. They were still going too fast. The only way out was to use the momentum. Jackie grabbed the back of Chase’s neck, keeping his head still to prevent whiplash. He shifted trajectory, coming at the ground from a diagonal. The slope evened out, a curve. Litter on the ground flew into the air as Jackie—gritting his teeth, commanding the wind like he never had—pulled out of the dive, now flying up as fast as the two of them were falling down.

In just seconds, they were back at the East building’s rooftop. Then above it. With infinite space to work with, Jackie slowed down, down, down... until they came to a stop fifty feet above the roof. Jackie finally let himself breathe again. He could feel Chase clutching his suit, clinging to it, squeezing him in a tight hug. He was alive. He would be fine.

Jackie slowly descended back to the roof, landing gently, making sure Chase got his footing. The whole rescue had only taken one minute. Everyone up here was still recovering from the shockwave. “Chase?” Jackie whispered. “Are you alright?”

Chase let out a shaking breath. “I... I’ve n-never liked heights...”

“Are you hurt?”

“N-no, I don’t... think so.” He was clearly reluctant to let go of Jackie, but he did. Slowly. Frosty, who had also been knocked over by the shockwave, got to his feet and hurried towards Chase, whining slightly. Chase got down to the ground and wrapped his dog in his arms.

“That’s good. That’s...” The words got caught in Jackie’s throat. His vision blurred as hot tears filled his eyes.

But it wasn’t over yet.

He scanned the roof. The puppets were recovering. Schneep was running towards him and Chase. Marvin was standing up. But his eyes locked onto the cause of all this. The Puppeteer, barely on his feet again. Jackie stalked towards him.

The Puppeteer noticed him instantly. He tensed. His head darted from side to side. Some of the standing puppets started walking towards Jackie but he knocked them down again without even glancing their way. The Puppeteer began backing up. He threw a black string towards Jackie, but it was blown away.

Wind circled Jackie’s body, picking up in speed. “You,” he growled.

The Puppeteer said nothing. Then he turned and ran.

Jackie was on him instantly. He latched onto the Puppeteer’s shoulder and spun him around, delivering a punch to his face with such force that the mask cracked, a spiderweb breaking apart the green face. The Puppeteer staggered back but Jackie didn’t give him time to recover. He hit him again in the stomach, making him fold. Then knocked him to his knees with a jab to his shoulder. Jackie’s knee hit him in the face again, almost dislodging the mask and sending him sprawling on his back. He got down, kneeling on his chest, and raised his fist—

“Windstorm, no!” A hand grabbed his wrist. “Holy shit!” Jackie looked up and saw Marvin, staring at him, completely stunned. “It’s fine! You don’t need to do this!”

“You’re one to talk,” Jackie muttered darkly.

Marvin winced slightly. His voice softened. “Chase is alive. He’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

Anger burned and bubbled in Jackie’s chest. It coiled in his stomach. His whole body shook with the heat of it. But he took a deep breath. Chase is alive. He’s okay. It’s going to be okay. “I dropped the injection gun, but...” He reached into his pouch and pulled out one of the syringes. The Puppeteer was too dazed to stop him from pulling the cloth of his suit away from his neck and plunging the syringe into the thin line of exposed skin there. Jackie leaned backwards. He let out a breath, imagining that anger leaving him through it. “It’ll take a couple minutes to take effect.”

“Did you bring pow-sup cuffs?” Marvin asked.

“What? Oh, power suppression. Damn it, I knew I was forgetting something.”

Marvin smiled wryly. “It’s fine. As wriggly as this bastard is, I don’t think he can get away now. Not with you sitting on him.”

Jackie looked down. “Oh, uh...” He was right on the Puppeteer’s chest. Maybe he hadn’t fought back because he couldn’t breathe. “Oops.” He adjusted his position, now kneeling next to him.

“Gotta take care of the hands, that’s where the strings come from.” Marvin took off his belt and wrapped it around the Puppeteer’s wrists and hands, preventing them from moving. “I’ll be wanting that back.”

Jackie burst into laughter. And he kept laughing. He couldn’t stop the stress-fueled, manic-sounding shrieks. A good minute passed before he was able to get a hold of himself.

Schneep walked over to join the two of them. Chase trailed behind, standing a few feet away from the others, one hand on Frosty’s head and the other holding his leash. “The strings have already faded from the victims,” Schneep said. “I told them to all go home. They are gone now.”

“I see.” Jackie looked around at the roof, empty except for their small group. “I wonder if the same is happening at the other SepTech locations.” He then looked back down at the Puppeteer. The right eye was flickering on the screen. “You hear that, bitch? We beat you.”

“Dii~iid yo-you-youuu...?” The computerized voice stuttered and glitched. Jackie couldn’t help but shiver, finding it creepy.

“Uh, yeah, who’s knocked out on the floor?” Marvin commented.

Chase cleared his throat. “Are, uh... the police coming?”

“They should be,” Jackie said. “If they haven’t been responding to a group of people storming buildings with weapons, I’ll lose all faith in them. We can hand this piece of shit over to them then.”

“Okay.” Chase nodded. “Are... you going to... take his mask off?” He gestured at the Puppeteer, lying on the ground.

“Well apparently I’m not supposed to,” Jackie muttered, glancing at Marvin.

Marvin chuckled. “You’re not. But honestly, I think that mask is a health risk now that it’s broken. Shattered glass. Might be exposed wires. Overheating and shocking and all that. You’re justified... if you want.”

“Well, do you guys?” Jackie asked.

“It is your call,” Schneep said.

Jackie glanced at everyone. Then he turned his attention back to the Puppeteer. The Puppeteer stared back at him, that eye flickering. Like a wink. “Okay,” Jackie said quietly. “Okay.” He wanted to see the face of the man responsible for everything. Slowly, he reached out with trembling hands and grabbed the top edge of the mask. He pulled it off the Puppeteer’s face. And beneath it—

In a single moment, everything shattered.

Jackie stared at the face. The face of the Puppeteer, the face of a man who had been tormenting the city for months, controlling people against their will, the face... of someone he knew. “Jameson?” he breathed.

Bright blue eyes stared back at him. Jameson blinked. A bruise was forming over his right eye, and a thin stream of blood trickled from his nose down his mustache. He didn’t say anything. Because of course he didn’t. He couldn’t.

“What?!” Schneep shoved Marvin aside to get closer. He pushed his goggles back as if that would change what he was seeing. “No. No no no, this is—this is a trick, this is—He is not the Puppeteer!” He laughed.

“Uh... I’m not... familiar with him as much as you are,” Marvin said slowly. “But... that’s him.”

“Nein! I-I mean no! It is not, it—a trick, I said, a trick.” Schneep fell to his knees. He grabbed Jameson by the shoulders—the costume, he was wearing the costume—and pulled him up to a sitting position. The hood—the Puppeteer’s hood—fell back, revealing Jameson’s hair. It was definitely his. “This is—the Puppeteer is pretending.”

Chase stepped forward slowly. “I didn’t know the Puppeteer was a shapeshifter,” he whispered.

“He’s not...” Marvin said quietly. “That’s impossible. The powers are completely unrelat—”

“Okay, okay, fine fine fine!” Schneep interrupted. “Then he is—Jameson was being controlled! Yes, Jameson? Right?”

Jameson just stared at Schneep. His expression was sad. ...No. Regretful.

“It was a fake-out, yes?” Schneep insisted. He looked at Jameson’s bound hands. “The—the strings must be in these gloves! Yes, if we take them off and look at them—” He fumbled with the belt, untying it enough so he could feel the gloves. He held Jameson’s hands tightly in his own. “There is—is something here!”

“...Schneep,” Chase whispered.

“Don’t ‘Schneep’ me!” Schneep cried. Tears were gathering in his eyes. “This is a trick, I know it! Right, Jamie?! Right?! You are not the Puppeteer, right?! You are just—being controlled!”

“The strings on the other puppets wouldn’t have disappeared at the same time the neutrinalin took effect,” Marvin whispered.

“It is mind control!” Schneep looked up at him. “You said—the bracelets, there were—Jamie was wearing bracelets a lot recently—”

Marvin frowned. “But... he wasn’t wearing bracelets earlier today.”

Schneep stared at him. His eyes darted to Chase and Jackie, as if expecting either of them to contradict Marvin. But they didn’t. He looked back down at Jameson. “Jamie, this is... th-this is ridiculous, right? You... you are not this type of person, you... You are not the Puppeteer!”

Jameson closed his eyes. He took a deep breath, and pulled his hands away from Schneep’s. Then he opened his eyes again and mouthed two words: I’m sorry.

“What are you sorry for?!” Schneep pulled his mask away from his face; it was getting wet with tears. “This is not—This cannot be! Jamie, you—this is not—Jamie, please. Please, just—say something! Explain! Please! Jamie, please!”

Schneep continued to cry and beg, but Jackie stopped hearing the specifics. It felt like... like he was dreaming. This... was a dream, wasn’t it? A nightmare. Any moment, he would wake up.

Thnka-thnka-thnka-thnka-thnka...

That was the sound of a helicopter. Jackie looked up and saw a blue copter in the sky, slowly getting closer to the roof. The League of Heroes’ golden emblem blazed on its tail. Oh. Right. He activated the signal for reinforcements, didn’t he? He forgot.

Marvin was pulling Schneep away. He fought against him, trying to cling to Jameson, tears streaming down his face, but Marvin was stronger. He dragged him back towards the roof access. Schneep was too distraught to even think of phasing through him. Chase stayed where he was. Standing. Watching everything happen. Frosty stepped up to Jameson and sniffed his face, then pressed his head against his chest. Jameson looked away from the sight but didn’t push the dog away.

And Jackie just sat there. Once again, a passenger of his own body. Now controlled only by instinct.

He vaguely remembered the helicopter landing and Lorelai and Josh rushing over. He sort of recalled giving a distant, fragmented explanation of what happened on the roof. Lorelai and Josh said something like “we’ll take it from here, go rest” and that the League would be in contact tomorrow.

Getting home was a blank. The next thing he knew, he was in their apartment. Lying on the sofa. Staring up at the ceiling. Frosty was on top of him, a heavy, solid weight. Easy to latch onto. Chase was sitting in a chair nearby. Maybe he was saying something. He couldn’t remember. He couldn’t remember if they had dinner, or if he changed out of his supersuit before climbing into bed. He couldn’t remember what time it was when he finally fell asleep.

But he would never forget the sight of two Heroes pulling Jameson into that League helicopter. Of Jameson, still in that black, menacing costume, looking back over his shoulder at Jackie with sorrow in his eyes.

[tuzesdays]

"pinky promise?" for the yn verse besties :^) ((bc charlie is silly enough to pinky promise))

they really are

WORDCOUNT: 708 | Into the Y/Nverse | Platonic

It only takes one shared glance to decide what they’re doing.

“Race you!”

“Wh- hey!” Viper bolts after Charlie, legs working double time to overtake their stupidly long stride as they wave over their shoulder. “See you guys in a bit!”

The rest of their group laughs at the enthusiasm. By now they’re pretty used to Viper breaking their usual stoic behavior to go act like a child with Charlie – now that the two of them (three of them, counting Dakota) are talking to their coworkers more, it seems like everyone’s stopped being intimidated by Viper. It’s kind of nice.

Charlie and Viper skid into the front room of the laser tag area, Viper lagging a split second behind. “I WIN!”

“You and your stupidly long legs!” They try to grapple each other, and Viper ducks low to poke at Charlie’s stomach. “Quit making me run!”

“I didn’t make you do anything! You could’ve just lost!”

“Not a chance.”

The two of them push each other like bratty siblings while paying for entry. Here, they have a choice: compete for the most hits while on the same team, or go on opposite teams and hunt each other down. Both are appealing. Both have them glaring playfully at each other.

“Got a coin, Lili?”

“Uhhh…” they dig around in their pockets. “I have… uh, a fidget toy and my staff card?”

“Gimme the card.” Viper takes it, holding Charlie’s staff ID between their finger and thumb. “We flip this. Picture side, and we go on the same team.”

“Awesome, okay.”

Viper tosses it pretty high up into the air and doesn’t bother catching it, letting the card fall to the floor and settle on… the barcode side. Opposite teams it is.

“I call blue!”

“Of course,” Viper rolls their eyes. “I’ll be on green.”

“Yeah, duh.” Charlie sticks their tongue out at them, which is returned. “First to get shot loses!”

“First to shoot the other one wins.”

On a nice day like this in the middle of a vacation period, the attraction is packed with people. There are seven strangers on Viper’s side that they don’t bother talking to – they’re not at all interested in being a team player today, they just want that hit on their friend. They suit up with a harness and connected laser gun (and have a quick thought about certain people they would never be able to play this game with) before the timer begins counting down and they brace to run out into the neon-lit darkness.

Three, two, one…

So long green team, Viper’s got a competition to win.

There are four teams, one coming from each corner of the arena: Blue, Green, Yellow, and White. The vests flash red when they’re hit, and stay red until the player heads back to a ‘respawn point’ somewhere in their corner of the room. Viper dodges around the White entrance and heads straight toward Blue. “Oh, Lili~!”

They hear a familiar laugh off to their right and point their gun in that direction. “Marco…!”

“Polo!” Charlie darts out from behind a barricade, missing their shot at Viper as they run. “Aw no!”

“Keep running, Lili!” Viper gives chase, firing at them as they race around the arena.

Dodge, dodge, weave, bolt. Charlie’s stuck in a straight shot to the next barricade. Viper lines up the shot as slowly as they dare.

Victory.

Later – ‘after the game’ later, once they’ve managed to catch up with the rest of the group in the arcade – the two of them sit crossed-legged on the floor, backs leaning against a wall as they watch an intense DDR competition play out. Charlie puts their elbow ontop of Viper’s head just to be annoying. Viper pokes them in the side.

“We should do this more often.”

Viper looks over the group cheering on two dancers. “I wouldn’t mind.”

Charlie grins. “I didn’t think you’d like this stuff that much!”

“The get-togethers? Yeah, me neither.” They huff, like whatever enjoyment they’re getting out of group outings is against their will. “But it’s not so bad. Just a lot.”

“… You’ll tell me if it ever gets to be too much, right?”

“Sure.”

“Pinky promise?”

Viper snorts and offers their hand. “Pinky promise.”

[eddiemunsonsimpp]

Love at first Reconnect | Eddie Munson x Fem!Henderson Reader | Part Three

third and final part to this little miniseries!! as always feedback is much appreciated 🖤 enjoy ily muah

Warnings - 🌿 ment

Tags - FLUFF, banter, Mutual pining, cute shit

Wc - 1.7k

Masterlist

Part one | Part Two

____________________

Eddie let out an exasperated huff, dropping his pencil onto the papers sprawled in front of him. He pressed the palms of his hands against his eyes.

“If I study any longer, I think I’m actually gonna die.”

You toss your head back in a short laugh.

“Oh, c’mon! One more page and then we can go smoke.” You poke his side with your elbow, eliciting a groan out of him. You lean over his shoulder to glance at the page, being met with illegible writing and random doodles along the bottom of the page. You sigh out in a soft hum, plucking the page from in front of him as your eyes skimmed over the problems.

“Okay, it’s just Shakespeare, Eds. Did you read over the syllabus? Or… any of the notes I wrote you?”

He seemingly ignored your question, posing his own.

“Why do they talk like that? Like, who the fresh fuck talks like that?”

You giggle and shrug. “I dunno, old English idiots, I guess?” You glanced back to the page.

“Okay, so, she’s asking for an analysis on Macbeth. Specifically, what the main themes of the play are. Did you read it?” Eddie nodded through a yawn. “So,” you drawled, “what are some of the main themes?”

Silence.

“Eddie.” Annoyance rang in your voice.

“I don’t know!” He matched your frustration, leaning back on the bed with a huff.

“Am I going to have to do all of your work myself?”

“Probably.”

“Would smoking make you at least a little more open to working with me on this?”

He sat up immediately, drawing a small giggle out of you.

The two of you sat cross legged on his bed, passing a joint back and forth.

“Name me at least one main theme from Macbeth.” You spoke suddenly. Eddie rolled his eyes deeply. “C’mon, Eds! This is part of your passing grade to graduate.”

He took a harsh drag and passed it back to you. “Fucking, uhhh-“ He mumbled as he reached around in his head for an answer.

“Loyalty..” He started. You nodded with a reassuring ‘mhm’. “What else?” He shook his head with a sigh.

“I’m not answering them for you, Eddie. You have to know this stuff if you wanna pass English Lit.”

“Loyalty, guilt, innocence?”

You clapped your hands together with a squeal.

“Holy shit! Yes!” You cheered. His cheeks flushed pink as he beamed at you.

“What’s the fourth one?” You encouraged.

He fell silent, eyebrows furrowed as if lost in thought.

You chewed on the inside of your cheek.

“You know what? You got the first three. That’s good enough for now.”

“Does that mean we can stop for the day?”

“Yes, that means we can stop the for the day.” You replied with a wry laugh.

“So, now what should we do?” Eddie asked as you tidied the slew of papers, pencils and highlighters off of the bed. You shrugged.

“We could go to Benny’s for dinner?”

“Bold of you to assume I have money.”

“Aren’t you literally a drug dealer?”

He stayed silent for a moment.

“…You spend your drug money on more drugs, don’t you?”

“Hey, now, not any drugs! Specifically that Purple Punch you’ve been enjoying and getting knocked on your ass with!” You laughed brightly.

“Alright, so, not Benny’s. We could just watch a movie like usual?”

“Or we could go hang out and smoke at Skull Rock?”

You blinked up at him, bewildered.

“Skull Rock? Really?”

“What? It’s a nice spot!”

“Yeah, where everyone from school goes to jump each other’s bones!” He chuckled.

“Okayy, not Skull Rock.”

You two sat in a blanket of silence as you pondered for ideas of what to do.

Eventually, you rolled over onto your stomach, looking up at Eddie from the edge of the bed.

“What’s Hellfire’s current campaign about?”

He appeared taken aback.

“You’re… interested in my campaign?” He questioned, eyebrows furrowed as he looked down at you. You nodded and beamed up at him. “Dustin never really tells me any of the details, usually just cusses you out for,” You hold up your fingers in quotation marks, “‘Being too stern of a DM’?” He grinned and laughed.

As Eddie went on to tell you the full plan of his current campaign, you felt your chest heave. A bright, toothy smile overtook his features as he gestured widely with his hands, giving you nearly every detail you needed to know. He was so genuinely passionate about his campaigns, that much you could tell. And, from what your brother had told you, he was an incredible DM. You couldn’t help but return his same goofy smile as butterflies pranced around in your belly, no matter how hard you tried to ignore them. Obviously, having feelings for your childhood best friend was, in no way, your plan. You had never felt like this toward Eddie. You decided, regretfully, Steve and Robin were right. You did like Eddie. A lot, at that.

As he finished his spiel about his campaign, he looked at you almost expecting to laugh in his face. Instead, you continued to beam up at him. “That’s really fucking cool, Eds.” You spoke softly. You could’ve sworn you saw his cheeks flush. “Y’know…” You started, “After Freshman year, I really didn’t know if we would ever reconnect. And it sucked, a lot.

I missed this.” I missed you.

“I missed this a lot, Eddie.” His face softened and this time, unmistakably blushed, and he nodded. “I missed this a lot, too.” He returned your soft tone. Your heart rattled in your throat as the two of you stared at each other. It was your turn to blush, breaking the eye contact and dragging your fingers through your hair. You cleared your throat and sat up on the bed. You went to speak, but not before he sheepishly cut you off.

“Uh, listen… I, uh, I hope I’m not… severely misreading this and I’m fucking praying to something I don’t fuck this up, but, uh…” He scratched the back of his neck and ran his fingers through his hair. “I think…I think I like you. Like - a fucking lot.”

There it was.

Your lips parted, and you could feel your heart beat in your throat.

You liked your childhood best friend, and, by the grace of whatever, he did, too.

He must’ve taken your awestruck expression and silence as rejection as he cleared his throat. “Uh… shit. Uh, forget I said anything.” He played it off with a sad laugh as he went to stand. You grabbed his wrist instinctively and stared up at him. He looked at you quizzically.

“You mean it?” Your voice barely reached above a whisper. He nodded shyly. You wrapped your hand around his and closed the space between the two of you, connecting your lips softly. You trailed your fingers into his hair, pulling him impossibly close as you settled in his lap, like he would slip through your fingers any second. You two pulled away from each other just enough for your foreheads to rest against each other’s. You gazed deeply into his eyes and struggled to bite back a smile.

“I like you, too, Eddie. A fucking lot.” You rested your hands on his thighs.

“So, does this mean if I asked you on a date to the drive-in on Saturday?…” He trailed off, and you smiled brightly.

“Absolutely.”

And that was that. The beginning of a relationship that would surely ruin every other relationship you could ever be in for the rest of your life. Though, you hated to think you two would ever part, and so did he.

________________

“Son of a bitch!” Robin cussed as she reluctantly thrust a $20 bill into Steve’s hand. You rolled your eyes at the pair.

“At least now we don’t have to stand here and gag over their unrequited loving stares.” Steve pointed.

“No, you’re right. Now we get to stand here and gag over them being all over each other at every second of every day.” Robin retorted. You huffed. “Okay, guys, we aren’t that bad.”

They both shot you a glance suggesting otherwise.

“We’re not!” You defended in a small shriek.

“You are.”

“So are.”

You groaned.

“Please, I’ve had to deal with years of Steve pining over Tammy, then Nancy, then Heidi, Stacy-… Do I need to keep going?”

“Don’t forget Robin and Vickie.”

“Oh my god, absolutely.” Robin flipped you both the bird.

“The point is, I’ve dealt with both of your romantic bullshit and unrequited love stories for the past 2 years. You can deal with mine.”

Steve shot you a wry smile.

“We never said we weren’t happy for you, Henderson.”

“You’re just a very… unusual couple.” Robin chimed in.

Your eyebrows furrowed.

“I mean, how much do you two really have in common?” Steve suggested.

You stared at him blankly.

“Seriously?” You queried.

He nodded.

“I was the one who got him into Lord of the Rings! I was the one who brought him comic books and read them to him. I was the one who introduced him to Ozzy when we were in middle school!” You rolled your eyes.

“It’s almost like you two don’t know a thing about me!” You teased.

“Yeah, yeah, we get it. You were the first nerd in your family, even though Dustin likes to take the credit-“

“HE LOVES TO TAKE THE CREDIT!” You huffed.

You three straightened up as you heard the bell ring, signaling someone had waltzed in. Your eyes landed on, of course, your new doting boyfriend. You broke out into a bright smile and hopped over the counter, rushing over to him. He returned your smile and held up a bag and a cup. “Lunch break?” He greeted. You looked at the clock, and then back to your friends, who were grinning at the two of you. Steve nodded. “Go ahead, we’ll try not to burn the place down while you’re gone.”

You shot him a toothy grin and leaned on your tippy toes, planting a small kiss on Eddie’s cheek. “Let me grab my bag and clock out.” You grabbed your things and punched out at nearly record speed, practically skipping out the front of the store.

Steve and Robin looked at each other and chuckled.

“They’re actually kind of cute, you gotta admit.” Robin shrugged.

“…Yeah. Yeah, they really are.”

[multi-lefaiye]

EXPLAIN LORE TO ME I LIKE ANY TYPES OF LORE

LORE LORE LORE LORE LORE - Runic

ALRIGHT HI IT'S TIME FOR ME TO EXPLAIN TO YOU, MY DEAR FRIEND, THE FLIGHT RISING GODS

@astral-runic i hope you're ready for this <3

i'm not gonna explain the lore in-depth because i am BEHIND on it, but i'll explain who the gods are! and also the fun fact that the gods on flight rising have their own accounts and used to interact with players sometimes!!!! that was fun :> (i say as if i was active on the site at that point). also it's like a thing where people jokingly refer to the gods as their parents- yeah <3

for context, each dragon god on flight rising is affiliated with a specific element, or flight, and every dragon clan is associated with one of the gods. my account has been a shadow clan since day one babeyyyy so i will have a lot to say about the shadow goddess.

okay under the cut! content warnings: the plague goddess looks a bit gross at first glance and i can't spoiler tag her image, so tread lightly. if zombies make you uncomfortable, pls be careful!

first up; the earth god, the earthshaker!

from what i understand, the earthshaker is kind of a sad old man. he's the oldest of the gods and one of the gods that helped create the world of sornieth! he wishes the other gods would still be friends and not just kick the shit out of each other all the time.

a cursory glance at his profile tells me that his followers call him variations of rockdad. fair!

next up: the fire goddess, miss flamecaller!

the flamecaller is the fire goddess! she's one of the oldest gods and also helped create the world! we love a girlboss!!! she seems very cool, idk my clan isn't fire affiliated. i'm sure she's done some atrocities though because like all the gods have.

idk what her followers call her but i think. well. firemom is good.

next up: the wind god, the windsinger!

hello noodledad. anyway the windsinger is pretty dope! he's all about adventure and learning new things and exploring and making the most out of life! he's also another one of the oldest gods who helped create the world. from what i gather he's not that interested in the petty disagreements between the other gods and just wants to have fun.

next up; the water god, mr tidelord!

so this is the only part of the lore i'm up to date on lmao and that is that the tidelord's fucking missing??? or dead???? what the fuck. anyway he's cool. he lives in the ocean and he has visions all the time and goes "yikes" and i love him. unfortunately i think someone killed him. sorry, water dad.

next up: MY MOM MY MOM MY MOM- the shadow goddess, the shadowbinder!

so i originally picked shadowmom because i liked her design the most, and that still stands. i love her. she is so goopy. those are liquid shadows dripping out of her body and i love her so much. shadowmom's philosophy is that sometimes secrets should stay secret and knowledge can hurt. which uhhh y'know isn't actually something i really agree with but it's okay she's fine-

shadow mom is a younger goddess, but she's still comparatively old as fuck compared to the newest ones.

also she calls her followers her children and i'm 🥺🥺 ily shadowmomma

next up: a bitch! the ice god, the icewarden!

he's a cop! or something! that's kind of a reduction but this bitch made all the prisons in this world and is all "ohhhh i am holding so many horrors away from killing the world" and then in the same breath makes fun of my favorite dragon breeds. i hope he chokes /lh

i do love his design, i just think he's a little hater and deserves to be bullied mercilessly.

i will not call this beast father.

aaand next up: the capitalist, the lightning god, the stormcatcher!

so the stormcatcher is the only god that players don't refer to as dad! i think that's neat. no, he's The Boss. he treats his followers like his employees, for better or for worse. he is all about PRODUCTIVITY and INDUSTRIALISM and i wanna push him into a locker- i'm kidding.

he's cool, i like his design a lot.

aaand next up, the worst of the bunch (/lh), the light goddess, the lightweaver!

so as a loyal son of shadowmom, i have to bully this motherfucker. lightweaver is a punk-ass glittery hoe who creates fucked up zombies and then goes "ahaha not my problem lol." fuck you.

(this is a joke, i actually think she's super cool and has a fun design and interesting lore, but i'm a good son to shadowmom ok-)

i call her glitterbitch <3

next up: the nature goddess, the gladekeeper!

the gladekeeper is one of the youngest deities, and i think she's super fucking cool. she's all about survival and perseverance, and she's spent millennia warring with her sister, the plague goddess. she was created in the wake of an apocalypse and has been focusing on repairing the world. i love u beardmom even if ur not my mom.

and next up: her sister, the plague goddess, the zombie plaguebringer!

so, looking at plaguebringer, you may think she's evil. but she's really not. her whole deal is that she also wants to repair the world, but she has a very different philosophy on how to do that. the plaguebringer believes only the strongest can survive, and that strength and resilience must be cultivated for the world not to fall again.

she is so fucking cool and i love her <33333 also her followers make the funniest memes, don't @ me.

and finally, my actual favorite aside from shadowmom: the arcanist! the arcane god!

so the arcanist is the youngest god and also the smallest, but he's bigger than every single mortal dragon breed lmao. he's caused he apocalypse three separate times and i'm fucking obsessed with him. spacedad <33333

he was born in a nuclear reactor (long story) and i highkey headcanon that his magic is just pure radiation.

he's my favorite and i have an oc i ship with him because i'm attached to him a completely normal amount (lying)

[thekoopalingsandstuffs]

Spewart, how long have you been trans, if you don't mind me asking?

Spewart: "Um... that's a complicated question. It was a slow transition that lasted multiple years, and went by in stages. Uh... how do I explain it..."

"Well, it all started when I was around six or seven. We were in the foster care system for quite a while. At the time, we had just moved into a home, which had, of course, the four of us bunnies, and three boys the parents already adopted. Since Hariet and I were the only two girls, when we all played together, we pretended to be boys. Like... playing pretend. It was just a joke we had. But even when we moved out of that foster home, I still liked pretending to be "one of the boys." Whenever we played games or anything, I would have everyone call me Stewart. It became somewhat of a nick-name for me. Hariet didn't use her boy name much after we left that foster home, though..."

Hariet: "My nick-name was Fernando!" *Snickers*

Spewart: "Every time us kids would play any game together, I would use the name. Every. Single. Time. Even if it was just tag or something. One night, when I was maybe nine years old, I got an idea. I... never told anyone, because it sounded ridiculous, and I wasn't sure how to explain it... but I thought about it a lot. Then one night, I stayed up late with my foster parents, watching an adult TV show; I don't remember exactly what it was... but that night, I learned a new word. "Transgender.""

"Once I knew the word, I began doing some research in my free time. I still didn't tell anyone... but I had continued thinking about it for years. I...... I knew that this was what I wanted. Soon, we moved to a different foster home, which was on Yoshi's Island. Eventually, I built up my courage, gathered my family, and I told them. I wanted to be male. It was one of the most... tricky and nerve-racking things to explain in my life... but thankfully, my siblings were completely supportive of me, and my foster parents were perfectly fine with that! So-"

Topper: "-Something you should know about Yoshi's Island! It has a very low population, very low amounts of authorities, and VERY low legal ages for stuff, if any at all. A ton of kids will go there to "legally" do dumb stuff. Legal drinking age? 13. Age to drive? 9. Age of consent? 11. Age to buy tobacco products? There is none! Age to-"

Rango: "AS SPEWART WAS SAYING!!!"

Topper: "Oh, right, sorry to interrupt!"

Spewart: "It's okay! Um... Topper is right. Very low legal ages. The minimum age to get surgeries, extreme medical procedures, and other stuff like that is ten. I was twelve at the time. So... a few weeks later, I got my phalloplasty done."

Hariet: "Some people might not know what that means. Can you explain it, just in case?" (:3)

Spewart: "Uhhh...... I got my genital surgery done......" *Flustered*

Hariet: "Okay, perfect, carry on!!"

Spewart: "Um... anyways... just one year after my... ahem... surgery... we moved out of that foster family, and came into our current home, with our aunt, Madame Broode. I was very nervous seeing her again, since the last time I saw her was WAY before any of my surgeries n' stuff. But luckily, she was also super supportive and glad about it. Only two years after that, I got my top surgery done!"

Hariet: "Which means??"

Spewart: "Um... breast tissue was removed, so my chest is more flat and masculine looking. That's what the scars are from."

Rango: "Tell them how you chose your name!!!"

Spewart: "Oh yeah, um... well, when I told my past foster parents that I wanted to be male, they asked me what I wanted to be called. I thought for a long time, unsure, when Hariet suggested my nick-name from when I was a child! Stewart! So that's what I was called for a couple years. Then one day, I uh... accidentally vomited onto Topper, due to my CVS... and he said-"

Topper: ""We should call you 'Spewart' 'cuz you're always friggin' spewing puke everywhere!!""

Spewart: "So he called me that for the rest of the day. But... I actually kinda liked it! It has a nice ring to it... it's unique, and funny. So... I asked Hariet and Rango to call me that, too. I've been going by Spewart longer than Stewart... ha ha..."

Topper: "I can't believe I teased you, and you STOLE my idea, and made it your identity!!! Ridiculous..."

Spewart: *Snickers* "Well... that's how I became Trans! There's... not really a specific age, like I said, but more like a time period... and... even though it took a while to get like this... I'm happy with the end result!"

Hariet: "And we are, too!" *Hugs Spewart*

Topper & Rango: *Hug Spewart, as well*

Spewart: "Awww, you guys!" *Blushes*

[mayspicer]

Cayden let's gooo have a bunch of numbers: 1, 3, 6, 7, 29, 35 And for you about Cayden: D, F, G, H

Ayyy : D

I'm gonna write the questions from memory here because mobile is clunky with copying text.

For anyone interested, basic character info:

Cayden is a character I roleplay in a Pathfinder 1e game. He's a gnome, a sorcerer of the unicorn bloodline, currently level 8. I reblog art with him here, it should be in my art or Cayden or pathfinder tags on this blog.

Questions about him:

1. How long can he stay still with nothing to do?

Probably about 5 minutes, even locked in an empty cell he'll look for ways to entertain himself. He can make himself sit still and wait for something when it's needed, but there has to be some kind of reward at the end keeping him excited (sitting through a boring lecture while infiltrating a cult, staying hidden waiting for an ambush, generally being patient when patience is needed to get something that he wants).

3. How does he put himself to sleep?

Depends if adventuring or not, because he ideally likes to put himself to sleep with someone else sharing his bed after a good time and that's probably how his evenings look whenever possible. When not possible, he falls asleep fast, sorcerers need their beauty sleep. Before falling asleep he mostly thinks about whatever topic is the most relevant at the moment, or about friends and family, stuff like that.

6. Does he see laws as flexible or immovable?

Definitely flexible. He understands why they exist and agrees they are needed, some of them at least, but treats them mostly as guidelines and believes that there shouldn't be consequences when the reason to break them is good enough.

7. Is he nostalgic? How is the nostalgia triggered? Is it a positive feeling?

He's very nostalgic (such a self insert trait lol) and gains satisfaction from feeling nostalgia. He collects experiences in a way and looks back at them emotionally as achievements in a way. Maybe nostalgia is not a good word, I use it interchangeably with "sentiment" and I probably shouldn't. Anyway true nostalgia is triggered for him by familiar food, sheep cheese for example and mountainous landscapes and air. It's comforting for him but he doesn't want to go back to the past, he lives mostly in the moment.

29. Does he live up to his standards?

Uhhh that's a hard one... But I think mostly yeah? He does what he can and he knows that.

35. How does he react to someone coming to him excited about something?

He easily gets excited and is supportive as a character but in roleplay it's been hard sometimes. On one hand he's a character that loves new things and experiences and on the other when a friend decided to spend all of his gold on magic chocolates with random effects (not always positive on top of that) as preparation for our expedition to the island near which Cayden almost died in the past... it was hard to be supportive in that case, even though stuff like this would normally be right up his alley.

Questions for me:

D: Did his physical appearance stay the same?

For the most part, yeah. His appearance got more streamlined in drawings over time, but I've always had pretty much the same picture in my mind. I adjusted some minor details at the very beginning that just didn't work well and he got much slimmer but that's mostly due to me figuring out gnome anatomy.

F: What do I feel when thinking about him?

I feel some kind of longing. I want to have what he has, be a magic guy travelling where he wants, living life to the fullest, enjoying the social aspect of it as well as various challenges. There's some (a lot of) gender envy in there also xd

G: What trait of his bother me the most?

I'm gonna approach this from two angles. As a person what would bother me in him is his tendency to get bored with people. He starts to get restless if the setting stays the same for too long. He gets attached easily, but letting go is equally easy for him. It's a big contrast to my character as I attach strongly and vaguely easily but I'm almost unable to let go of my emotional attachments to people. Even if I lost contact with them years ago, I'm regularly getting caught in a spiral of sadness even over the people who didn't treat me well. But this trait of his is not something impossible to work around. It's not like he stops liking/loving someone just because he got bored, unless there is something wrong with the other person of course. If someone is willing to follow him with his way of life, there probably is no limit for his attachment.

As for what bothers me in him as a ttrpg character that I have to roleplay. That damn charisma xD I completely lack any knowledge about how stuff like flirting is supposed to work, so I don't even know how to pretend that I know. Other social interactions also. It's really hard to roleplay a character who is supposed to be in his element in social settings, be charming, outgoing and all that stuff when I'm the least all of that kind of person possible. I often hear advice to just pretend that I am or to just say something that would be appropriate and not care about the tone, but the issue is this is all alien to me and I don't know where to even begin knowing what to pretend. I have this idea of Cayden's vibe in my mind but it's like he is my friend who I know is cool but I don't have what he has, I can't ever be spontaneous with what I say and it looks like it's a crucial skill to have.

H: What trait of his I admire?

Definitely the optimism and confidence. Also stuff I'm unable to roleplay properly, but he's supposed to improvise a lot. He's usually convinced that everything will work out in some way and it usually does. He probably could talk himself out of any trouble, but I cannot roleplay that! Aaaaa!

[hedjblogr]

so i gotta make a full ass post about my last reblog because i would be doing the situation a disservice if i posted it only in the tags.

puts my grubby little pizza hands together and takes a deep breath

so.

around 2019-2020, so pre-pandemic, i was working for a small startup business. this was through a scheme that my local council was paying for, to get people into employment and to help local small businesses. great stuff on paper! fantastic stuff even!

this business was uh. well. the guy running it was maybe not the best personality match for me when it comes to a boss, but that's something better demonstrated than plainly stated. i don't wanna say he was a bad guy because that'd be unfair, but i was not the only person who struggled with dealing with him. i won't go too much into his personality either because this isn't about making a smear piece, this is about processing my struggles with illness in the workplace.

so, yeah. i'm a chronic migraine sufferer. it varies from headache and dizziness severity to "i'm having spots in my vision, i feel like throwing up and i literally can't do anything but sit with my head in my hands and my eyes closed tight and make pathetic noises". i'm still not entirely sure what my triggers are for it, but right now i'm thinking it's linked to drastic weather changes, hydration, stress and poor sleep.

i also have moderate to severe depression and anxiety. this ebbs and flows, it always impacts me at a certain baseline but a lot of the time it's background noise. my anxiety tends to flare up more than my depression, admittedly, but hoo boy do they both hit me bad when they hit me.

these were going unmedicated at the time for various reasons.

so, by the very nature of a startup business with less than 10 employees, a lot of us had to do a lot of different kinds of work. that's fine, i'm multiskilled, i don't mind doing a variety of things. but i was definitely more of dog's body than whatever the hell i originally signed up to be, which was more of an administerial/clerical position. aight, fine, i've worked in retail, i can do sales. i'm a computer nerd, i can do social media marketing and graphics. you want me to train people? uhhh sure i guess. and learn UX? fine okay. wait you want me to learn to code as well??? i'm not getting paid enough for this.

so it was a very stressful job. very anxiety-inducing job too. i was told both that i had a lot of responsibility and i was NEEDED, and that the company would simply keep going without me and it didn't matter if i quit or was let go.

oh! fun fact by the way. remember i mentioned my local council was paying for me to be on this scheme? they were paying him. he was getting my work for free, technically. granted, i was getting paid a wage, but he was not the one paying it. yeah. it's great on paper until you consider the way things went in practice.

on one instance i recall that i had my entire evening monopolised, because unbeknownst to me i had apparently agreed to run a live training with someone who was using our product and using it during the evening hours. and i was apparently required to field phone calls from them all evening. i didn't sign up for this, i didn't get paid for these extra hours.

on another instance, i recall we got locked in the building we worked in because we stayed too long (as it was not a privately owned building, we were renting space in a public college), and i was literally in tears with panic about getting out. graciously i was given the next day off work to decompress, but i should never have been put in that situation to begin with. this was due to a bad call on my boss' part.

i'm getting a little distracted here, my apologies, but this thing happens when i start digging up old grievances and trauma that i remember tangential things and it just kind of goes from there.

but yeah. i actually discovered through this job that i suffered anxiety attacks and what they felt like, and that my anxiety was a liability, and i began to suspect through this job as well that my frequent headaches that often led to me feeling like throwing up were not in fact just regular ass headaches.

i didn't feel like i could get sick notes in this situation. i felt like my employer would turn them down or simply fire me.

oh, but you know the time i HAVE used sick notes?

universal credit. good ol' department for work and pensions. rule britannia and all that.

fuck off with that shit actually, they refused my last sick note even though it was ongoing because it listed my depression and anxiety, and they decided that i was actually entirely fine even though they told me i could work on reduced hours to still be eligible for benefits because of my health conditions, and the job search has - to no one's surprise - been making my health conditions WORSE.

(edit: i should clarify, they DID accept sick notes for a time, but eventually i needed to undergo a work capability assessment, and this is when they decided that i still had capacity for work - which i do agree with, there are things i can do! - and then proceeded to ignore the part about it being for reduced hours.)

guess who's been crying themselves to sleep more nights than not, and struggling to sleep, and having erratic schedule, due to scraping to even get an interview only to be NOT EVEN TOLD that i didn't get the job! and that's if i even get a reply back from the first application!

yeah. there's a lot of shit wrong with healthcare and a lot of shit wrong with employment right now. and as it turns out there's a lot of shit wrong with me.

i'm probably gonna delete this post after a while because i always feel bad dumping shit like this on main, especially when it feels like it's old news and i just haven't processed it because i know i'll never get closure. but sometimes i just have to let myself write, and maybe if i post it someone else will come to a realisation and it'll help them. i dunno.

[skyburialatnight]

2022 favs meme! Thanks to @take-in-time for tagging me!

I truly don't remember half the things I've done but let's see! I've changed the format because it's me and I ramble.

If you want an excuse to ramble about your fave media, I'm tagging you!

favorite books

I was really into Roopa Farooki's books this year. She's a Pakistani-British writer, and her books are about dysfunctional Pakistani families that are immigrants. I read:

-Everything is True, about her time as a doctor in the first 40 days of Covid

-The Way Things Look to Me, about three siblings whose parents have died, meaning the two older siblings need to support the youngest, and how they do (or don't) do that.

-The Good Children, about four siblings, two men and two women, who grew up with an abusive mum, and how that's impacted their lives as adults

Other shoutouts to:

-Nona the Ninth by Tamsyn Muir

-the Murderbot Diaries by Martha Wells

-the Dr Greta Helsing trilogy by Vivian Shaw, Gods of Jade and Shadow, and Mexican Gothic by Silvia Moreno-Garcia

-Waiting for Elijah by Kate Wild (this one was sad)

-The Darkness Outside Us by Eliot Schrafer (loud screaming)

-the Something is Killing the Children Graphic Novels

-Interviews with Monster Girls manga

favorite movies

I never goddamn watch movies even though I should. So here are the ones I've watched that I enjoyed:

-The Bad Guys (the animated one with another wolf man to add to the tumblr's furry roster)

-The Batman (It was so long but yeah I really liked it!)

-Uhhhhhhhh

-Thor Love and Thunder (it was mindless, not as good as Ragnarok, but I had fun)

-Rehearsal for a Murder (I watched this one cos the local community theatre is going to produce it next year and I wanted to see if any parts suited me. Alas not. But it was a good film! Also young Jeff Goldblum lmao)

favorite songs:

-This was the year of Rina Sawayama for me, especially XS, Bad Friend, Hold the Girl, and Frankenstein

-Your Love (Deja Vu) by Glass Animals

-Go Your Own Way and the Chain by Fleetwood Mac (thanks OFMD)

-The Loneliest Time by Carly Rae Jepsen (the song not the album >.>)

-Peach by Broods

-Shake It by Loona

-Music for a Sushi Restaurant by Harry Styles (again the song not the album lmao)

Also shoutout to other Top 40 songs that kept me company on my drives for work because my car was made 2008 and has no USB ports/bluetooth: About Damn Time by Lizzo, Unholy by Sam Smith and Kim Petras, Faith by Georgia Lines, Cuff It by Beyonce, Bad Habit by Steve Lacy, Late Night Talking by Harry Styles and Stay with Me by Calvin Harris

favorite shows:

-Uhhh does dimension 20 count? Well it does now. It's all I've watched.

-Also EXU: Calamity

-Also drawfee. Big year for drawfee.

-The Watcher Boys!

-And I've also gotten back into watching Dodger's streams

-Actual Shows though?? Uhhhh I've watched Spy x Family and Mob Psycho 100 and those are good

-This is a statement I'm going to put out into the world: I WILL watch succession next year, instead of just going into the tag, and watching youtube compilations

I'm adding Favourite Games because this is all I think about:

-DISCO ELYSIUM a game I have never played because I'd just get anxious but love So Much

-Persona 5, a game I have only watched a playthrough of but may One Day Play when it is less than $100 on steam

-Death's Door -it's very cute and difficult but not too hard!

-Coral Island - It's only early access but Boy it's good

-Dead Cells

-The Great Ace Attorney a game I'd like to play but am currently just watching it being streamed by Rythian

-The Case of the Golden Idol - I watched Secret Sleepover Society play it and it's So Good. It's very Obra Dinn like and that's one of my favourite games

favorite memories:

-seeing lots of plays with the acting class! especially the First Prime Time Asian Sitcom which really just drilled a hole into my brain and was like 'hey all the issues around media representation for Asian people you think about so much? lets talk about it)

-hanging out with the Coffee Crew (when I had the spoons which is not often) and laughing til I cry

-i went to the museum for my birthday and brought my family along and it went super well! We thought it would be too much for my sister cos crowds but she loved it!

-I'm a fully registered speech therapist now! I love my work, and my colleagues, in this brutal capitalist hellscape I've got one of the best jobs and workplaces ever.

-Every time I go to see a child and their face lights up because they're so happy to see me. Best part of the job!!

[luv-esabella]

U know that moment when one of ur art pieces blows up more than usual BUT THEN people scroll thru ur blog and find old art and reblogs it?? Skdjdjd

[yelenabelovasbxtch]

Panel PT. 7

Florence Pugh X Female Reader

I love how deep we are getting into this story now. So what do we think is going to happen next? By the way guys just thought I’d let you know I opened my requests for short stories and imagines! So feel free to drop some ideas!

Concept: You go to Comic-Con and attend a Florence Pugh panel. What happens after surprises you. Part 7/?

I hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 2231

Tag List: @jeyramarie @flosbelova @bridgecitybrad​ @justthis-stuff @chloe7076 @ailenepuff @wandanatvoid @3xbyrn320

“I finally have a minute in between takes and I really wanted to see you again.” She says as she walks over to you. “So are you all good in here?”

“Yeah! I just wasn’t sure if I should be shooting or not yet and didn’t want to get into any trouble so I decided to wait for you.”

“Okay no problem! When I go back out there I’ll bring you with me and show you what to shoot and what not to shoot.”

“Sweet! Sounds good, I’m looking forward to it.”

“So…” she says with a smirk on her face. “Earlier was fun.”

“Aha, yeah, it really was. And might I add, the fact that your hair is a little messier right now from doing stunts is really adding to the look. I think you might have to bring the outfit home tonight.” You say with a laugh.

“Oh really? Will I? We might have to sneak it past some security but I’m sure they won’t notice it’s missing for one night. I’ll grab one of the clean ones too aha” She says as she sits next to you on the couch slightly leaning in. “Oh wait I probably shouldn’t get too close, I kinda stink a little bit from the amount of running they have me doing. But after I shower later, I definitely would like to be much much closer to you. How about you follow me out and we can snap some pictures together?”

“Sure sounds good.”

You grab your gear and the two of you leave the trailer. Florence introduces you to some of the crew and lets them know you will be shooting and will stay out of their way. Your main goal was to just shoot Florence and man would that be easy. She is so beautiful and photogenic that taking pictures of her is no problem. Almost every picture turns out because of how amazing she looks. Your favourites of course being the ones where the cameras cut and she breaks character with a big smile. Hearing her talk in her Russian accent on set is definitely doing something to you. Something about accents is incredibly hot and maybe it’s just the fact that you associate the Russian one with her being the badass that is Yelena Belova but holy, do you wish they could wrap soon so you and Florence could have some much needed one on one time.

You continue to shoot when all of a sudden you hear some commotion on set. You look around and it’s the executive producers who are getting upset. You hear them saying something about a character dropping out at the last minute. Then all of a sudden one of them locks eyes with you.

“Hey you, yeah you with the camera, who are you and what do you do on this set?”

“Uhhh my names y/n and I shoot photos for Florence.” You reply feeling extremely nervous like you did something wrong.

“Can you act?” He replies.

“Uhhhh I have no idea?” You say with a shrug.

“We need someone to fill in for an extra in a rescue scene. Could you do it?”

“Are you sure about this?” One of the other execs says to the guy asking you questions.

“Yeah, she fits the character description so why not, worst case scenario, she’s terrible and it pushes filming back a little bit while we find a new actor.”

“Ok I guess so…” he responds.

“So? What will it be?” He says looking at you.

“Yeah sure I guess so?” You say as you’re looking around for Florence and she’s nowhere to be seen.

“Okay great, get her to costume and make up now.” He says in a rushed tone.

Two people approach you and direct you to a trailer where you get fitted for an outfit along with some makeup put on your face. As you are almost done one of the executives throws the door open,

“Hey by the way, are you okay with kissing another woman?” He asks.

“Yeah that’s fine.” You say.

Wow would you get to kiss Florence on screen? That would be exciting.

You get handed a script and you quickly read it over, you are a young woman who lives in the city and you are in a relationship with the hero. You quickly get introduced into the story because someone kidnapped you as collateral. The scene starts with you in a chair with a bag over your head. The bag gets ripped off your head and you see Hailee and Jeremy standing in front of you with concerned faces. Then all of a sudden you hear a voice behind you explaining how your life is at risk if they don’t cooperate. That voice was extremely familiar…oh my god. Florence is the one who kidnapped you which must mean that-

oh boy.

Florence couldn’t see your face, only the back of your head so I don’t think she even knew it was you. Jeremy and Hailee charge Florence and they start this amazingly choreographed fight scene. Towards the end, Jeremy is able to pin down Florence for just enough time to allow Hailee to untie you. You’re untied, she pulls you up and kisses you followed by saying “run”. You nod and start running past Florence and Jeremy when all of a sudden you hear “CUT”.

“Florence what happened? You stopped mid fight. We were so close to getting the whole take.”

You look at her and she’s staring right at you with a sad look behind her eyes.

“Uh, nothing sorry. I think I got some dirt kicked up into my eye and I didn‘t want to slip up because I couldn’t see.” She replies.

“Okay let’s take five, clean out your eyes and we will meet back here. By the way, extra, good job.” He says while looking at you.

You start to walk towards Florence and she walks away from you. You stop dead in your tracks feeling upset and confused. It’s not your fault right? It was just acting, it's not like it meant anything.

After a couple more takes you guys wrap for the night. You head back to Florence’s trailer where she sits looking drained and upset.

“Hey Flor-” you get cut off.

“Y/n I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry? I clearly upset you.”

“No, I'm sorry. I didn’t mean to over react when we were filming. I just didn’t expect to see you there and I also definitely didn’t expect to see you kissing one of my co stars. It just took me by surprise, that's all. I guess I was just a little jealous.”

“Oh Florence, you don’t need to apologize. I’m sorry that you had to go through that. I am not going to lie, I thought that I may have been paired with you. Not Hailee. That’s why I took the job.”

She laughs a little. “Well you did a really good job considering you’re not an actor.”

“Well, on the bright side of all of this, now we can go home together and spend the night or well, day because the sun's starting to come up. But we can drink tea, relax, I’ll even cuddle you a bit.”

“That sounds amazing.” She says with a smile and her eyes ever so slightly watery.

Right when she was about to hug you, you hear a knock on the door.

She gets up to open the door and all of a sudden you hear…

“Hey babes! I thought I’d come and surprise you on set.”

As Florence is handed a bouquet of flowers you see Zach step into her trailer. Your heart sinks a little.

“Zach! Hello love!” She says as she is hugging him and looking at you while she does. “This is y/n! She is my personal photographer and is now working on the show too!”

“Hi y/n nice to meet you.” He says as he smiles and sticks his hand out for you to shake.

“So umm do you wanna go grab a meal? I’d love to sit and chat with you for a bit. I’ve missed you like crazy.” He says to Florence.

“Oh uhhhh” Florence is looking at you not sure how to answer.

“Oh don’t worry about me Flo I will just go back to the apartment and edit some pictures, maybe take a nap.”

“Oh okay great! Yes Zach I’d love to. Could I just get changed and cleaned up a bit then I’ll meet you out front?” She says.

“Yeah for sure no problem. I’ll see you in a bit” he says with a kiss on the cheek as he walks out the door.

Florence closes the door and turns to you. “I am so sorry.”

“Florence it’s no problem seriously. You’re in a relationship and I probably should have respected that more before anything happened between us.”

She looks like she’s at a loss for words. “Y/n I really didn’t mean for this to happen.” She can tell that you are pretty upset based on your facial expressions and body language. “I have to go but I promise we will talk more when I get home okay?”

“Yeah that’s fine.” You say while looking down at your feet.

Florence frowns and pulls you in for a really deep hug. Her arms wrapped around you with the right amount of pressure and it made you feel slightly relieved that she is still this close to you. She pulls away and rests her forehead on yours.

“I’ll see you soon. I promise.”

She walks out the door and you start to pack up your things and head out. You arrive back at the apartment and feel just utterly exhausted so you decide to shower and then lie down for a bit. You fall asleep and wake up about 3-4 hours later. It’s around noon and you wake up to make some tea. The apartment is quiet. Florence’s bed is still made and nothing has changed so she must still be out with Zach. Once you make your tea you sit down at your laptop to edit the photos you took. You can’t help but smile at all of the pictures of Florence smiling or even the ones where she’s angry and what’s you to take her seriously. She just looks too adorable when she’s angry.

You’re editing your pictures sitting at the kitchen table when all of a sudden you hear the door open. You look up and smile to see that Florence is alone.

“Hey, did you and Zach have a good time?”

“Yeah we did. We just went for coffee and some pastries. Had some good chats and got to catch up.”

“That’s good, look Florence, I think we should talk. I don’t know if I’m comfortable doing what we are doing while Zach is still here. I feel bad, I feel like I’m pressuring you into doing something that you shouldn’t be because you’re with him.”

“I broke up with him.” She says with a sad face as she’s looking down at her feet.”

“Oh- you, you broke up with him?”

“Uhh yeah, I just told him I felt like I had grown apart from the relationship and that it wasn’t fair to him for me to continue.”

“Oh. Oh Florence, are you okay?”

“Yeah honestly, I’m okay. I just feel like a weight has been lifted, that's all. Anyways, enough about me, how're your pictures going?” She says as she points at your laptop screen.

You can tell that she is just trying to change the subject because she is sad.

“The pictures are going great but Florence I don’t want to disregard your feel-”

She cuts you off. “Y/n please don’t worry about me. I did it for a reason. I want to be with you and you were right, I shouldn’t have done what I did with you before stopping what I had with Zach.” She says as she rests one of her hands on your leg.

“Okay.” You with a slight smile as you lean in to give her a hug. “You must be tired. Did you want to lay down for a bit and we can talk more later?”

“Yeah, that would be really great actually.” She says as she gets up walks towards her room.

You go back to editing your photos.

“Well hello?”

“What?” You say as you look up at her.

“Are you coming?” She replies in a sassy and adorable tone.

You smile and close your laptop as you get up and follow her to her room. Florence changes into some comfortable clothing and gets into bed. You follow close behind her and you wrap your arms around her as she lays her head on your chest. You give her a kiss on the top of her head and the two of you fall asleep.

— End of Pt. 7 —

[sunflowervolvimp3]

you’re someone i just want around: X

I will not ask you where you came from,

I will not ask and neither should you.

Honey, just put your sweet lips on my lips,

We should just kiss like real people do.

Like Real People Do, Hozier

A/N: okay i know i say this every time but genuinely THIS IS MY FAVOURITE PART SO FAR!!!!! and my lil section of this story has come to an end!!! act one is done!!! and the beginning of act two aka part 11 will be coming on andrea’s blog!!!!! thank u guys so so much for all the love and support you’ve given us!!!! we truly cannot believe you guys have been so receptive and we love you all so so much 🦋 as always any and all feedback is deeply appreciated not just by andrea and I but by all content creators!!! seriously we do all of this for free while going to school and working full time and those little messages make our days so much better!!! so do reblogs!!! you should reblog the content you like!!!! leave a lil message in the tags!!! shoot us a message!! anything is truly madly deeply™️ appreciated 💌 thank you all once again for your support!!!! pls enjoy 🦋

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

word count: 37.9k

content/warnings: harry ignoring “bros before hoes” part 45684957, “FUCK FLORIDA!!! ALL MY HOMIES HATE FLORIDA!!!” - xander, fight scene (rap), jefferson x hamilton (friends to lovers), road head ahead?? uhhh yeah, i sure hope so!!!, MUSI 1113: history of classical music, prof. harry styles, sherlock and watson solve the biggest mystery yet, *edward cullen voice* and so the mosquito fell in love with the butterfly

“Are you going to stare at your phone all day, like a bloody tool, or are you actually going to join the conversation?”

Despite the baited question, Harry keeps his gaze on his device as he flicks through his notifications, opening one app after the other in quick repetition before closing the screen. “That depends.  Are you actually going to say something interesting?”

From the other side of his couch, Niall flicks up his middle finger with ease, his expression sour and unimpressed. “We are saying something interesting, you prick.  I want to get out of town next weekend, but no one—” The Irishman shoots a pointed look to Xander, who’s leaning across the kitchen island with an unbothered expression. “—can agree on where to go.”

“It’s not that I can’t agree, Niall. It’s that your ideas are stupid.” Xander shoots back in an exasperated tone, raising his Bloody Mary (with extra blood, hardly any Mary) to his scowling lips. “No one wants to go to fucking Florida.  It’s Florida.  Why the fuck would we go to Florida?”

“Because I’ve been alive for two hundred years—”

Adam clicks his tongue from the lounge seat by the window. “I’m not sure if ‘alive’ is the best description.”

“—and I’ve never been to Disney World!  I died from a fucking famine.  Am I not entitled— nay, am I not owed—” Niall straightens his posture on the couch as he addresses the whole of the room, a determined look set in his icy blue eyes that contrasts the dulled gaze of those watching him. “A warm churro, cold Dole Whip, and a set of over-priced Mickey ears?  Huh?”

“That still doesn’t answer the question of why we’d have to go to Florida to get that!” Xander exclaims, rounding the corner of the kitchen counter with his drink in hand.  He raises the glass to his lips, pausing halfway to point towards the wall of windows that’s currently letting in the midday Sunday sun. “We could drive a half hour to Disneyland, and get you the exact same thing!”

Pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, Niall sucks in a deep breath through clenched teeth, as if he needs to calm himself down before doing something he regrets. “Xander,” He begins in a controlled voice, tight and tense and on the verge of snapping. “I suffered through starvation, fought in a world war, went through the Great Depression, and then fought in another fucking world war!  After all that, why would I settle for Disneyland, when we could easily make it to Disney World and back in three days?”

“You know…” Mitch says slowly, flopping down on the sofa between Niall and Harry, who’s already turned his attention back to his obsessive ritual of checking his notifications. “You can’t keep playing the ‘fought in a war’ card.  Harry fought in World War One, too, and I fought in the Revolutionary War.  And died in the Revolutionary War.  You do realize the majority of our group are veterans, right?”

Niall sighs in exasperation, clutching his beer in his fist to keep it from spilling as the older vampire beside him shifts on the couch. “I don’t play the ‘fought in a war’ card, Mitchell, I play the ‘fought in two wars’ card. And I think that card earns me the right to choose what we do next weekend.”

“And I think you folded those cards the moment you suggested Florida.” Wrinkling his nose, Xander finally enters the living room, and Harry risks a glance up from his phone to eye the dark-tinted liquid that laps at the edge of Xander’s glass with every step. “Why don’t we just go to Disneyland?  Or, better yet, why don’t we take a few extra days and go somewhere exciting?  I hear Greece is lovely this time of year; I wouldn’t mind trying some Mediterrean food for a week.”

“Florida is just as lovely—”

“That’s a lie, Florida is never lovely.”

“And Adam wants to go to Disney World, too!” Niall finishes triumphantly, taking a large swig of his half-empty beer before wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. “So it’s two-to-one!”

“Two-to-two, actually.” Mitch interjects, pursing his lips at the childish grimace that overtakes Niall’s previously cheery expression. “I’m not too fond of alligators, and last time I heard from Sarah, she was in Italy.  It’d be nice to have a week with her in Greece.”

Niall rolls his eyes at the sudden tie, turning his gaze past his disappointing friend to his other almost-as-disappointing friend, tone growing firmer. “Alright, then, Harry, it’s up to you.  You’re our tie-breaking vote.”

Harry, however, had spent the better part of the last two minutes scrolling through the photos he and Y/N had taken on their date the day before, and doesn’t even glance up from his screen upon registering the utterance of his name. “Hm?  The vote on what?”

The frustrated Irishman lobs his bottle of beer at Harry’s head, his pitch powerful enough that it nearly collides with its target a millisecond later.  And would have collided, if Harry’s hand hadn’t shot up on a supernatural reflex to capture it perfectly within his grasp.

Keeping his eyes locked on his phone, Harry sighs at his friend’s antics. “Watch it, Ni, I don’t want to scrub beer stains out of my couch—”

“I wouldn’t have to resort to throwing bottles at your thick head if you could get it out of your girlfriend’s arse long enough to participate in our discussion!” The blue-eyed vampire shoots daggers at him, and the lightness of his irises shifts to a dark crimson as Harry’s gaze barely flickers to him. “Oh for fuck’s sake—” Bracing himself against Mitch’s lap, Niall launches over the couch and snatches Harry’s phone from his hands, scrambling back to his seat and stuffing it down his jeans pocket before Harry can react. “You’ll get this back after we finish talking, alright?  Now, where do you want to go next weekend?  Disney World or Greece?”

Although the urge to tackle Niall and fight for his phone twinges in Harry’s mind, he forces himself to stay seated, settling for just shooting a glare across the couch.  He’s certain that Mitch wouldn’t be appreciative of him and Niall biting at each other on top of him, just as certain he is of the fact that attacking Niall won’t exactly make him look mentally stable.  

Instead, Harry merely sucks in a deep breath, setting the beer bottle on the coffee table and dragging his jeweled hand through his hair before answering evenly. “First of all, she’s not my girlfriend.  And second of all… neither.  Y/N and I have plans next weekend.”

A collective groan runs through the room the moment the phrase falls from his lips, and Harry swallows down a smirk at the reaction he receives from his friends.  Only Mitch’s face remains free of irritation, and instead sits in a neutral expression that, from his years of friendship, Harry can tell is tinged with concern.

“You have plans with her every weekend.” Xander complains, taking a sip of his Bloody Mary as he sits down next to Adam on the lounge seat, pulling Harry’s attention from the eldest immortal. “How can you sit there and say she’s not your girlfriend when you’ve been ditching us for the last, like, three and a half months to spend time with her?”

That, in all honesty, is a fair question.  Harry knows that he’s been spending more and more time with Y/N in the last few weeks at the expense of his friends, and on some level, he does feel bad about it.  Except that when he actually thinks about it, he doesn’t feel that bad in the slightest. He has no reason to, given that he spends almost every weekday with his friends, so what’s the harm in saving his weekends for someone else?  

In fact, he rather enjoys bracketing off those days just to spend them with her, alone with no one else to bother them, where they can just bask in each other’s company. So no, he really doesn’t feel bad at all.

He has the sudden realization that, on top of having the sweetest, most addicting blood he’s ever had the good fortune of tasting in the last two hundred years, Y/N is just generally fun to be around. Due to this, Harry has unintentionally continued to grow closer and closer to the human girl with every second they spend together.  She’s witty, adventurous, and always down to try something new— both in public and in the bedroom.  And in the bedroom— a smile unknowingly creeps onto Harry’s face as he recalls the dinner he’d taken her to last month, and what they’d done after. 

He also recalls the morning that had followed, in which they had eaten breakfast on his couch together in nothing but their underwear, their bodies tangled against the sofa cushions as Y/N had fed him bites of French toast while he showed her the extensive collection of Polaroid pictures he’d taken the previous night before.  He vividly remembers the way she had squirmed at the images of her with her legs spread open for him, of her bare chest heaving and her back arching, and of the wetness dripping down her thighs and staining the sheets. And he especially remembers the way she’d hid her face away in his neck at the snapshot of his hand wrapped around her throat, as well as the picture of her suckling eagerly at his thumb while his array of rings had glinted under the flash of the camera. 

It had been so cute watching her eyes brim over with shyness, especially because she had been more than happy to shed her inherent timidness the night prior. He’d teased her about it, of course. How could he not? He’d laid there as she rested between his legs, pointing out every welt and bruise prominent on the photos, and then skimming his icy fingers over her actual body to find them. It had been a very intimate moment, given that they were reflecting on more than just the physical aspects of what they’d shared. It feels like their entire dynamic had shifted slightly, all due to the fact that the roughness and aftercare that had occurred between them were actions that required immense amounts of trust and communication. Harry felt closer to her in a way he hadn’t before, and if the softness behind Y/N’s eyes was any indication, she felt the exact same way. 

Their connection felt different now— purer, in a way, now that they’d seen one another in such an exposed fashion, but it still managed to stay within the boundaries Harry was intent on upholding. She’d given him a type of relief he hadn’t realized he’d missed so much, considering he hadn’t indulged in anything of that caliber in years due to certain doubts about his self-control. But somehow, he had managed to keep his supernatural strength and impulses at bay the whole way through, and he’d kept her safe and satisfied, as he promised he would. In return, she’d made him feel more in tune with himself than he had in a while. 

With all of those thoughts filtering through the vampire’s mind during their morning cuddle session, he had ducked down and kissed at the tip of her warm nose, sighing blissfully when she had returned the gesture onto the curve of his chin. Then, he’d begun pinching playfully at her sides, not being able to resist the urge to make her smile. He had burst into laughter when she herself had erupted into spontaneous giggles, thrashing against him while squeaking curses between gasps of his name, pleading with him to cut it out or she’d wind up falling off the sofa. It had been a wholesome pastime, up until he’d ended up sucking maple syrup off her fingers with that signature devious twinkle in his half-lidded eyes, and then she herself had ended up licking that same syrup off his abdomen. That had led to him tonguing it off the swell of her breasts, and then she had wound up lapping at something much more interesting than his stomach.

It’s only natural, though, considering that in the bedroom, Y/N is a refreshingly unstoppable force.  She matches his every push, pull, and thrust with ease, as if she knows his body by heart.  Maybe she does, Harry muses, considering that he undisputedly knows hers from every angle, like the stanzas of his favorite poem. And between all those things, is it really his fault he wants to spend as much time with her as he can?  Keeping her happy and content had worked well to sweeten her blood for him thus far, so why should he change his game plan now, when he’s so clearly in the lead?

Last weekend, for example, he and Y/N had driven the scenic route out to Malibu, where they spent the entire day lounging on beach towels and frolicking in the waves.  He’d enjoyed seeing her with saltwater hair, her soft skin encrusted with sand and warmed by the sun, almost as much as he’d enjoyed fiddling with the strings of her bikini and coating her body in sunscreen, because “protection from UV rays is a top priority, love.  Trust me.”  They’d packed a picnic lunch for themselves that consisted of homemade sandwiches, chips and salsa, and fruit skewers, which Y/N had hand-fed to Harry after she’d convinced him to let her bury him in the sand.  It had been irritating to shower the grit out from some unsavoury places, but worth it to see the smile on her face and hear her infectious giggles as she molded a sizable pair of sandcastle breasts onto his chest.  And doubly worth it after he took her home and fed on her sea-tinged blood.

Yesterday, as well, had been an example of how well Harry is doing with this arrangement the two of them have.  He’d picked her up in the early afternoon and taken her to the Museum of Contemporary Art, where they’d spent the rest of the day wandering the exhibits and debating the artistic merits of each piece.  Of course, their discussions were less educated and more humour based, as Harry tended to list every painting as reminding him of sex, while Y/N said that every sculpture she saw was a comment on capitalism, but it had made them laugh nonetheless.  And while the security guards standing by didn’t seem to think their overheard conversations were amusing— nor how they posed with the paintings, trying to mimic the various expressions depicted in the artwork— Harry could tell that Y/N was entertained. It was obvious in how sugary her blood had been after she’d fallen asleep hours later. And if Harry were a better artist, he would’ve created his own sculpture dedicated to the honey and lavender liquid that he’d become so tied to over these last few months, but it appears his position as a collector is what he was suited for— both for literal artwork and the metaphorical pieces he’d paint on Y/N’s body with his lips. 

It’s with all these events in mind that he turns to Xander casually as the man’s question echoes in his head once more. “How can you say she’s not your girlfriend?”

A clear and concise explanation slips from Harry’s tongue without a second thought. “I can say she’s not my girlfriend because it’s true.” Harry slicks a hand through his tousled curls again out of habit, so used to busying his fingers with fiddling on his phone that he has to find some sort of substitute. “Keeping her satisfied keeps her— and her blood— around.  And, yes, she’s a sweet girl, and a nice break from you lot—” He nods towards Niall specifically with a jerking motion and a raised brow. “But there…” He just barely hesitates before spitting the words out. “There aren’t any actual feelings there.”

“Oh really?” Niall challenges, his own brow kinking as he shifts on the couch, turning his body completely to face Harry at the expense of Mitch’s personal space. “So all those times I’ve heard the two of you shagging— all those times you’ve called her ‘a dream’ or ‘perfect’— there were no feelings in that?”

Xander wolf whistles at the comment as Adam barks out a laugh, and even Mitch allows himself a reserved smirk at the mention of Harry’s bedroom talk.  Harry, on the other hand, straightens his shoulders as a flush works up his spine and onto his cheeks, and instead commands his tone to be as cutting as possible when he forms his reply.

“I don’t think Y/N would be very appreciative to know you’re eavesdropping on us fucking like some type of perverted creep, so you might want to invest in a better pair of plugs before I rip your ears off and solve the problem myself.” Harry threatens lowly, eyes flashing bright red for just a moment before reverting back to their natural emerald hue. “And you can take what I say mid-fuck as a ready-made script, mate, since you have no clue how to sweet-talk a bird into making her cum.”

Niall’s hands reach up to cup his ears protectively due to the other monster’s violent warning, his brows furrowing into a pointed scowl. “Eat shit. It’s not like I have a choice but to listen, given that you two nearly bring the building down while—”

“You know,” Xander chimes in from the lounge seat, his voice taking on an accusatory tone as his eyes narrow at Harry. “I thought a constant supply of blood would mellow you out, but if anything, you’ve grown a bit more irritable.  Does this arrangement have an expiration date?”

“Xander…” Mitch begins, caution written into his quiet voice as his eyes flit from Harry to Xander and back again. “That’s not—”

Harry sharpens his voice into a blade as he slashes over Mitch, jaw growing taut as he spits out his retort. “I know a relationship lasting more than one night is a bit of a foreign concept to you, so I wouldn’t expect you to understand, but I really don’t think that’s any of your fucking business.”

“So you fuck the same person for a couple of months, and suddenly you’re a relationship expert?” Xander inquires with a humorless huff, his tone just as bitter as his eyes as he glares at Harry from across the room. “As if you haven’t had commitment issues since the nineteenth century?” Raising his drink to his lips, Xander takes a slow and calculated swig as Adam shifts in discomfort next to him, his eyes meeting Mitch’s with a nervous glance. “At least I can call shit what it is, while you just delude yourself for weeks on end, pretending that anything good can come out of your attachment to an insignificant human—”

“If I were you,” Harry says through gritted teeth, his fingers curling over the edge of his couch to hold himself in place. “I’d choose your next words very carefully, Xanny.”

“Or what?  Are you gonna dig into your Fifty Shades chest and spank me?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?  What, are you just upset you never got the full treatment?”

A hot flush crawls up Xander’s neck as his jaw clenches. “I never said I wanted it.”

“The jealousy written all over your face suggests otherwise.” 

“Alright!” Adam’s voice barks, swiftly slicing through the tension in the air, his eyes glowing crimson as he commands everyone’s attention from the two quarrelling vampires back onto himself. “That’s enough.  You’re both being ridiculous. Harry, you can’t be upset with us for trying to understand what you’re doing, mate.  We’re just curious, that’s all.  But Xander—” The youngest vampire’s snickering is cut off when his name is called sternly. “That doesn’t give you the right to ridicule him for it.  Harry knows what he’s doing— he’s a full-grown adult— and he wouldn’t do anything that would put himself, or any of us, into any sort of jeopardy.” With a long sigh, Adam’s gaze slides over the two creatures with a look of parental finality. “Are we good?”

Despite the annoyance still woven around each of Harry’s limbs, he forces himself to nod as he settles back into his couch, inhaling a deep breath through his nose.  Beside him, Mitch nudges the back of his hand against Harry’s arm, as if in encouragement, and the motion reminds him just exactly who it is that he’s talking to.  These are his friends— of course they have concerns about him.  Although they might voice those concerns in unusual ways (like sticking their noses into his intimate life), the meaning behind their words comes from a place of affection.

“Alright.” Adam says again, relief flooding across his face as he turns his attention to the rest of the room. “Now, we still need to decide what we’re doing next weekend.  Personally, I think a three day trip to Disney World would be a lot easier than Greece; I say we save that for next month, so we have more time to plan it and actually make the trip worthwhile.”

Xander, still a little irritated from his confrontation with Harry, huffs in response. “That’s all well and good, Adam, except you forgot that I refuse to step foot in that humid swamp-fest. Makes my face break out and my curls frizz up.”

“Jesus Christ, Xander.” Niall groans from the opposite end of the couch, pinching the bridge of his nose like before, nudging his large squared glasses up as he does so. “Can you just get that stick out of your arse long enough to—”

Whatever Niall is about to suggest Xander do seems to disappear from his mind as the Irishman suddenly cuts off his speech, his ears perking up as Harry’s phone begins to chime from his back pocket.  Although the sound is muffled from both the cushion and Niall’s trousers, the distinguishable opening motive of “Alexander Hamilton” playing can be heard by everyone, and it only takes one loop of Y/N’s signature ringtone for Harry to launch himself over the couch with his arms outstretched.

“Hey!” Mitch exclaims loudly, pressing himself into the cushions as Harry’s body writhes against his lap in his effort to extract the phone from Niall’s pants. “Jesus, watch your fucking feet!  You’re like Gumby!”

Harry, however, is only paying attention to Niall, who is fending off his attempts at snatching the device with one hand while holding the phone over the edge of the couch with the other. “Give it!” He snarls, eyes shading red as he watches an immature simper grow onto Niall’s face, his thumb poising over the answer button. “Don’t you fucking dare—”

“Shh!” Niall hisses at him, but his voice is lit with delight as he clicks on the green phone icon and raises the device to his ear, lowering his voice into a relaxed drawl. “Hi there, you’ve reached the Styles residence! Para español, por favor oprima el número uno. This is Niall speaking, what can I help you with today?”

“Oh—” Even through the tiny speaker, Harry’s highly tuned ears have no trouble picking out the gentle cadence of Y/N’s voice. “Hi, Niall!  It’s Y/N.”

“Y/N!” The younger immortal grins at Harry as he dodges his attempt at swiping for the device, setting his palm between Harry’s eyes and shoving him back roughly as he clambers up off the couch. He dashes across the living room to hide behind the lounge seat, sticking out his tongue and wagging it at his very peeved friend. “Lovely to hear your voice, darlin’!  How are you doing on this lovely Sunday afternoon?”

“I’m alright, thanks.” Harry hears her response as he pounces off the sofa, barreling across the room to chase after Niall. The shorter man is stealthy, and manages to duck and weave past Harry without a single issue, escaping under his left arm. He scrambles towards the glass stairs, holding back giggles as his opponent circles around the furniture to go after him, unhinged aggravation written all over his handsome features. “How are you?”

“Oh, I’m just delightful.” Niall laughs airily, taking a sharp turn away from the staircase to confuse Harry’s impulses, snatching a throw pillow off the nearest couch and aiming it at the brunette’s head.  Like the beer bottle, Harry catches it easily, throwing it back at Niall’s stomach with a harder hand. Niall avoids it by a hair. “What can I do for you?”

“Uh, I just wanted to talk to Harry— I had a question for him.  But if he’s busy…”

“Yeah, he’s a little indisposed at the moment, I’m afraid.” Niall races into the kitchen, bracing himself against the marble island with that shit-eating grin still on his face, shuffling erratically from side to side to sike out the other creature across from him. “But I’d be happy to take a message from such a gorgeous girl as yourself.”

“Oh, um, that’s very kind of you—”

Harry rounds the corner of the marble island with a growl, snatching his phone from one hand and smacking Niall upside the head with the other. “Bloody prick.” He hisses over the other vampire’s snickers, eyes colder than his touch as he delivers another blow to Niall’s shoulder. “Fucking annoying, is what you are—”

“Niall?  Are you there?”

After heaving an exasperated sigh and sending one more glare to his friend, Harry raises his phone to his ear, doing his best to lighten the irritation in his voice. “Sorry, love. Niall just wants to be a bit of a bother today, it seems.” He sucks in a deep breath through his teeth as he turns away from the Irishman, wrapping his free arm around his middle as he leans his lower back against the island, crossing his ankles nonchalantly. He picks at a loose thread on his copper tartan trousers, voice coming out honeyed and delicate, as it always tends to get when he regards her. “Hi.”

“Hi.” He can hear the smile that spreads across Y/N’s face upon hearing from him, and the tone sends a flood of warmth through Harry’s chest. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”

“No, sweetheart, never.  I’m always free to talk to you.” Harry sends a cautious glimpse towards the living room, knowing that the four vampires sitting in his living room (Niall had slinked his way back to the couch now that his ridiculous charade had come to a close) are hanging onto his every word. “How are you?”

“Oh, I’m good, just… I had a question, but if you’re busy—”

“No, not busy at all!  I’ve just been lounging around with the boys all morning. S’nothing serious.” Harry replies a bit too excitedly, straightening the hem of his fitted red and black striped t-shirt, which had gotten mussed during his tussle with Niall. “What d’you need?

Over the phone, he can hear Y/N clear her throat delicately, and a picture of her sitting on her couch in her living room plays across the front of his eyes, her thumb wedged between her lips as she chews on her nail, as she always does when she gets nervous. “Uh, well, I was also just relaxing this morning, and I was playing on my phone, and I kinda came upon this cute little bookstore called Verbatim Books. They have a bunch of really cool used books— and records, too, which I think you’d like— and they have this really neat, like, labyrinth layout—” Harry’s lips twitch as Y/N continues to ramble, “—and I’ve been looking for a replacement copy of Wuthering Heights because I dropped mine in the bathtub, remember?  And I wanted to get a new copy of Romeo and Juliet, as well—”

“Alright, slow down, pet.  Can barely understand you when you’re going a mile a minute.” Harry chuckles boyishly, absentmindedly carding a jeweled hand through the soft curls along the nape of his neck.  Just the sound of Y/N’s innocent dialect ringing in his ear manages to somehow soothe his entire body. “You want to go to this bookstore, is that it?  Because we can.” He flicks his eyes back over to his friends, who are already rolling their own in response. “Just give me an hour or two to finish up with the guys, and I’ll come pick you up—”

“Well, the thing is…” He pictures Y/N chewing on her thumb some more, timid uncertainty pouring into her usually clear irises. “Verbatim Books is in San Diego.”

“San Diego.” Harry repeats back to her, his free hand settling against the cold marble of the island behind him as he quirks an eyebrow in mild shock. “As in the San Diego that’s a two hour drive away?  That San Diego?”

Y/N’s anxious laugh tinkles through the receiver. “Yeah, that San Diego.  But if you have plans with your friends, I completely understand.  We can go a different day.”

Worrying his bottom lip between his teeth wearingly, Harry glances at the digital clock blinking above his stovetop, reflecting back the time 12:53 P.M. “When do they close?”

“Five, I think?”

The vampire calculates the route to San Diego in his head, his sculpted brows creasing as the time frame appears in his mind. “If we left now, we’d probably get there between three and three-thirty.  Would an hour and a half be enough time for you to explore and find what you need?”

“Jesus fucking Christ, you are unbelievable,” Xander mutters from across the condo, but Harry pays him no attention other than raising a blue-lacquered middle finger to flip him off. 

“I mean, yeah, I think so, but—”

“Alright, darling, then just give me a few minutes to grab my things and kick everyone out.” Harry says firmly, pushing himself away from the counter to begin searching for his car keys. 

“No, Harry, it’s not so important that we have to go today, and I don’t want you to kick your friends out.  In fact…” Y/N’s voice becomes thoughtful as a new idea pops into her head, and she hesitates for a moment before suggesting it on the grounds of not wanting to come off as pushy. But in the end, her curiosity bests her. “Why don’t we save Verbatim for another day, and I could just come over and hang out with you and your friends?  I bought all the ingredients for this really yummy guacamole recipe I saw on Tasty the other day— we could do, like, an impromptu movie night or something.  I’ve been craving one of your margaritas all week.”

“Yeah, Harry!” Niall chimes in as Harry re-enters the living room, obviously ignoring his friend’s earlier threat against eavesdropping. “I could go for some guac and a marg— not blended, though. Tastes like shit that way.”

Harry stares at him in disgust as he snatches his keys from the coffee table. “You’re a fucking twat.” 

“What?”

“Oh— not you, babe!” Harry hurries to reassure her as Niall cackles in taunting satisfaction. “Sorry, I was talking to Niall.  No, it’s… it’s alright.  You want to go to this bookstore, and the boys were on their way out anyways—”

“Were you on your way out?” Adam asks Xander sarcastically, and Xander raises his half-full Bloody Mary as a negative response, making a mockingly sour face in return. “Okay, I thought so.  Neither was I.”

“—so it’s all fine.  I’ll leave in a few minutes, yeah?  Probably be at your place within fifteen?” Harry checks the time on his Rolex as he estimates his arrival. “Does that sound good?”

“I— sure.  Yeah, that works.” Y/N says slowly, her voice a little softer than it was a moment before. “I’ll see you when you get here, then.”

“Alright, doll.  See you soon.” Harry hangs up his phone with a tap of his finger, sliding the device into his back pocket as he turns to face his friends. “So that was Y/N—”

“Oh, really? I had no clue!” Xander deadpans, rising from the lounge seat and setting his condensation-covered glass on the coffee table, deliberately avoiding the coaster Harry always insists should be used. “See you later, Harry.”

Adam matches the motion, a smirk jolting across his scruffy cheeks as he stands from his seat and claps Harry over the shoulder as he passes by. “Have a nice drive, man.  We’ll do a movie night with Y/N another time.”

The promise plants a seed of unease inside Harry’s stomach, but he doesn’t allow it to show on his face, choosing to smile easily at Adam’s innocent comment instead. “Yeah.  Another time.”

“Yeah, have a nice drive, H.” Niall mutters as he passes him, his face set in a petty surrendered frown. “A nice, long drive.  Preferably off a very short cliff.”

“I would, Ni, but you’d miss me too much.” Harry grins at him jokingly, bumping the vampire’s shoulder with his own until his irritated expression softens into a slightly less irritated smile. 

It’s Mitch, however, who makes Harry pause the most as he goes to leave. He halts in the doorway of Harry’s flat with a somber look in his eyes, appraising his younger friend with a curious gaze, which settles into trepidation as he sighs reluctantly. “You okay, H?” He prods gently, the question heavy as it falls from his mouth.

While Adam’s words were lighthearted and Mitch’s are anything but, they still leave the same feeling of uncertainty curling through Harry’s belly.  And, like Adam’s words, Harry plasters the same reassuring smile across his features, doing his best to dampen his best friend’s concern. “‘M peachy keen, Mitchell.  Don’t need to worry about me.”

“Are you sure?”

Harry only hesitates for a split second before urging himself to respond. “AB positive.” 

///

If Y/N doesn’t say something to him, Harry is going to go absolutely insane.

It’s not that they haven’t had silence fall between them before, because they have.  They’ve had comfortable silences as they lay in bed at night, Y/N wrapped within Harry’s inked arms as her breaths align with his.  They’ve had quiet lapses in conversation during their usual breakfasts as they watch reruns of Y/N’s favorite crime show, or as they’ve wandered up and down the Santa Monica pier, or walked to and from casual dinners on warmer nights. Despite the lack of words flowing between them, Harry would always know what Y/N was thinking as he slipped his light denim jacket over her bare shoulders, capturing her hand within his own once more as he pulled her to the inside of the sidewalk so he could walk closer to the traffic.  Silence is nothing new to them, and has even been the host of some of Harry’s favourite moments between the two, given that being able to hold a comfortable pause with someone is such a beautifully rare occurrence. Silence has typically been his friend.

But the silences that linger in their past have never felt quite like this.

From the moment Harry pulled out of Y/N’s apartment building parking lot and into the busy traffic of L.A., the mortal girl had grown quiet, and seemingly immune to Harry’s inquiries about how her day had been since he’d dropped her off at her apartment the night before.  Although she first answered him with short snippets— no more than a few words long— by the time he’d peeled them out of the hustle and bustle of the city and onto the highway towards San Diego, even those answers had come to a faltering halt.  Instead, Y/N had propped her chin up on her hand, rested her elbow on the ledge of the car door, and turned her pensive gaze at the scenery whizzing by the window, which she watched with a contemplative crease between her brows.

And the infuriating thing is that he’d asked if something was bothering Y/N the moment she’d begun to clam up, and his question had only received a small jerk of her head and a barely audible, “No, H.  I’m fine.” No gentle caress of Harry’s hand against her leg or soft squeeze of her palm had granted Harry any more clarity on the subject.  

She’s allowed to have secrets, of course. Everyone does.  Harry himself certainly has his own fair share locked away in his chest, free from prying eyes and curious minds.  But the thing is, she hasn’t held any from him.  Any question Harry’s asked, she’s always provided an open and honest answer, even if there’s been a beat of hesitation before the words fall from her pretty lips.  But her answer today, of being fine, is so clearly the opposite of that, and her insistence on hiding it means that she doesn’t want Harry to know that she’s upset.  Which means— Harry’s hands tighten around the steering wheel as he rounds the curve of the road— that Harry’s part of the reason she’s upset.  He’s not sure how, or why, or what he’s done, but he’s done something.  Otherwise, Y/N wouldn’t be refusing to give him even a fraction of the warmth she’s usually so willing to gift him. 

Another sigh heaves from Harry’s chest as he lets one hand fall from the leather wheel onto his thigh, tracing the pattern of his plaid trousers absently.  He wants to ask again, just to see if her stubbornness has dwindled by the slightest degree.  And it easily could dwindle with just a breath of suggestion from Harry, but he refuses to do that, no matter how badly he may want to.  If Y/N is really mad at him for something, how can he convince her that she should forgive him if he’s using supernatural powers to make her admit what’s wrong.  Even more, how can he convince himself that he’s justified in earning her forgiveness?

Harry casts another concerned glance at Y/N before shifting in his seat to extract his phone from his trouser pocket.  With a quick swipe of his thumb, he unlocks it with ease, his eyes flicking from the road to the phone and back again as he opens Spotify. 

“You’re not supposed to text and drive, y’know.”

The sweet cadence of Y/N’s voice, despite its quiet tone, uplifts the corner of Harry’s lips and mills a gentle chuckle in his chest. “I’m not texting.  And I’m an excellent driver, sweetheart.” He glimpses at her from the corner of his eye before returning to his search through his playlists. “Got good reflexes.”

The human girl gives a hum of acknowledgement rather than another retort to his comment, and Harry’s newborn grin quickly melts into a frown as Y/N’s attention returns to the window.  Harry finds comfort in another sigh as he selects an album from his library, clicking the shuffle icon in the corner and tucking his phone back in his pocket. 

“Ladies and gentlemen!” Music begins to roll out from the speakers that Harry installed in his car the year before, producing a hip-hop beat and the voice of Christopher Jackson as George Washington. “You could’ve been anywhere in the world tonight, but you’re here with us in New York City.  Are you ready for a cabinet meeting?”

Harry taps his fingers to the beat against the steering wheel as he steals a sly peek at Y/N.  Although she hasn’t turned to him again, he can see her eyebrows pricking up with curiosity as to what Harry’s doing. That’s all the encouragement Harry needs.

“The issue on the table: Secretary Hamilton’s plan to assume state debt and establish a national bank.  Secretary Jefferson, you have the floor, sir.”

The vampire bites back a triumphant smirk as he turns his gaze back towards the road, feigning a lack of interest in Y/N’s response as he begins to rap along to the Hamilton score. “‘Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness’.  We fought for these ideals; we shouldn’t settle for less.  These are wise words, enterprising men quote ‘em,” He cocks his head to the side, allowing his grin to fully light up his face as he captures Y/N’s attention within his. “Don’t act surprised, you guys, ‘cause I wrote ‘em. OWWW!”

Although Y/N’s expression stays neutral, he can see a twitch in her cheek at his loud exclamation, and Harry begins to exaggerate his actions even more as he gestures towards her with twinkling emerald eyes. “But Hamilton forgets!  His plan would have the government assume state’s debts.  Now, place your bets as to who that benefits.” Harry taps his chin symbolically, feigning thought, and then points towards Y/N with dramatized realization. “The very seat of government where Hamilton sits.”

Keeping her own eyes locked on the road ahead of them, Y/N gives a quick yet defiant shake of her head, the corner of her lip raised just a fraction more than it was a moment before. “Not true!”

“Ooh, if the shoe fits, wear it.” Harry’s simper continues to grow with the warming attitude Y/N’s beginning to display, and he shakes his head in return and raises his free hand in a questioning manner as he continues to rap along. “If New York’s in debt, why should Virginia bear it?  Uh, our debts are paid, I’m afraid.” He lifts his fingers into his curls, running them through his roots and pretending to fluff the ends poshly for a haughty effect. “Don’t tax the South ‘cause we got it made in the shade.” Tapping a jeweled finger against the dashboard, Harry emphasizes the beats of his next line. “In Virginia, we plant seeds in the ground.  We create; you just wanna move our money around.  This financial plan is an outrageous demand, and it’s too many pages for any man to understand!” He pretends to flip the endless pages of an imaginary novel, and then snaps his wrist dismissively with a cocky smirk, deftly guiding the car around the curve of the road with his other hand. 

“Stand with me in the land of the free, and pray to God we never see Hamilton’s candidacy.  Look, when Britain taxed our tea, we got frisky—” Harry rolls his chest to the rhythm of the song, his dimples deepening in his cheeks as he reaches over towards Y/N and pinches at her side playfully, warmth erupting across his veins when she squeals in surprise. “Imagine what gon’ happen when you try to tax our whiskeyyyy.”

“Thank you, Secretary Jefferson.” Washington says through the speaker as Y/N smacks his hand away and purses her lips, appraising Harry with a raised brow. “Secretary Hamilton, your response.”

For a moment, Harry waits with bated breath, thinking that Y/N won’t rise to his challenge.  She’s too angry with him, for some reason he can’t fathom, and when she opens her mouth, he assumes she’s just going to tell him off for—

“Thomas, that was a real nice declaration.  Welcome to the present, we’re running a real nation.  Would you like to join us?  Or stay mellow doin’ whatever the hell it is you do in Monticello?” Y/N rolls with the music just as Harry had, his rainbow cardigan slipping from her shoulder as she gestures towards him with ridicule. “If we assume the debts the union gets a new line of credit, a financial diuretic.” She lists off each subject on her fingers, making a sour face at Harry. “How do you not get it?  If we’re aggressive and competitive, the union gets a boost—” She slaps her hand down against her thigh passionately, as if his side of the imaginary argument appalls her. “You’d rather give it a sedative?”

Harry barks out a laugh as Y/N’s expression grows more incredulous, mocking him in character as if they were really on a Broadway stage, and not his ‘67 Cadillac driving down a highway in California. 

“A civics lesson from a slaver.” She snorts, reaching across the seat and tapping her knuckles against Harry’s head with a light touch. “Hey neighbour, your debts are paid ‘cause you don’t pay for labour.” She mimics his voice, right down to the slight British tinge that had made it into his Virginian twang, throwing up her hands and shaking them in an overexaggerated motion as she quotes him. “‘We plant seeds in the South.  We create’— Yeah, keep ranting.  We know who’s really doing the planting.” 

One of Harry’s hands shoots up towards his mouth and forms a fist, which he presses against his lips in fake astonishment at her dig, joining the background vocalists in howling. “Ooooh!”

The mortal gestures towards him with renewed fervor in her eyes that barely hides the amusement lingering in her irises. “And that’s another thing, Mr. Age of Enlightenment.  Don’t lecture me about the war; you didn’t fight in it!”

Harry bites back the jesting retort of “No, but Mitch did.” that nearly rolls from his tongue.

The minimal restraint goes unnoticed by Y/N, who continues her scathing attack on Harry’s alter ego as she points over her shoulder with her thumb. “You think I’m frightened of you, man?  We almost died in the trench,” She pinches together her index finger and thumb and brings them to her mouth, and the ease at which the mimicry of a joint comes to her makes Harry wonder if she’s ever actually smoked one. “While you were off getting high with the French!  Thomas Jefferson, always hesitant with the President.  Reticent— there isn’t a plan he doesn’t jettison.  Madison, you’re mad as a hatter, son, take your medicine.  Damn, you’re in worse shape than the national debt is in!” Gesturing theatrically, Y/N lowers her voice, keeping her intensity as she points to Harry. “Sitting there useless as two shits.  Hey, turn around,” she makes a small twirling motion in the air with her forefinger, and then juts two digits upwards as if to stuff them somewhere, “bend over, I’ll show you where my shoe fits!”

Harry bursts into laughter with reckless abandon, wrapping his free hand around his stomach as he bends over the steering wheel.  Reaching towards the stereo dials, he turns down the volume, letting the rest of the track fade to background noise before turning his gaze back to Y/N. 

Just like him, the mortal girl is bent over with fits of  belly laughter, and the sound echoes around the Cadillac in the sweetest way.  Harry would take that over the Grammy-winning soundtrack any day. 

“That was good, love.  You’re a proper Broadway starlette, aren’t you?” Harry says between giggles, rubbing at his dimpled cheeks before settling his hands back on the steering wheel. “Didn’t realize you’d been holding out on me so much.”

“I wouldn’t call that holding out.” The mortal girl counters, fixing the slouching shoulder of Harry’s cardigan as she rests back into the passenger seat with a satisfied air. “You’ve heard me sing all the parts to ‘Non-Stop’ at once.”

“Well, yes, but…” Poking the inside of his cheek with his tongue, Harry shoots a cheeky grin at Y/N as he drums his fingers against the leather wheel. “This time you were actually good.”

An indignant scoff falls from Y/N’s mouth as she reaches across the car and smacks his arm.  Harry can sense that she puts a lot of her force behind it, but the action feels as forceful as a fly landing on his shoulder, and he fakes a jostling of his body as he pouts. “You can’t hit the driver!”

“Then don’t insult my Broadway-worthy performances!” She remarks, crossing her rainbow-clad arms over her chest with a defiant air. “I think I’m quite talented— ready to take over the role of Hamilton himself, even.”

The creature rubs over his arm in an attempt to feign soreness, but the simper that’s still dimpled across his face gives him away. “I’m not sure if I’d go that far, peach.  I think I’d give you a chorus role, at best.” He snickers as Y/N’s mouth drops down into a disgruntled frown. “If anyone would be playing Alexander Hamilton, it would be me.”

“Uh, I don’t fucking think so.” She shakes her head adamantly, her brows drawing together in petty disbelief. “They wouldn’t cast a fucking Red Coat in an American Revolution play.”

Harry wedges his plump lip between his teeth at the tauntingly insulting nickname as his mind flickers to Mitch once more.  He’d be amused, Harry thinks, at how this girl seems to so easily mimic the attitude of those who have known Harry for decades. 

“I can do a flawless American accent, love.” Harry’s emphasis on the consonants in his response only highlights his native tone of voice. “But that’s not why I’d be picked to be Hamilton over you. It’s because I just fit the role of the main character better.”

Y/N sputters in her seat for a moment, jaw dropping open at the assured statement. “Are you kidding?” She demands, pressing her palms flat on her thighs as she narrows her eyes. “Like, are you actually fucking kidding?”

“Not one bit.” With his voice dropped to a serious tone, Harry keeps his eyes locked on the road as he replies.

“That is the biggest load of bullshit I’ve ever heard.  I can’t believe you really—” Y/N sucks in a deep breath through her nose, as if she needs to calm and center herself in order to form a coherent answer, and her playful eyes slowly drift shut. “I grew up in a small town, dated the same guy for five years, was left behind while he went to university, where he then cheated on me, and then I moved from the town I’d never left before all the way across the country to Los Angeles, California.” Opening her eyes once more, Y/N turns her determined gaze back to Harry, collapsing her hands in front of her for emphasis. “I literally followed the ‘smalltown girl moves to big city’ trope.  There are dozens of LifeTime movies that follow the exact same plot.  If that doesn’t say ‘main character,’ I don’t know what does.”

“Mm, I’ll tell you what does.” Harry counters, wagging a ringed finger at the human girl while keeping the rest wrapped securely around the steering wheel. “‘Following the life of a handsome, rich British bachelor with a mysterious past, a great fashion sense, and who happens to be very well endowed.’”

“Oh, please. That says ‘one of two love interests from a Hallmark Christmas movie,’ at best.”

The vampire gasps with faux offense, clutching a hand to his dormant chest as he flickers his eyes to the scoffing girl. “A love interest?  You think that’s all I’m entitled to?” He asks, brow furrowed as he clicks his tongue. “Did you miss the part where I said I had a mysterious past and a huge dick?  Girls would foam at the mouth for me.”

“No, believe me, I know all about those two things.” Y/N snorts, brushing back a loose strand from her eyes before she rolls them. “Unfortunately for you, those are all key characteristics of a protagonist’s love interest.”

A smug smirk overtakes Harry’s face as he flicks on his turn signal, glancing over his shoulder before passing a car that has been going a bit too slow for his liking. “Huh.  Well, I suppose as long as you know that I have those key characteristics— particularly that last one— then I guess I’ll settle. S’the most important of them all, I think.”

He expects his joke to receive a rolling laugh from the human girl, or a noise of acknowledgement at the very least, but all that echoes from her is an empty hum from the back of her throat.  When Harry glimpses her way again, he finds that she’s resumed her previous expression of quiet contemplation, brow creased in thought as she chews on her bottom lip. Concern begins to weigh heavy in Harry’s chest once more.

“Speaking of mysteries, though…” She fiddles with her fingers, twisting one of her rings around a digit the same way Harry does when he’s anxious, and if he were in a better frame of mind, he might take pleasure in the fact that she’s picked up one of his mannerisms. “There is something I’ve been wondering.  About you, I mean.”

From her closed off body language and sudden shift in mood, Harry knows that this has something to do with the guarded and upset expression she’d had when he’d first picked her up.  And, from her lead in, he knows that his assumptions were right: her unsettled demeanor has something to do with him.  Although the possibilities leave a feeling of unease in the pit of his belly, Harry’s curiosity and his need to satiate her wariness wins out, and he forces himself to nod and ask, “What is it, dove?”

Y/N opens her mouth, but no question falls out.  From the corner of his eye, Harry watches as she closes her mouth again, as if she’s decided against asking whatever it is that she wants to. Harry is just about to encourage her to make her inquiry when a surge of confidence suddenly overtakes her body, and she’s spitting it out in a quick and confused voice.

“Why haven’t you introduced me to your friends?”

Out of all the causes for her guarded demeanor, the topic of his friends had been the farthest from his mind.  The question catches Harry so off guard that he, for what feels like the first time, doesn’t have a quick response already formed on the tip of his tongue.  Instead, his own mouth falls open in surprise, and he casts a quick look at the girl from the edge of his emerald eyes before turning back to the road in front of him.

He knows the answer to her question, of course; it’s the same answer that he’s given to his friends every time they’ve asked him to invite Y/N to a bar trivia night, or a weekend barbecue, or a club outing.  And, truthfully, it’s a question that’s been floating more at the forefront of his mind for the last few weeks as he and Y/N have continued to spend time together, gradually becoming a constant in each other’s lives. However, he didn’t expect it to be at the forefront of her own, as well.  

And the answer, really, is quite simple: if Y/N were to spend time with Harry’s gang of friends, there would be a larger possibility of her realizing that there’s something off about all of them.  Like how they all have a specific jeweled accessory that they’re never without, or how none of them seem to ever grow weary, or how they all have the same cold skin and slight shadows around their eyes.  Surely her keen eyes would catch how, despite the copious amount of shots and number of pints they throw back, none of them seem to become inebriated as easily as normal people would, and they can walk out of a club with their heads held high, free of stumbling or exhaustion.  It’s with careful planning and—truthfully— sheer luck that Harry’s managed to present himself with a halfway-human appearance, and he has no doubt that it would be ten times harder to keep up that charade when the chances of her discovering what he is quintuple.

“Uh…” His brow furrows while searching for a valid response to give to the mortal beside him— one that would avoiding hurting her feelings, while still sounding believable. “I-I dunno, really.  I didn’t think it was that big of a deal.”

The quiet “oh,” that slips from Y/N’s downturned lips alerts Harry that, no matter what response she was expecting, that wasn’t the right one.  She tightens her cardigan-clad arms around her middle as she nods tightly, keeping her gaze fixed pointedly on the passenger window.

Harry rubs his bottom lip with his ringed index finger— another nervous tic of his— as he tries to remedy the tension that’s been brewing between them since she first stepped into the car. “I mean… this whole thing—” He gestures between the two of them, and although the urge to take her hand makes his fingers twitch, he returns his grasp to the steering wheel instead of allowing himself to try and extract her palm from the fabric it’s hidden beneath. “— has been between just the two of us, so I didn’t really think… it mattered.” He finishes lamely, knowing that his justification is just making things worse. “Does it need—?  I mean, did you want—?”

“Well, it’s just…” Y/N lifts and lowers her shoulder in one quick motion, the cardigan once again sliding down to reveal the strap of her tank top underneath and a path of smooth skin that Harry yearns to touch. “It’s kind of like a— I don’t know, a marker?  Like if something is going… well…” She spares him a quick glance before returning her gaze to the passing scenery. “You tell your friends.  I’ve, um, I’ve told mine about you— like, my friends back home, over the phone— and if they weren’t so far away, I know they’d want to meet you, so I guess I—”

“You’ve told your friends about me?” Harry cuts over her, the shock laden in his voice raising it from its usual low drawl. “What did you tell them?  What did they say?”

An anxious flush begins to creep up Y/N’s neck and onto her cheeks, and Harry suspects that it’s not from the warm wool of the cardigan. “I did, yeah.  A couple weeks ago.  They called and asked how I was doing, if I had made any interesting friends yet.  And, well— I’ve pretty much only got you right now, so I kind of had to say something.” She lets out a weak laugh, more air than anything substantial. “I just said that we, um, we were seeing each other, kind of.  Like, mostly we’re friends, and we hang out, and—”

“We do more than hang out.” A grimace tugs at Harry’s own lips at her simplified explanation of their complicated relationship, and he risks an elongated look at the girl beside him, trying desperately to read her expression with no success. 

“I know that, but— like, we’re not dating, right?  It’s not… that was the best explanation I could give.  I don’t think there’s a proper label for what we are— not that we need one.” Although Y/N’s laugh holds more substance this time, Harry can still detect an undercurrent of tension in the sound. “Either way, they said they wished they could meet you, so I was just wondering— your friends know about me, obviously.  We’ve met a few times quickly, but we’ve never, like, had a proper introduction, you know?  I met Xander and Niall in the hallway, and Mitch briefly when we were having a movie night at your place… you talk about Adam a lot, too, and I’ve never even seen him in person.” Turning her head towards Harry with slow hesitation, Y/N worries her bottom lip between her teeth, her expression so frighteningly open that it makes Harry’s stomach turn. “Do they not… do they not want to meet me?”

Despite the quiet and cautious cadence of Y/N’s voice, and the way it twists around Harry’s unbeating heart like a vice, the question draws a soft laugh from the vampire.  Shaking his head adamantly, Harry rakes a hand through his curls before it goes to tap against the steering wheel decisively. “No, sweetheart, that’s not it.  They’re actually quite eager to meet you. As of late, I haven’t been able get through five minutes without Niall asking about you.  He pries like a gossipy nan and s’been getting on my nerves, honestly.”

Relief spreads through Harry as the admission brings a gentle upturn to the corners of Y/N’s soft lips, but it’s short-lived as another thought pops into her mind, and her cautious tone returns at the realization that—

“So you don’t want to introduce me to them, then.” She states quietly, a clear degree of hurt present in both her tone and her eyes as she twists her body beneath her seatbelt to face him head on.  As certain as she is in her assumption, the cautious shadow that sweeps over Harry’s face serves as confirmation of her statement, and it creates a hollow pit in her belly that grows with each passing moment.

Y/N is aware that their relationship— or whatever it is, because they still haven’t put a title on it, and that’s a whole other complication that she can’t dive into right now— is about as far from normal dating as they can get.  She’d fucked Harry before she knew his last name, he’d told her to take him deeper before he’d even told her where he was from, and he’d asked her on a date two months after they’d met, mostly out of territorial jealousy; everything that they’ve done has been out of the traditional order.  But still, she thinks, picking at her nails as the strain between them becomes palpable in the worst way, there are certain things that you do when you’re interested in someone.  Certain milestones that indicate that a relationship is viable and can be sustained for an extended period of time.  Meeting someone’s friends usually comes around the two month mark, and by Y/N’s calculations, that means they’re nearly two months overdue.

Which is fine, Y/N tells herself, dropping her gaze from Harry’s stormy sea glass eyes as she chastises the self-pity coursing through her veins.  Everything about their relationship has been done out of order; why should meeting Harry’s friends be any different?

Except it is.  As much as she hates it, it just is, because it’s not even that she hasn’t met them.  It’s that Harry, with his guilt-ridden eyes and darkened demeanor, clearly doesn’t want her to.

“Y/N,” His gentle utterance of her name draws her from her thoughts more than his hand crawling across the leather seat does.  It’s not until his cool fingers weave through hers that her fidgeting stops, and she even notices that he’s moved. “It’s not that I don’t want you to meet them, I just—”

“It’s fine, Harry.” She insists softly, despite the tightness in her statement making it obvious that it’s very much not fine.  She pastes a thin smile onto her lips as she shakes her head, trying to appease him as best she can. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

Harry squirms in the driver’s seat, tightening his hand around the steering wheel as he heaves a sigh through his nose.  Y/N might be saying that, but the look in her eyes tells a different story.  Does she really think that she can look at Harry with such a wide, wounded expression, and he won’t bend over backwards to make things right?  The thought, although scathing, rings true in Harry’s mind as he worries his cheek between his teeth.  Does she not know the lengths he’s willing to go to just to make her feel better?  For fuck’s sake, he’s making a four hour round trip just to take her to a bookstore in San fucking Diego.  Somehow, without Harry noticing it, this human has managed to influence him in ways he couldn’t possibly imagine anyone ever would again.  Is he supposed to believe that she’s unaware of that?

Shaking his head tersely at her previous reply, Harry squeezes her fingers in his own, clearing the newly formed lump from his throat. “Yes, I do.” He says firmly, looking at the girl from the corner of his eye. “I can tell where your mind is going, love, and I promise you, it’s not as bad as you think.”

“Oh, yeah?” Despite the hurt still splashed across her irises, there’s an echo of a challenge in her tone. “So you just hide all of your… hook-ups from your friends, then?”

“You know I don’t have hook-ups, Y/N.  There’s no one else, there’s just— there’s you.  I only have you.” Harry makes his words as plain as can be, without any joke or teasing to downplay the sincerity of what he’s saying— or attempting to say, because his throat feels so tight that he can barely choke out a single syllable. “And that’s why I haven’t introduced you yet.  I… I like what we have.  This—” He raises their clasped hands, bringing the back of her knuckles to his lips so he can plant a chaste kiss over her soft skin. “I like it.  We’ve spent these last few months in a bubble, just you and me, and it’s been…” A smile tugs at the corner of Harry’s lips, nervous and shy, but tinged with hope. “S’been amazing.  And I’m just… not ready to give that up yet. I…I don’t know how to word it, really.  I’m not good with, um—” With emotions, he thinks to himself. He’s not good with expressing any of this, but he forces himself to try. “It just feels like what we have is something I want to keep private, because it’s special. It’s kind of like when you were a kid and you got a new toy, yeah? And you didn’t want anyone to touch it because you liked it so much, you wanted to keep it all to yourself. It was something so personal, you didn’t want to share it…” 

Harry trails off to look over at Y/N anxiously, and then comes to a sudden realization of the unintentional mistake he’d made by using such a materialistic analogy. His voice comes out rushed and apologetic. “And I’m not saying you’re an object or anything! I just wanted to explain it better and that’s the first thing that popped into my head. Did that...make sense? It probably sounded a bit dense. Or very dense. I’m sorry.” Harry knows he’s babbling aimlessly now, and with a surrendered sigh, he lowers their hands to the seat, still keeping Y/N’s fingers locked tightly with his. “I don’t want to share you, petal.  That’s what it comes down to, really— just me being selfish.  I like having your attention all to myself.”

Y/N listens attentively to Harry’s explanation as a new wave of blood boils to her cheeks, warming every inch of her body.  As much as she still has her doubts— about his reasoning, about their whole arrangement— she wants to believe him.  She wants to believe him more than anything in the world.  

So do it, she tells herself, grazing her lip between her teeth as her gaze remains glued on Harry’s (ridiculously attractive) side profile.  Believe him.  He’s never given you reason not to.

“Okay.” She finds herself saying, and she decides that it’s her turn to raise Harry’s knuckles to her lips for a kiss.  His skin is cool against her mouth, as always, and she lingers against him before lowering their intertwined hands to her lap. “I get it.  I like what we have, too; I don’t want it to change.  Plus,” She can’t resist tacking on a dig, glancing at Harry with a sly look. “From the brief interactions we’ve had, I think Niall and I are pretty compatible, so I don’t blame you for wanting to keep us apart.”

Although Harry barks out a laugh, he barely manages to hide the flash of crimson that streaks through his eyes at the suggestion. “Please,” He shakes his head as he strokes his thumb over the back of Y/N’s knuckles in a possessive manner. “I’m not worried about Niall.  If I was going to be concerned about you leaving me for any of my friends, it would be Adam.” Y/N shoots him a curious look, and his dimples pop out of his cheeks as he elaborates. “Good sense of humour, attractive, and arguably the most sane out of all of us, present company included.  But he can’t perform in bed like I can, so I think that’s a solid deterring factor.  And I doubt he’d drop everything to drive you to a bookstore you found out about through— where did you say you heard about this place again?”

“Uh,” Y/N drops her gaze from Harry, turning her head straight back to the road as she shifts in her seat. “I, um, I saw it on TikTok.”

The vampire snorts obnoxiously, pulling his hand from Y/N’s to rake his fingers through his rouge curls. “Jesus Christ, of course you did.”

Y/N matches his scoffing with ease, crossing her arms over her chest with a defensive air. “Don’t give me that tone!  This is exactly why I didn’t tell you! You know, you can actually find a lot of valuable information on there—”

“Yeah, because filming yourself doing the Renegade is a really great use of your time.”

“I didn’t say— wait—” The mortal girl quirks an eyebrow as she regards him with disbelieving eyes. “How do you know about the Renegade?”

“There’s a reason we blocked the app from Niall’s phone.”

///

Much to Harry’s relief, the drive back to Los Angeles begins a lot smoother than the drive to San Diego had.  

The bookshop had been extremely similar to the antique store they’d been to a while back— it had the same rustic, messy aesthetic that gives a cozy, homey vibe, and it had sprouted a seed of nostalgia in Harry’s chest. They’d wandered around for a bit with their fingers intertwined, rarely breaking away from each other for too long for the sake of maintaining their buddy system. The pair had filtered through the extensive array of titles and knickknacks, walking under archways built out of novels and winding through tall shelves full of vintage collectibles. Y/N had entertained herself with grazing over the spines of all the different books they’d passed, her eyes glazed with a form of childlike wonder he’d grown so fond of seeing. And while Y/N had been losing herself in all the old treasures the shop had to offer, Harry had found himself losing his thoughts to her dreamy smile instead. 

Satisfied with her purchases of Wuthering Heights and Romeo and Juliet, as well as a used copy of Jane Eyre (“Look, Harry, it has little notes in it from the previous owner!  Isn’t that neat?”), Y/N had settled into the passenger seat with ease, a light smile on her face as she buckled her seatbelt.  Harry’s own mood is considerably brighter than it had been on the previous drive, but his shift in energy had only partially been caused by his purchase of a new Simon and Garfunkel album.  Truthfully, Harry thinks, as he watches Y/N thumb through her new second-hand annotated book (the irony of her affinity for literature written from Harry’s original time period is not lost to him), his attitude is merely a mirror of the girl next to him.  It’s much more difficult to be in a good mood when she’s in a sour one, but on the flip side, it’s nearly impossible to be grumpy when she’s showing such a sunny disposition.

Her inquiries from their drive to the bookstore are worrying him, of course.  He knows that he’ll have to introduce her to his friends eventually, especially if he wants to keep this agreement between the two of them up.  He also knows that it’ll be ten times harder to do so with Niall running his mouth, Xander making sly digs, and Mitch and Adam watching him with parental-like concern.  Perhaps it would be easier to just call this all off right now, before things continue to progress.  It would certainly be better for Y/N, he’s sure of it.  Y/N, who gets excited over annotations in her books.  Y/N, who sings along off-key to the radio even when she doesn’t know all the words.  Y/N, who innocently presses tender kisses to his throat in a manner that draws an obsolete warmth from every limb of his undead body, and who smiles at his stupid inappropriate jokes and returns them with her own, and who fits into his arms like she was made for the sole purpose of filling them perfectly.

Y/N, who is reaching between the two of them, intertwining their fingers together with a practiced motion, and—

“Thank you for taking me to the bookstore.” The human girl murmurs, her lips grazing the back of Harry’s knuckles as she speaks. “I really do appreciate it, although I’m sorry I pulled you away from your friends.”

Harry’s woes melt away as she pecks across his icy skin, and a grin begins to jolt his lips as he brings her hand to his own mouth. “Don’t be sorry.” He smears a kiss to the back before dropping their tangled palms to the seat between them, his thumb caressing over her velvety flesh. “You’re much better company than the four of them.  And much prettier.”

“You’re such a flirt.” Y/N rolls her eyes at the comment, but leans further towards Harry in her seat. “And a liar.  We both know that Mitch is prettier.”

“Mitch?” Harry’s emerald eyes widen in appalled surprise, the corner of his lips twitching once more in amusement. “Out of all of my friends, you think Mitch is the prettiest?  What about Xander?  He’s quite the vain one, don’t you think?”

Y/N shrugs one shoulder in a light manner. “I like Mitch’s hair.  The long style works for him.”

“Ah, it’s the hair.  That makes sense; it’s always the hair.” Nodding sagely, Harry allows his lips to pull into a full grin. “So you like it long, hm?  Suppose I should keep growing mine out, then?”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Sherlock.” Y/N shoots him a smirk that’s much more mischievous than his own. “I said the long hair worked for him, not you.  Who’s the vain one now?”

Despite the jesting tone of her voice, jealousy twinges in the back of Harry’s mind as his eyes darken from emerald to forest green.  He forces his lips to stay upturned as he offers a response that’s only half a joke. “Ouch, Watson.  S’not very nice, especially considering how I’ve driven you to San Diego and back today.  I think I deserve a bit of praise, don’t you?  Instead of you mocking me—”

“I’m not mocking!” Y/N’s protest is muffled around the entertainment in her voice, the rainbow cardigan once again slipping from her shoulder as she shakes with suppressed laughter. “Making one little comment isn’t mocking!  It would be mocking you if I acted like you do when you get in front of a mirror— you make this one specific face, like you’re trying to pull a Blue Steel, and—”

“Alright, that’s enough.” Harry huffs as he yanks his hand away from Y/N’s, swiping it through his loose ringlet before clamping it back around the steering wheel. “Ungrateful little wench, aren’t you?  I have half a mind to pull over right now and—”

“A wench?  I’m a wench?” Y/N’s laughter grows louder, filling the entire Cadillac with the unabashed sound that, despite his act, warms the pit of Harry’s stomach. “Alright then, Merlin. What, are you going to put me to work in a labour house?  Is that what a wench does these days?”

“First of all,” Harry quips, giving her a flat glimpse, “I’d be Arthur, not Merlin. Main character complex, remember?”

Y/N rolls her eyes grandly, proceeding to lower her head in a dramatic bow. “My apologies, sire. How could I forget?” 

“And second of all,” the vampire states slightly louder, talking over her sarcasm, “no, because apparently, all wenches do nowadays is just make fun of the men who volunteer to spend four hours in a car with them without so much as a ‘thank you.’”

The mortal girl’s upturned mouth drops open in amused disbelief. “What—?  I said thank you!  Literally three minutes ago!” 

“Did you?  I don’t recall.” Harry sighs airily as he smoothly guides the car around a bend in the road. “All I remember is you saying you think Mitch is sexier than I am.”

Snorting loudly, Y/N crosses her arms over her middle as she gives a small shake of her head. “Alright, I think that’s a bit of a stretch.  I just said he has nice hair.  And, while we’re on the topic—”

“Watch it.”

“— his mustache is cool, too.  It suits him.”

“You know, I could grow a mustache if I wanted to.” Harry can’t help the pout that plumps his lips, nor can he help the whine that creeps into his voice when Y/N giggles at the sight. “It’s true!  I could!  I just choose not to.  And, really, you should be thanking me for it, because it saves you from getting a carpet burn between your thighs.”

“So I should be thanking you for driving me today, for not growing facial hair…” Y/N ticks off the items on her fingers with a ridiculing gleam dancing through her eyes. “Anything else we need to add to the list?”

Harry tuts as he thinks, pursing his lips in consideration before letting out a sharp exhale as a sly smile carves his dimples into place. “That cardigan you’re wearing.  You could thank me for letting you borrow it— although ‘stealing’ might be a more accurate term.”

A miffed expression rises to Y/N’s face just as a flush does. “I didn’t steal it!  I’ve just been borrowing it, like you said.”

“Mmm.  Alright.” Harry hums in the back of his throat as he glances at the girl beside him, kinking a brow expectantly. “And when can I expect it back?”

“Fairly soon, actually.  It—” Y/N’s cheeks boil with more heat as she drops her attention to her lap, clearing her throat gently before continuing. “It, um, it doesn’t really smell like you anymore, so…”

Silence falls between the two as Y/N’s voice drifts off, leaving behind only the sound of Fleetwood Mac gently drifting through Harry’s speakers to cut through the thickening tension that fills the vehicle.  It’s only the faint sound of Y/N’s own shallow breaths that reminds Harry that he needs to fake his own, and he sucks in a deep gasp of air, his throat burning as her thick honey and lavender scent settles on the back of his tongue.

“Well,” He begins cautiously, gauging her reaction from the corner of his eye while keeping most of his gaze glued to the road. “You can always steal it again after I get it back, yeah?  It’ll be good as new.”

Harry nearly heaves an audible sigh of relief when he sees the edge of Y/N’s mouth twitch. “Not steal.  Borrow.” She corrects, her voice as tentative as his.

The heavy atmosphere in the car begins to dissipate as Harry rolls his eyes with fondness. “Agree to disagree, dove.”

Y/N lets out a sound of dissent as she rubs her palms down her legs, drumming her fingertips against her knees with finality. “Thank you for letting me borrow it, H.  And thank you for not growing a mustache.” She giggles out, throwing a coy smile his way before her expression grows more gentle. “And thank you for driving me today, although I’ve already said it.  I’ll have to think of a way to repay you.”

“Oh, I could think of a few.” Harry says with a suggestive smirk, thrumming his ringed fingers against the steering wheel. “How do you feel about spending the night?  We could order dinner from that Thai place you like, take a nice bath, and I could spend a few hours between your thighs while you make those sweet little noises I like so much.  Sounds relaxing, doesn’t it?”

“It does.” Y/N agrees, keeping her voice as light as she possibly can at the mention of Harry’s skilled tongue working her over. “But that doesn’t seem like much of a thank you on my behalf.  Shouldn’t I be the one giving you something?”

Harry casts a look at the mortal girl with a raised brow. “Shouldn’t I get to choose my own reward?”

The fact that he sees the action of eating her out as a reward makes Y/N’s tummy froth. She really doesn’t know how she got so lucky, truly. “You should, but I can think of something better.”

The creature licks his lips once at the promise of something more enjoyable than her taste on his tongue. “Well, I wouldn’t say no to a blowie in the bath.”

“Actually…” Y/N tugs her bottom lip between her teeth as she casts Harry a sideways look through her lashes, twisting her body beneath her seatbelt to angle towards him. “I was thinking of something more immediate.”

The question of what she means by that dies before it can make its way out of Harry’s mouth, stopped in its tracks the moment Y/N’s fingers travel across the leather seat between them.  She rests her palm on his thigh for a moment before beginning to massage the muscle beneath his trousers, her delicate fingertips just brushing over his inseam as her hand works its way higher.

A choked groan is all Harry can manage when her touch travels over his suddenly-growing bulge, and it takes all of his focus not to veer the car off the road. “Y/N,” He says, his accent low and thick with warning. “‘M driving, sweetheart.”

“I know.” Her voice thrums darker than normal as her palm presses flat against him, moving in a slow circle over the plaid fabric with insistence. “I didn’t ask you to stop, did I?  You can keep driving.”

The laugh that rolls from Harry’s lips is breathless and strained. “Yeah, except I can’t when you’re— fuck—” Y/N squeezes along his hardening shaft, and Harry tightens his hands around the steering wheel with nearly enough force to bend it. “‘M gonna crash this bloody car if you keep doing that.”

“No, you won’t.” The mortal girl smiles sweetly at him as her nimble fingers pop the button of his tartan slacks, grasping his zipper and tugging it down so slowly that it’s almost painful. “You can multitask, can’t you?”

“Not like— God—” Clenching his jaw, Harry casts a pained glance at Y/N, only allowing himself a moment of looking before forcing his attention back to the road.  What he sees in that moment, however, is a mischievous glint in her eyes that’s hidden beneath set determination, and the combination would send a shiver down his spine even without her soft hand creeping beneath his trousers. “This doesn’t feel like a reward, pet.  Feels like torture.”

Y/N shrugs lightly, continuing to rock against Harry over his boxers as her free hand reaches for her seat belt and clicks the release button. “Maybe it is.  Maybe I want to see if you can stay just as focused as I did when you made me cum on that ladder. Remember?  Right in the middle of that antique mall?”

Harry watches as her seat belt retracts, a flash of worry striking through his body. Before he can voice his concern for her safety, her hand is dipping beneath the waistband of his boxers. “Y/N,” He strains to get her name past his lips, his abdomen tightening as she grips him snuggly, and her palm feels like agony and salvation all at once. “If you make me cum in my pants with an hour left in our drive, I’ll never forgive you.”

“Or maybe…” Shifting across the seat, Y/N leans into Harry’s ear, her breath hot against his cool skin as she pumps him slowly and ignores the comment he’d moaned. “Maybe I just feel the way you did that day.  Maybe I want to tease you a bit.” She uses the precum that’s begun to steadily leak from his tip as lubricant, twisting her hand around his length to elicit a hiss from Harry’s clenched jaw. She takes the shell of his ear between her teeth, nibbling at it just to feel him writhe in response. “What was it you said to me, H?  When you slid your fingers inside me in that little music room?”

Harry offers no response other than the short puff of air that leaves his nostrils as he clenches the wheel harder beneath his palms.  He keeps his eyes locked on the road, knowing that if he looks down and sees Y/N working him beneath his slacks, he won’t be able to restrain himself from yanking the car to the side of the road and throwing her into the backseat.  And however wonderful that sounds— because it does sound incredibly wonderful, especially when Y/N swipes her thumb teasingly over his bubbling tip— he can’t let himself give into her.

Y/N, however, doesn’t seem to accept defeat so easily, and begins to drift her lips down Harry’s jaw and neck.  While the area had previously been a sensitive spot for Harry in the worst way, he’s repeatedly come to find that the sensitivity he feels when Y/N caresses him there to be an entirely new and pleasant sensation. 

“You said you wanted to have fun, remember?” She licks over the curve of his throat, her own breathing growing heavy when she feels Harry’s Adam’s apple bob beneath her tongue. “Now it’s my turn, don’t you think?”

“Thought—” Harry swallows thickly again, his hips unconsciously thrusting up slightly into Y/N’s hot palm. “Thought this was about thanking me, wasn’t it?  Not getting even.”

Y/N pulls away from his skin with a coquettish look in her wide eyes, her brows raised and lips parted into a small pout. “Are you saying that my mouth isn’t enough of a thank you?”

“Your—?  Oh, fucking hell—” Harry nearly swerves the car into the other lane of traffic when Y/N frees his length from his trousers, the cool temperature of the air-conditioned car sending a shudder down his spine.  The sensation only increases when Y/N dips her head down and extends her tongue to tease his cherry tip with the textured surface. “Y/N.”

“That’s what I thought.” The human girl says smugly, a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips even when she wraps her mouth fully around his head and sucks gently, just enough to draw a breathless whimper from the man above her. 

With one hand still grasped tight around the steering wheel, Harry threads his other into Y/N’s hair, roughly tangling his fingers between her silky locks.  He doesn’t guide her head as he usually does, but the idea of being able to move her if he wants allows him to feel a semblance of control. 

Y/N clenches her thighs together as she bobs her head down further, heat pooling inside her belly as she feels Harry tug on her hair with the lightest pressure.  She trails the tip of her tongue down Harry’s expanse, following the prominent vein that pulses underneath her touch. “Do you still want me to stop, baby?” She asks softly, looking up at him through her lashes as she pumps him in a slow motion, batting her lashes sultrily. 

“No.” Harry whines the word as he presses his head back into the seat rest, his neck flexing as he forces his gaze to stay pinned on the road. “No, love, just— fuck, just keep going.” He grits his teeth when he feels her nose smudge along one of his fern tattoos, his next phrase coming out as a barely contained growl. “You’re down there already, so you might as well.”

Tucking her loose hair behind her ears, Y/N takes Harry back into her mouth, pushing herself further and further down his cock at a pace that’s nearly agonizing.  Harry twists his hand within her roots to create a makeshift ponytail, holding the locks out of her face so that she can focus better on the task at hand.  He feels the mortal girl smile around his length, her tender fingertips drawing a little heart along his exposed pelvis as a cheeky thank you. 

As the highway straightens out, Harry risks lifting his hand from the steering wheel for a quick moment, and his deft fingers quickly find the volume button of the stereo to lower it to a quiet lull.  He wants to hear every sound of Y/N’s throat opening up for him, and the muted noises she releases at the taste of him in her mouth.  

Of course, all of that is nearly overpowered by his own sounds of pleasure, and he struggles to keep himself quiet as he grips the wheel with renewed force. “Fuck, doll, look at you...I just…Christ.” The last word comes out as an elongated groan, his eyelids fluttering as her tongue massages down his extent in slow and even strokes. “Just like that, darling. God, you’re so good. Such a pretty mouth with such a filthy fucking tongue, hm?”

Harry throws a haphazard glance over his shoulder as another vehicle passes them, and a flash of territorial protection runs through him at the possibility of someone looking into the car and seeing Y/N touching him like this.  The sight of her acting like such a bold little minx is for his eyes only, and that thought combined with her slow, blissful motions pushes him to inch his foot towards the gas.  Harry wants to put a bit of distance between them and the other traffic on the highway, which will insert some much needed privacy into the situation. 

His acceleration, however, is interrupted by a particularly rough bump in the road, and his body jerks in his seat as they drive over it.  He hears the sound of Y/N gagging before he registers the searing sensation of his cock hitting the back of her throat, and he risks a peek downwards to see Y/N’s watery eyes blinking up at him in disorientation.

“Baby—” He tugs her head up from his lap, concern mingling with the pleasure in his voice as he evaluates her well-being.  Her expression is hazy from her ministrations, and she blinks tears from her irises, keeping one hand wrapped firmly around his length as the other wipes away the wetness at the corner of her eye. “‘M sorry.” Harry gulps thickly as he smooths his thumb over Y/N’s scalp, trying to soothe any discomfort he may have caused. “Are you alright?”

Y/N nods in a jerking motion as her mood darkens lustfully, and she swipes her thumb over the glistening tip of his cock before answering. “I’m fine, H.  Just caught off guard.  Don’t worry.” The rasp in her voice is evidence of her actions, and Harry hates how the sound goes straight to his throbbing length in her hand.  Undeterred by the harsh thrust that had choked her a few moments earlier, Y/N leans down once more to smear more sloppy kisses to the head of his prick, rubbing the slit against her bottom lip to elicit a cracked gasp from Harry’s lungs. “Just wanna make you feel good.”

“You—You are.  God, you fucking are.” The praise falls easily from Harry’s raspberry lips as her mouth returns to its previous distraction, fully suckling on the leaking head as her hand continues to work him in a practiced manner. “Feels like a dream, sweetheart, t-the way you take me down your throat like that.”

The mortal girl keens at the validation, and uses it as fuel to push herself further down his shaft again.  She makes sure that she’s mindful of how deep she’s taking him, keeping her hand wrapped firmly around the base as a buffer in case they hit any more rough patches of road.  With that worry eased, she allows herself to focus on massaging his pulsing prick with her tongue, alternating movements with strong sucks to his sensitive tip. She twists her wrist at a rising pace, matching it to the tempo she’s established with her mouth, working him over messily and swimming in the strangled noises that pour out above her.

Y/N sniffles lightly, talking over Harry’s thick cock to the best of her ability, her voice garbled and raw. “You’re so fucking big, Harry. And so pretty, too.” She moves her hand lower down his expanse, carefully cupping his heavy balls and fondling them between her fingers, preening at the fractured grunt that filters from her lover’s taut throat. “And so full.”

“Please, baby…” The immortal’s quiet plea sends electricity coursing through every cell in her body, his grip on her hair tightening to the point where blots of color speckle her foggy vision. “Don’t stop. Just please don’t fucking stop.” 

“I want it.” She whispers around him, the warm breath of her words puffing down his prickling skin and sending goosebumps across his clammy thighs. “I want you to fill my mouth, Daddy. Want every last drop.”

The creature sucks in a rattling breath through the cracks of his teeth, waves of pleasure erupting along his cheeks and down the knobs of his spine, all because of how erotic her delicate voice sounds as it expresses such explicit confessions. “You’re fucking ruining me, dove.” 

The girl tugs at Harry’s balls gently, rolling them around her palm again as she gives a particularly harsh suck. He can’t stop the loud whine that tumbles down his tongue in response, his hips bucking upwards a tad in unrestrained need. “I want you to give it to me, H. Please? Want you so bad.” 

Harry throws his head further back against the headrest of his seat, his jaw dropping open in a silent moan as his heavy eyelids lull over his rolling irises, tears blearing his vision until he can barely make out the road in front of him. “Gonna—Gonna give it to you, pet. Gonna give you every last bit, all for my sweet girl.” 

Y/N hones her blurred sight above her onto Harry’s face, more warmth flooding the area between her thighs. He looks gorgeous as ever, with his prominent features slack in ecstasy, his clavicle cutting into the sweaty skin visible along the collar of his fitted tee, and with his unusually dark eyes framed by his long lashes. His chest is heaving wildly as he tries to keep his composure, his cross necklace glimmering in the sun with every rapid rise of his defined muscles. His sharp jaw is wound taut, the tendon along the structure ticking as he gazes at her drunkenly from above his sculpted cheekbones. His chestnut curls as matted along his temple and over the nape of his neck due to the heat of the moment, his thick brows are knitted together in pleasurable gripe, and his teeth-swollen lips are parted in aroused wonder at how skillfully she’s taking every last inch of him without any hesitation whatsoever. 

Y/N watches him intensely, drinking up every twitch of his expression and every soft groan he tries to stifle, her tongue lapping at him with more excitement than before. Harry locks eyes with her through his foggy haze, the corners of his flushed lips jolting upwards into a cocky open-mouthed smirk when he sees just how fucked he’s got her, despite the fact that he’s barely lifted a finger through the entire process. He slowly tongues over his chapped lips, glimpsing back up towards the highway for a split second to make sure he’s avoiding any other oncoming cars. He then returns his attention to the human, giving her head a playful tug and feeling the tip of his cock nudge along the roof of his mouth, resulting in a low hiss streaming past his condescending simper. “Why don’t you take a picture, princess? It’ll last you longer.” 

Y/N gives a quick squeeze to his balls, sly satisfaction weaving its way into her chest when she feels him jerk in response, a whined curse of, “Fuck me.” slipping through his defenses. “Maybe you should watch your tone while I’m down here.”

Harry raises an eyebrow at her challengingly, his palm grasping the back of her head with more intent and forcing her down, her nose smearing over his tummy as he hits the back of her throat deeper than before. He holds her there for a second, reveling in the way she constricts around him as soft gagging sounds bounce off the walls of his Cadillac. 

After a few seconds, he pulls her back up his cock to a more reasonable length, humming smugly as she shudders and coughs dryly, her eyes twinkling submissively. His voice comes out strained, but its dark and accented tenor holds its usual unyielding authority, as well as arrogant chiding. “And maybe you should learn not to talk back to me. Guess I’ll have to pull the paddle back out sooner than expected, huh?” 

A shiver coils down Y/N’s spine at the reference to that night. It happened a few weeks ago, but the memory is fresh in her mind as if it’s only been hours. It’s nearly impossible to forget, given everything Harry had put her through, and she often finds herself thinking back on it whenever she needs some relief and doesn’t have his company as help. 

The human murmurs her next sentence shyly, her watery eyes regarding him with a certain type of wistfulness that makes his balls ache. “Maybe you should.”

Harry lets out an airy chuckle at her eagerness, which slowly molds into a gravelly moan when she returns to dipping her head with faster, sloppier strokes. A few strands of hair have escaped the ponytail in his palm, and he takes great care in tucking them back behind her ears with his index finger, which then trails across her cheek affectionately. “Maybe I will. But right now, you just worry about finishing me off. Then, we’ll see if I’m feeling up to it some other time— if I feel like you deserve it.” 

Y/N nods her head obediently. “Thank you, Daddy.”

“‘Course, darling. Anything for my proper little slut. Especially when she’s taking me down her throat like such a good fucking girl.” 

Y/N’s only reply is a broken mewl, and she allows herself to become immersed back into the action of giving Harry the orgasm she so desperately wants to deliver.   

She can taste precum as it dribbles onto her tongue, a precursor to Harry’s impending climax, and the flavour makes her center throb.  She has half a mind to remove him from her mouth and beg him to pull over so that she can properly ride him, but she doesn’t doubt that doing so would add hours onto their travel time.  There’ll be time for all that once they’re back at his place, she reminds herself, pulling off of him just enough to lick her lips before lowering herself again.  Right now, there’s just one thing she wants above all else, and if the sounds Harry is making are any indication, she’s fairly close to getting it.

“So fucking close, angel.” Harry pants, his abdomen contracting over and over again as he struggles to keep the car moving at a steady and consistent pace. “Gonna make me cum, aren’t you?  Want Daddy to pump that pretty mouth full?”

Y/N hums around Harry as he yanks on her hair again, more for the sensation than to actually guide her.  Still, she pulls up from his prick with a pop, looking up at him with doe-like eyes as she replies. “Mhmm.” She hums again, giving him a particularly hard pump and delighting in the groan that rolls from his tongue. “Wanna taste you.”

“You— fuck, darling, that’s fucking it.” Harry’s words echo from his throat in a ragged gasp as he twists his jeweled fingers around her locks once more, straining his head back against the seat to keep himself from looking down again as she retakes him down her throat. “I’m gonna fucking— Oh my God, baby, please—”

Y/N digs the nails of her free hand into Harry’s pelvis, scraping over his plant tattoos as she feels his toned tummy tighten beneath her touch.  It only takes one more squeeze of her hand around his balls and one last determined suckle to draw his orgasm from him, and she lifts herself until just the head of his cock is in her mouth as he spills onto her tongue.  Her own eyes flutter shut as she whines at the salty taste, swallowing it down without a second thought.  She keeps her lips locked around him, wanting to capture every aftershock that spurts into her mouth, feeling ropes of cum splatter across her taste buds as Harry squirms against his seat, whining in encouragement.

She continues to milk him for everything he’s worth, repeatedly prodding the twitching vein protruding along his prick and scraping his sputtering head against the inside of her cheek, wanting to urge every last drop out of him. She only pulls away when the young man whimpers from above, shakily tugging on her hair to alert her that he’s crossing into more sensitive territory.

“Fucking shit…” He murmurs weakly, his breathing erratic as he eases off the gas pedal to reduce the car to a slower pace, rather than keeping the accelerated speed he’d fallen into as he came.  He combs his fingers through Y/N’s mussed locks as a faint, exhausted chuckle rolls from his lips, his thumb ducking down to collect a bit of the mess that had seeped out of the corner of her mouth. He pushes the digit past her swollen, colored lips, his breath catching as he watches her clean it off without a single hitch. “God, minx, I’m gonna need a little warning the next time you decide to do that. Thought I was gonna crash the car a few times.”

“You wouldn’t have.” Y/N reassures him quietly, looking up at him with a fond smile before turning her attention to his softening prick.  She licks up one stray bead of cum from his tip, delighting in the strangled sound the action draws from Harry. She then proceeds to carefully tuck him back inside his trousers, buttoning and zipping them up with ease.  She even takes care to tuck his red and black striped shirt back inside the waistband, but only after she presses a gentle kiss to his still-tensed abdomen, nuzzling her nose across his happy trail and feeling butterflies flutter in her belly when he lets out an appreciative mewl.

Harry inhales deeply as he watches her sit up from the corner of his eye, his hand slipping from her hair to his own to fix the disheveled curls. “No, I suppose not.  I have precious cargo.  Speaking of—” He reaches over Y/N’s body, and with one hand still on the wheel, fumbles to fasten her seatbelt back across her chest and lap. “Y’gotta keep this on if you ever do that again, alright?  S’not safe to have it off for so long.”

A fond smile tugs at Y/N’s lips as Harry sews his fingers over her thigh, squeezing lightly over her jeans before massaging the muscle.  She’s noticed that he’s grown more and more touchy and protective each time they’re intimate with each other, and it would be a lie to say she doesn’t enjoy it. “Yes, sir.”

Harry’s fingertips stutter over Y/N’s leg for just a moment, and the twitch of his sensitive cock beneath his slacks nearly causes Harry to swerve the car again. “Fuck, don’t say that right now.” He mumbles brokenly, his voice much more raw than he’d like it to be. “Don’t think my poor dick can handle it.”

Laughter bursts from Y/N’s chests, and the contagious sound draws a giggle from Harry’s own body as she settles her fingers over his, twisting them together in an instinctive motion. “Too sensitive?” She teases, lulling her head back against her seat rest while keeping her eyes focused on him, sweetening her voice down into a babying drawl. “You poor thing.”

A bright pink blush sears itself onto Harry’s cheeks as he clears his throat, tightening his hand around the wheel again to ground himself. “Yeah.  I only really like overstimulation when I’m the one administering it, not the one receiving it.  And you—” He squeezes her thigh as punctuation. “—are much too stimulating, especially when you’re looking at me like that.”

Another honeyed giggle falls from Y/N’s strawberry lips, and the corners of her eyes crinkle as her smile continues to grow. “I like seeing you like this.” She says decisively, her eyes twinkling with amusement as she reaches over and affectionately twirls one of his loose ringlets around her finger. “All flustered.  It’s cute.”

“Are you seriously calling me cute after deep-throating me while I drive?” Harry asks incredulously, a snort echoing from his throat as he shifts around in his seat.  He’s already uncomfortable in his trousers again, both from the wetness she’d left on him and the way her words are making him stiffen again. 

“Mm.” Y/N thrums in agreement as her free hand reaches for the stereo, dialing up the volume again so the sounds of The Kinks can be heard without strain. “I think you’re cute— very cute, actually.  Even moreso when you get all blushy. Am I not allowed to say that?”

Another layer of warmth soaks itself across Harry’s small ears and stinging nose, and he tries to play off his childish reaction with a casual scoff. He can’t deny the way the compliment makes him feel, though. It’s different from the praise she usually gives him, which tends to be sexual and in the heat of the moment. But this is much more intimate in such a sweet and tender manner, and he hasn’t received that type of innocent attention from someone in much too long. He likes it, he decides. Especially when it comes from Y/N.

She makes him weak, and though he’d normally seethe at the idea of anyone ever making him weak again, he comes to find that the softness she coaxes from him is something so different from the mainstream definition of that dangerous word. She makes him weak, yes, but not in a destructive sense. This girl— this simple mortal girl with bones made of glass and skin of fine velvet— makes him weak in the knees, and in the pit of his stomach, and in the cement walls he’d built around his phantom heart. She makes him vulnerable in new places that have been entirely foreign to him for the last twenty decades, if the glowing warmth surging through him is any indication. And for the first time in a while, he’s beginning to think that maybe— just maybe— that’s not such a terrible thing.

The vampire comes to the sudden epiphany that being weak for someone is unorthodox to him because it’s a human trait. Allowing yourself to form a deeper connection with someone— with a person completely the opposite of what you are— requires compassion and understanding. It requires willingness and empathy, as well as trust and pure intentions. It requires humanity. And that’s what Y/N is doing, Harry realizes. She’s taking that last wilted shred of humanity he possesses and is urging him to use it. Even though it’s not intentional on her behalf, and even though she has no idea of just how small that fragment of humanity is, it’s somehow miraculously working; just her being the caring soul she’s always been seems to be enough to awaken that part of him. 

Despite the fact that the immortal would normally laugh at such a stupidly cringey and cliche concept, there’s no denying that at this point in their little LifeTime movie crossover, it’s true. That’s why it feels so utterly weird— she’s bringing out a side of himself he hasn’t shown in literal centuries. She makes him feel the one sensation he didn’t think was possible for him to ever experience again: She makes him feel alive. 

Oh.

…Oh. 

Harry snaps himself out of his inner turmoil, sucking in a shaky breath and exhaling slowly, releasing all his consuming thoughts. Relying on his supernatural impulses to focus on any oncoming hazards, the creature allows himself the indulgence of shifting his hunter eyes onto Y/N for a lingering glance.  The sun is just beginning to set outside the car window, ducking over the cityscape and washing the distant buildings in mellow shades of soothing pinks, cozy oranges, and buttery yellows. The colors cast a golden light through the glass of his car, and it settles onto Y/N’s soft features like stardust, highlighting her flyaway hairs, the gentle slope of her plush lips, and the dreamy tinge in her captivating eyes.  

If Harry didn’t know any better, about both what she is and about not believing in such ridiculous tales, he’d think she was an angel.  Not that an angel would ever be seen with the likes of him.

“Y’can say that, petal.” He murmurs after a lengthy pause, reluctantly returning his attention to the long stretch of road in front of him, his palm still secured over Y/N’s denim-covered thigh.  If he focuses enough, he can feel her pulse through the fabric, and the steady thumping sends a strange prickling through his hand and into the rest of his body. “You can say whatever you’d like, and I’d listen.”

“Oh, is that so?” She pokes at him with a cheeky grin, using her nail to absentmindedly trace the blood red daylight crystals embedded into the eyes of his lionhead ring. “So you’re actually offering to listen for once, instead of making your cocky little comments?”

The edges of the vampire’s lips jolt with endearment. “Just this once, yeah.” 

Except it’s not just this once, Harry thinks to himself, adding on the words he will most likely never have the courage to speak aloud. I’d listen to anything and everything you have to say. No matter how small and insignificant it may be, or however random and useless you might think it is. I’d listen. For you, always.

Harry doesn’t express his private thoughts, but he pretends that he has, and he pretends that the smile Y/N is gifting him at the moment is her heartfelt response to his silent confessions. 

He adores it more than he should, and how could he not? It’s so blinding, he thinks it could very well burn him.

///

It’s not that Harry is nervous for tonight, because he’s not.  

Spending his Friday nights with Y/N has become as regular as clockwork, and Harry knows that it’s overdue in their routine for him to cook a dinner for her, given that she’d had the courtesy of doing it for him. He’s already picked up her favourite red wine to accompany the gnocchi recipe he’d sweet-talked Vincenzo into sharing with him (Gnocchi al Vostro Gusto— the one she’d enjoyed on their date at Bella Vita), as well as snagged all the ingredients for the lavender lemonade cocktail he planned to make her when she first arrived.  He’d even gone so far as to freeze a few petals from edible flowers into his cubed trays earlier in the day, just to up the ante on his already stunning presentation.  

He’s already set out shining dinner plates along his kitchen island, tidied and dusted his entire condo, and made each of his friends promise to leave him alone for the night.  He’s prepared everything that’s been within his power into sheer perfection; nothing could possibly go wrong.  So he’s not nervous, because everything is fine and because he never gets nervous. Being nervous is for morons, and he’s far from being one, so he just isn’t. It’s that simple. There’s absolutely no reason to be nervous. 

Except that he can’t manage to get his mahogany belt to lie properly against his waist (he’d searched in vain for his black Gucci belt with the logo buckle, but hadn’t been able to find it), the woven leather tail twisting repeatedly whenever Harry tries to tuck it beneath the rest of the belt.  And while the rational part of his mind knows that this doesn’t matter, and that he can just guide the tail into a loop along his olive trousers, the irrational part of his mind— which, unfortunately, just happens to be in control at this very moment— knows that tucking it in won’t look nearly as chic as folding it just right to lay the excess along the length of his thigh.

He’s already crafted the rest of his outfit so carefully, spending almost an hour deciding on the red and black patterned vest to pair with the trousers, and an additional forty-five minutes choosing which short-sleeved button up to layer beneath it.  He’d ended up picking a yellow top with indigo swatches along the collar, proceeding to tuck the shirt sleeves up along the sleeves of the knitted vest to give the fit a stylish flare. Harry thinks he looks good (although, to be fair, he always does), but he knows that if he turns his attention back to it for too long, he’d end up tearing it off and starting all over again.  However, judging by the clock that’s ticking from his bedside table, Harry knows that isn’t an option.  It’s 5:42 PM, and Y/N had said she’d be here by 6:00, and if Harry isn’t ready by the time her delicate knuckles rap against his front door, then she might just decide to turn on her heel and leave, and Harry won’t ever get the chance to ask her—

The creature stops short in his tracks, his fingers freezing over the leather of his belt that he’d just managed to settle into place.  He’s not asking her that, he reminds himself, loosening his limbs just enough to nervously twist his mother’s ring around his pinky.  He’s already decided that— and undecided it, and decided it again— after his road trip epiphany the previous weekend.  It doesn’t matter just how weak, or warm, or alive, or just plain human Y/N makes him feel.  He knows what this is, and has known since the beginning, and there’s just no way that he can bring himself to ask Y/N to be his—

Harry can’t even force himself to think of the word. 

He makes long strides towards his dresser, picking up the string of pearls lying on top of the varnished wood and fastening them around his icy neck.  What meaning could that word even hold for him, anyways?  He’s a vampire, and though Y/N makes him feel the complete opposite, there’s no way he could ever feel so human as to give into the notion of having a girlfriend.  A girlfriend leads to a fiancée, which leads to a wife, which leads to the expectation of a family, and Harry knows that none of those things are compatible with the immortal afterlife he lives now.  If Mitch, who is— by any accounts— ten times the man Harry could ever be, hasn’t even managed to lock Sarah— another vampire— into a solid relationship after three years, how could Harry delude himself into thinking that he could do that with a human?

And even if he, with all his commitment, abandonment, and trust issues aside, could have a relationship with a mortal— not any mortal, he reminds himself, but the only mortal that’s ever managed to capture a sliver of his genuine attention— that doesn’t mean he actually wants one.  Why would Harry ever want to be tied to one place, or one person?  Why would he ever want to have to phone someone before going somewhere, or have to check in on them when they’re doing the same?  Why would he want to deal with having to manage someone’s emotions, problems, and life?  He’s traveled the circumference of the world and back again, and seen more changes to society than any human could ever comprehend. He loves being reckless, and untethered, and not responsible for anyone other than himself. He enjoys being impulsive and not having to worry about his actions falling back on anyone else’s shoulders other than his own. It’s who he is— it’s who he’s been for a while now— and it’s who he had imagined he’d continue to be for another two centuries. 

It’s like that one country song that tormented his radio in the early 2000s— the one about life being like an endless road and about how people should enjoy it while it lasts. He believes the exact words are, “Life is a highway, I want to ride it all night long” or something of the sort. Horrendous song, but it held a pretty decent message. 

So with all of this taken into precise consideration, why would he, in his right mind, ever chain himself to one geographical location, and one single fleeting soul?

The answer floats to the forefront of Harry’s mind as he casts a glance towards his half-opened dresser drawer, where a pair of Y/N’s pastel blue sweatpants are folded neatly on top of his own pairs.  She’d left them there a few weeks ago, and while Harry had washed and dried them for her with the intention of giving them back, he’d decided it would be a better idea to keep them here in case Y/N ever ended up staying the night without planning to.  Just so she’d have something comfortable of her own to put on before falling asleep in Harry’s bed, on the side that he now keeps made up just for her.  

Why would Harry ever tie himself to one person?  Because that person is Y/N, and she’s not just a person.  She is— in every way except officially— Harry’s girl.

Harry can’t even bring himself to deny that fact as he fixes the collar of his shirt and strides out of his bedroom, dimming down the lights before making his way to the glass staircase.  Every issue he’d brought up, every fact that he’s tried to use to convince himself that he doesn’t want a relationship, can’t even be considered an issue when it comes to Y/N.  He already does all of those things— checking in on her to make sure she’s alright, letting her vent about her stress, listening to her problems with an attentive ear, holding her hand whenever they’re together, kissing her forehead while she lays against his chest, switching her to the inside of the sidewalk to ensure her safety, moving strands of hair out of her face so they don’t become a bother— and he does it all gladly.  He’s come to adore the soothing comfort he receives when he walks Y/N to her door after a date, or double checks the locks after she’s inevitably invited him inside.  He delights in calling her during her lunch breaks to inquire about how her day is going, and to remind her that “iced coffee isn’t a substitute for water, peach.  You’ll feel a lot better on your shift if you drink a glass, alright?”  And even when her voice is strained and laden with anxiety as she curls into his side after a particularly rough day, it still sounds like the most beautiful melody he’s ever heard, and the weight and warmth of her body against his own acts like a relaxant to Harry’s cold limbs.  

He rolls his shoulders now as he skips the last two stairs and lands squarely on his leather Gucci boots (they’re one of his favorites, and though they’re a simple black, they have a rainbow impression along the lip that he thinks is quite chic). He releases a long breath as he absentmindedly studies over his art wall, his eyes landing on the painting of a deconstructed sunflower. The abstract piece reminds him of the night Y/N had come over to his condo for the first time, and he begins to feel that annoying yet familiar knot between his shoulder blades that always seems to form when he’s away from her.  It’s something he hadn’t even noticed until a few days ago; how his body grows rigid and stiff whenever they’re separated, like he can’t allow himself to exhale until she’s beside him again.  He supposes it’s a strange vampire tendency— something carnal and territorial inside of him that thinks it’s his job to protect Y/N, the decadent and intoxicating center of his strange obsession, and when she’s not around, unease threads into his muscles until he can be sure his primary source of blood is alright. 

Or maybe it’s not. Maybe it’s something deeper inside him— some other reason to keep her out of any harm and an arm’s length away. However, he refuses to indulge that unsettling mystery right now. It’s too fucking complicated to dwell on.

Ambling into the kitchen, Harry begins to dig through his lower cupboards for the apron he hadn’t bothered to slip on when he was cooking earlier.  Pushing aside the white cover with the words “World’s Best (pancake) Tosser” stamped onto the front (it had been a gift from Niall, delivered with a sly grin and a cheeky comment about how the apron was too accurate to pass up), Harry selects the butcher’s apron printed with the phrase “Mr. Good Lookin’ is cookin’!” He slips the loop over his head and ties the straps behind his toned back with a quick motion, the edges of his lips quirking at the pompous joke. He knows Y/N will make a comment about it. 

He hadn’t bothered with the apron before when he’d been preparing the gnocchi simply because his loungewear isn’t necessarily that important, but now that he’s changed into something much nicer than the t-shirt and sweatpants he’d previously worn— and after he’d struggled with deciding on the outfit for so long— the last thing he wants to do is splash sauce onto himself as he navigates his kitchen.

Harry’s mind continues to race with nearly incomprehensible thoughts as he gathers the last of the ingredients needed to finish the meal, his nimble fingers easily peeling the skin from a clove of garlic before he begins to mince it with practiced skill.  Maybe that’s the cause of all his confusing feelings, he muses as he tosses a knob of butter into his preheated pan, scooping the garlic onto his knife and adding that to the mix as well.  Maybe that instinctual feeling to protect is the root of all his fantasies of a relationship.  He can’t possibly want— can’t actually believe that he’d...

Except he does.  

Sighing grimly as he snags a wooden spoon from a kitchen drawer, Harry nudges the cabinet shut with his hip before beginning to stir the sizzling concoction in his pan.  Somehow, against all odds— against all reason— he’s become attached to Y/N.  So attached that he’d spent an hour begging Vincenzo for this specific recipe when he could’ve so easily googled a different one and recreated it to near perfection.  So attached that he’d driven to three different liquor stores to find her favourite brand of red wine, which he’d set to chill in his fridge hours ago, because even though a cabernet sauvignon is supposed to be chilled for forty-five minutes at most, Y/N likes it icy cold.  So attached that he’d taken care to freeze individual flower petals into ice cubes, just so he could make her a cocktail flavoured with honey and lavender, the exact same way she is.  So attached that, for the first time in twenty decades, the concept of a relationship doesn’t draw a disgusted gag from his throat and doesn’t send a ghostly spike of pain to his neck.

“Doesn’t matter.” He mutters the words out loud to himself, as if speaking them audibly will reinforce their meaning.  Opening the fridge with a rough tug, Harry nabs the quart of cream he’d purchased earlier that day, bending the mouth of it open and pouring it smoothly into the saucepan and giving it a stir.  It doesn’t matter if he wants a relationship, because there’s no way that Y/N does.

A bitter laugh tears its way through his chest as he reaches for the bowl of gorgonzola cheese he’d shredded earlier, scattering the ingredient into the saucepan and slowly mixing it in.  He’s arrived at the same point he has all week when he’s had this argument with himself. The same fact that’s stopped him in his tracks each time he’s dared to think that— if he should ask— Y/N would say yes to him becoming a more permanent fixture in her life.  She’d say yes, he thinks.  Or he hopes, at least.  She’d say yes, until she wakes up in the middle of the night to Harry caged over her with crimson irises, terrifying shadows below his waterline, black veins webbing out from his eyes, and a blood-soaked mouth bared to reveal his dagger-like fangs. Then, she’d be gone.

Not gone, he amends in his head, the thought somber and acrid in his mind as he reduces the sauce to a simmer.  He’d have to go after her, of course, but not in the way a man usually goes after a woman.  Despite how they’d joked about it casually, Harry most definitely doesn’t belong in a LifeTime movie.  No, he’s from a much darker genre— less leading man, more malicious creature that lurks in the night— and the only thing he could do when he chases Y/N down would be to wipe all traces of himself from her mind entirely.  That’s the ending they’d be destined for if he let himself buy into his romantic delusions.  It’s better not to put a label on anything.  No labels keep a degree of separation between their two lives— at least, that’s what Harry tells himself.  And as much as it pains him, a degree of separation might be exactly what they need.

And yet, when Y/N knocks on his door two minutes later, just as he’s sprinkling various ground herbs into the sauce and setting it onto the back of the stovetop to wait until they’re ready to eat, Harry can’t help the giddy grin that immediately decorates his dimples. He hurries to untie his apron and tosses it onto the back of one of the chairs lined against his kitchen island, dragging a ringed hand through his purposefully tousled curls as he nearly super-speeds to the front door of his condo. He trips on his way there, spewing curses as he barely saves himself from face-planting the ground like an imbecile. He straightens himself out with a petty huff, slowing down slightly and being more mindful of every step he takes. His smile has already returned before he even yanks the door open.

Y/N— his Y/N, he allows himself to think affectionately— is dressed from head to toe in his own clothes.  Well, almost head to toe, he corrects, casting a sly glance at the way her black jeans hug the curve of her hips too perfectly to be his own pair.  But he recognizes the black and white speckled short-sleeve button up that’s french-tucked into the high-waisted denim, and shrewdly notes the addition of a Gucci belt looped around her waist— the very one he’d been searching for earlier.  She’s even styled the shirt the same way he does, with half the top buttons undone.  However— Harry licks his lips unconsciously as his eyes hover over her exposed chest— she’s paired the top with a delicate looking black lace bralette that catches his hungry gaze the moment he spots it.  Even the black ankle boots she’s wearing are reminiscent of his own fashion choices.

“Y’know,” Y/N’s amused voice cuts through his stupor, drawing his attention back from the obvious canvas of her body and up to her glittering eyes. “It’s not very gentlemanly of you to check out my tits before even saying hello.”

Harry’s mouth crooks sheepishly in response as he reaches out to her, looping his muscled arms around her waist and pulling her inside the condo and against his body with ease. “Hello.” He murmurs obediently, thumbing at her waist over the silky fabric as a teasing yet fond cadence sews its way into his voice. “So this is where my clothes keep disappearing to, hm?  I searched for that belt for an hour today.”

“Shouldn’t have left it at my apartment, then.” Y/N counters easily, curling her hands against Harry’s chest.  He can already feel her heat beginning to web through his entire being, warming him in a manner nothing has in the last two hundred years. “And you said tonight’s dress code was casual formal— which makes zero fucking sense, by the way— so I figured the best way to conform to that would be would be by wearing your own clothes.” A drop of hesitance begins to colour Y/N’s tone as she casts her gaze towards his own, chewing on the inside of her cheek as she tries to read between his teasing words for any hint of actual annoyance. “Is that… okay?”

“Perfectly okay, angel.” Harry soothes the worry lines that have formed between her eyes by stamping a kiss onto her forehead, allowing himself to linger for a moment to inhale her familiar scent of sugar and flowers.  It seems more powerful today than it usually is, almost bowling him over right there in the foyer, and he takes a step back to regain control of himself under the pretense of closing the door. “Honestly, I’m a little miffed that you look better in my clothes than I do.”

“‘Miffed’?” The mortal girl laughs as she reaches down to retrieve something from the ground, and it’s only then that Harry realizes that she’d had an overnight bag in her hand before he’d tugged her into his grasp and caused her to drop it.  “Who says ‘miffed’?  Are you a sixty-seven year old woman named Betty?” 

Although he allows a chuckle at her incredulous question, Harry’s attention has focused in on the bag inches away from her outstretched hand.  Cursing himself for being too wrapped up in her appearance to notice the item she’d been toting, Harry quickly fetches it from the ground before she can, carrying it further into his apartment before setting it down on one of the island chairs, as if the small distance could make up for the initial lack of manners he’d displayed. 

“No, I’m not.  I’m just British.” He should bring the bag up to his bedroom, he thinks, just so Y/N doesn’t have to wonder where her clothes are when she’s fraught with exhaustion later. But that would mean having to leave her side, and the grip her fragrance has on his senses right now won’t allow him to do so. 

“Oh, yeah! I almost forgot.” Y/N lilts with an exaggerated air, another giggle rising from her petal-like lips as she leans against the marble countertop on her elbow, propping her chin up in one hand and resting the other on top of the stone.  She regards him with all the affection that he doesn’t deserve, and yet always seems to crave, and it takes all of Harry’s willpower to not grasp her chin in his hand and sift their lips together just to taste her laughter. “Along with ‘pip pip’ and ‘cheerio,’ right?”

“Yes, those phrases are definitely at the top of my vocab list.  You’ve heard me say them a million times.” Harry rolls his eyes playfully, shaking himself from his distracted thoughts as he steps back behind the counter to effectively put a little bit of much needed space between him and the mortal girl.  His restless hands are already outstretched to his bar shelves before he even asks, “D’you want a drink, darling?”

Y/N watches with innocent curiosity as Harry sets two lowball glasses down on the counter before reaching into his cupboard for a jar of honey, which he spoons onto an awaiting plate.  He rims the glasses in the syrup before dipping them into sugar, sparking confusion in Y/N as she tries to decipher what cocktail Harry is making her.  Her befuddlement only grows as he extracts a bottle of clear liquid that she assumes is vodka and a purple concoction that she can’t identify. “What are you making?”

“Lavender lemonade.” Harry answers swiftly, reaching into a drawer for the small double-ended measuring cup tool that Y/N still can’t remember the name of, as well as his crystal cocktail shaker.  Y/N observes with wide eyes as he fills the shaker with ice and vodka before picking up the mysterious liquid. “This is lavender syrup.  Not homemade, unfortunately, but I do buy it from a little organic grocer I know at the farmer’s market.  Adds a nice floral note to the drink, and mixes well with the lemonade.” He caps the container and shakes it expertly (the way his muscled arms ripple with effort doesn’t go unnoticed by her, as it never does) before setting it down on the counter and making his way to the fridge freezer. “S’where I get my honey, too.” He chances a look over his shoulder just in time to see Y/N dip her finger into the honey pooled on the plate and pop the digit into her mouth, and Harry has to force himself to tear his eyes away as she sucks lightly on her fingertip, her cheeks just barely hollowing. “Do you like it?”

“Mhmm,” Y/N hums around the digit as she keeps her eyes shamelessly glued to Harry’s ass while he bends down to open the cooled drawer, retrieving a tray of cubed ice and coming back over to add one large block into each lowball glass. “Are there flowers in there?” She asks in wonder after retracting her finger from her mouth with a pop, leaning over the table more to observe the decorative ice that has filled the cups.

“Mm.” Harry matches her hum with a more pleasured undertone, both from her noticing the small detail, and from the unobstructed view of her cleavage that her new position allows him.  He picks up the shaker and strains the light purple lavender and vodka mixture into the glasses, topping off each cocktail with a can of sparkling lemonade that he’d also retrieved from the fridge. “S’pretty, isn’t it?” He asks, stirring the drinks with a spoon before holding up one of the glasses to the light and handing it to Y/N. “My own creation.  You’re the first person to try it.”

Their fingers graze as Y/N accepts the glass from him, sparking electricity up her entire arm, and she can’t help the irreverent moan that thrums in the back of her throat as she brings the glass to her lips, tasting the honey and sugar first before the lavender coats her tongue. “This is so good, H.” She praises, licking a lingering dab of honey from her mouth between her words.  Twisting the glass in her hands as she regards the lilac drink, Y/N eyes him over the rim of the crystal, pupils blown wide. “I didn’t think honey and lavender could ever taste so good.”

“You know, I used to think that, too.” Harry’s mumbles knowingly as his own eyes drift a shade darker. He watches the human girl’s neck strain with her swallow, as if she knows he’s trying to keep his gaze away from there and she’s beckoning him back. “But it’s my favourite flavour combination now.  Can’t ever seem to get enough.”

The comment goes right over the mortal girl’s head, just as Harry knew it would.  His expectations of the cocktail in his hand are also met from his very first sip; although the concoction is delicious, it pales in comparison to the fragrance wafting across the island from Y/N.  He may as well be drinking water, honestly. But he knows he’ll end up repeating the recipe a few more times at the very least, just because Y/N tells him that it’s her favourite drink he’s ever made.

“You say that every time I make you a new drink, dove.” Harry can’t help but quip coyly at the repeated compliment, setting his crystal tumbler against the counter with a quiet thud. “Am I supposed to keep believing it?”

“Obviously. Especially when each drink keeps getting better and better.” Y/N licks a drip of honey from the rim, her tongue delicately capturing the sugar crystals before her lips settle back onto the edge to take another sip. “You would be an amazing bartender, but we’ve already talked about that before.”

“We have, yeah.” Harry smiles softly as he recalls the conversation they’d had weeks ago, where she had said his drinks were better than anything she’d had at a club, and he had responded by saying he doesn’t have the patience to be a bartender. That conversation feels as if it happened a lifetime ago, and considering how much closer they had become since, it quite literally could be. “But refresh my memory, will you? Why is it that I’d make such an amazing bartender?”

Y/N gives Harry a jokingly flat glance as a response to his smug tone, but decides to humor him, nonetheless. “Well, you obviously have the mixology skills, and I don’t doubt that the whole thing you have going—” She nods her head to him over the island with a teasing smirk. “—would get you endless tips.”

“My whole thing?” Harry repeats the phrase with an air of faux confusion. “What do you mean, my whole thing?”

He knows what she means, of course.  But he won’t deny himself an opportunity to hear Y/N feed his ego with sweet-spoken praise.

Y/N doesn’t buy his innocent act for a minute, but still indulges him, yet again.  She likes to see Harry preen under her compliments just as much as he likes to receive them. “You know…” She casts her eyes over his figure slowly, picking out every detail she can comment on as she wedges her bottom lip between her teeth. “Your whole look— the tattoos, the muscles, the dimples, the sparkling green eyes, the shiny curls… all of that would have any drunk customer draped over the bar for you.  And even if you couldn’t get by on looks alone, you’re absolutely charming.  To the point of ridiculousness, honestly, but,” Y/N eyes him suspiciously, and while her words are mostly in jest, she can’t deny that she’s seriously thought them at some point in time. “I’m not entirely convinced it’s genuine.  Although being able to fake that kind of attitude would serve you well in a crowded bar.”

Whatever Harry was expecting to hear among the praise, an accusation of dishonest behaviour wasn’t it.  His brow furrows deeply as his lips turn down into a displeased grimace, and he drums his ringed fingers over the marble countertop as he cocks his head to the side. “What d’you mean?” The question is earnest now, no longer a coquettish teasing remark, and the warmth the mortal girl had provided him with begins to subside as a flash of icy doubt digs shards through his chest. “Not genuine?  Does it seem like I’m faking it or something?”

Y/N teases her lips with her tongue, unable to stop the nervous tic as she hears the displeasure that clearly strains Harry’s tone.  Setting her own glass down on the counter, Y/N lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “I just mean, like… I don’t know.  I don’t really think that now, but in the beginning…”

“What?” Harry prompts her with more intensity than he’d meant to, but he’s spent so much of this past week analyzing their every interaction while wrestling with his own thoughts that he’s already on edge; he needs to hear what Y/N had thought of him when they’d first met.  His own recollection of the memories has made him flinch multiple times, particularly the times when he’d thought that Y/N was as boringly ordinary as humans come. He can only imagine what her take on the situation is. “Did I— was I rude, or—?”

“No, no, nothing like that.” She hurriedly assures him, shaking her head hard enough that her loose locks bounce around her shoulders. “You weren’t rude at all— the opposite, actually.  I don’t know, it just seemed… like it was too good to be true, y’know?” Her voice grows impossibly softer as she traces her finger over the rim of her glass, her eyes dropping from Harry’s like it hurts her to hold them. “Like, there was no way that someone could be so attractive, so funny, so good in bed—” Harry can hear blood creep up the nape of her neck against her will, beginning to pour into her cheeks. “—and so charming.  Something had to be an act.”

Despite the urge Harry has to justify his actions, he knows there’s nothing he can say that could prove Y/N’s original perception of him wrong.  And, in all honesty, he has no right to.  As much as he’d like to argue the fact, and as much as he did genuinely come to enjoy being around her, Harry can’t deny that from the first moment he’d approached Y/N in that club, he’d dialed up his charm as he always did without a second thought.  He’d flattered her, flirted with her, done everything he could to convince her that she should take him home so he could indulge in the two things he’s always manipulated people for: sex and blood.  And when that worked, he did it again, and again, and again, until they’d fallen into the pattern they have now.  He’d never lied, of course, and he prides himself on that— every compliment he’d paid her had been rightly deserved.  But even that justification doesn’t stop the shame that’s twisting its way through his limbs and making his head heavy.  

She had thought something had to be an act, and she had been right.  Harry himself was an act, in every aspect of the term— stretching the truth about his past, opening himself up just enough to make her open herself in return, setting her up so that she’d become dependent on their relationship. And all so he could sink his teeth into her neck without a second thought.  

He can’t exactly pinpoint when all that had changed— singing “Non-Stop” in his kitchen?  The jealousy he’d felt when he spotted her on a date with that insipid idiot, Jacob?  Seeing her in that yellow sundress when he picked her up for their first date?— but the fact that it had changed doesn’t erase how it had started. It doesn’t erase the cruelty he’d hidden beneath his calculating words, intricately-placed caresses, and dirty promises.

“Harry.” He’d been so caught in his thoughts that he doesn’t notice Y/N had moved until she’s standing right in front of him, one of her velvet hands twisting into his own as the other tucks a loose curl back from his creased forehead. “I don’t think that now.  You know that, right?” Even after securing the ringlet, she keeps her palm pressed against his cheek, and Harry can’t help but lean into the burning heat her touch provides. “I just— I’d never met anyone like you.  There was no one like you where I grew up.  I didn’t think someone could be so…” Y/N worries her lip between her teeth again, and Harry wishes he had enough in him to smooth the bite mark with a touch as soft as her own. “I didn’t know you yet.  But I do now.”

The vampire inhales a shaking breath as if he needs it to live, lifting his own free hand to wrap over the palm Y/N rests against his cheek.  Weaving his fingers through hers, he drags her hand lower until her skin is secured over his lips, and he smudges a gentle kiss against her handprint.  There’s something so tender in her words— no one could ever accuse Y/N of being disingenuous.  But he needed to hear this, he thinks as he presses his mouth repeatedly to her palm, the throbbing of her pulse in her wrist catching against his cheek.  He needed to hear how she thinks she knows him.  It’ll serve as a reminder that he can’t allow himself to succumb to the weak thoughts he’d battled earlier in the day.  As much as Y/N assumes she knows him, there’s things that she’ll never understand— things he would never allow her to understand, because she doesn’t deserve such a terrifying burden— and how could he keep up that pretense while allowing her to call him her boyfriend?

“I know you do, sweetheart.” Harry mutters the words into her fragile skin, inhaling her intoxicating aroma deeply until his throat burns in agony.  It’s a small price to pay for what he’s put her through. “It’s alright.  I don’t blame you for doubting it.” The smirk he forces onto his face is nowhere near believable, but he manages to keep the strain out of his voice enough to sell it. “I’m pretty hard to believe, y’know?  Especially when you grew up with people like Cucumber Dick.”

Successfully diffusing the moment, Harry’s comment tugs an irritated groan from Y/N’s chest, and she takes a step back from him as her hand falls from his face, despite her other fingers still remaining tied with his own. “You can’t just keep calling him Cucumber Dick, alright?  He has a name!”

“Yeah, Bradley.” Harry says in distaste, his nose wrinkling as he shakes his head slowly. “S’honestly worse than Cucumber Dick.  I’m doing him a favour— a bit of charity work.”

Y/N hums in the back of her throat thoughtfully as she steps back around the kitchen island, Harry’s arm extending over the countertop as she tugs his hand along with hers. “Then don’t do me any favours like that, alright?  Can only imagine what you call me when I’m not here.”

A few names pop into Harry’s mind— dream, darling, angel, and countless others that he’s murmured to himself in the privacy of his condo— but they’re tainted by the memory of his friends confessing how they’ve talked about her when he hasn’t been around to hear it.  How they’ve compared her to different foods, used that to reference her, as if that’s all she is to him.  As if she isn’t the only person who has managed to make him feel something in over two lifetimes.

In the rational part of Harry’s mind— which, once again, is sadly not the part of his mind that’s ever in control— he knows that he can’t blame his friends for thinking that.  It’s his own fault for being so insistent on that fact over the last few months.  How many times had they questioned his motives behind his daily phone calls to her, or how often he found himself dropping everything just to spend some time with her?  How many times had he rolled his eyes at their assumptions that he wanted more from the mortal girl than he’d ever admitted?  How many times had he asserted that there was nothing more that she could offer him than her body and her blood?  They’d only listened to what he was saying, despite knowing that Harry’s reassurances were false.  Did any of them suspect that things had changed for him now?  Or did they still think that Harry’s only motivations behind his relationship with Y/N are primal?

Harry pushes the badgering thoughts from his head as best he can as he reaches for his apron that’s still lying over the back of the chair.  He can’t dwell on those thoughts now.  If the turmoil twisting inside of him hasn’t subsided by the end of the night, he’ll call Mitch once Y/N is fast asleep under the extra blanket he keeps on his bed just for her.  Although he doesn’t relish the thought of admitting he was wrong to the likes of Xander or Niall— he knows their teasing and taunting would never end— he can talk to Mitch about it without the worry of judgement.

“Why don’t you put a record on, petal?” Harry asks absentmindedly, nodding his head towards the record player set up in the corner of his living room as he slips his apron back over his head. “I just have to boil the gnocchi, and then—”

“Wait, wait wait,” Y/N cuts over him with an increasingly gleeful expression, rounding the edge of the island again to tug on the strap of Harry’s apron. “Mr. Good Lookin’ is cookin’?” She repeats, unable to bite back the giggles that are rising through her throat. “Please tell me you didn’t buy that for yourself.”

His troubling mindset disappears the moment laughter falls from her lips and echoes around the kitchen. “‘Course I did.  And why wouldn’t I?” Harry simpers as his deft fingers easily secure the ties behind his back in a neat bow. “I’m Mr. Good Lookin’, and I’m cookin’.  S’only the truth.”

“Your vanity is astounding.  Truly.” Y/N trails her finger from the strap of the apron to the pearls around Harry’s neck, stroking the silky stones with the lightest touch. “Like, borderline narcissistic.”

Snaking his arms around her waist, Harry easily pulls the mortal into his body, securing her against his chest just as he had done when she’d first arrived.  It’s comfortable for him to have her pressed against him like this.  The steady rising and falling of her chest and hummingbird beat of her heart against his own unmoving organ keeps him centered, like his own personal lifeline. 

“Is it so wrong to be confident in my appearance?” Harry quirks an eyebrow as his dimples pop from his cheeks, and he slides his hands from Y/N’s back to her ass, cupping and squeezing firmly in appreciation.  His smirk only grows as Y/N’s cheeks begin to boil from the suggestive contact. “How can you contradict me when it gets such a reaction from you?”

“I think that has less to do with your looks and more to do with where your hands are.” She quips dryly, and yet her nails dig into Harry’s exposed collar bones with the slightest of pressure, a surefire sign of just how much his touch affects her.

Harry leans forward as the girl’s breathing grows more erratic, and he nuzzles his nose along hers while keeping the smallest of spaces between their lips. “Either way, I’m getting what I want, aren’t I?”

To his immense pleasure, Y/N’s words are breathy and strained when she replies, a side effect of the shallow inhales her body draws against his. “Which is?” 

“You.  More specifically, you melting under my touch like you just can’t get enough of it.” Harry drags his lips across Y/N’s for no more than a second before continuing his path up her jaw, only stopping when he can feel the flushed shell of her ear beneath his mouth. “You should indulge your vanity a little more often, sweetheart.  S’quite fun, honestly.”

Y/N shivers beneath Harry’s touch, her eyelids fluttering as his cool breath rolls over her ear and down her neck.  Turning her head to the side, she locks her half-lidded gaze with his own before slotting their lips together to indulge in the lingering taste of honey and lavender that sits on his tongue. 

Despite his instinct to draw her closer while curving her body into his own, Harry separates their lips with a gentle nudge of his forehead against her own, his breathing growing just as erratic as Y/N’s.  Control, he reminds himself as heat prickles along his icy skin from the tender pads of Y/N’s hands.  This isn’t like their first meetings, when he could invite her over under a pretense and take her against the counter before they’d even finished their drinks.  This is different now.  She’s different now.

“Why don’t you go put a record on?” He says again, his voice noticeably deeper than it was when he first made the request. “And I’ll finish getting dinner ready. Sound alright?”

Y/N manages to nod without removing her forehead from his, but that seems to be the only movement she makes; her palms remain pressed firmly against Harry’s tattooed biceps, even after he reluctantly releases his hold on her body.  She can’t help it— it feels too good to be so close to the young man to allow herself to willingly walk away.  Something in his presence is so calming, so steady to her, even when he’s whispering obscenities in her ear.

But outweighing the need to be next to him is her desire to make him happy, and if he wants her to pick out a record… “Alright.” She nods once more as her hands slip from his skin, trailing down his forearms and grazing his wrists before falling to her sides. “Any record?”

Harry drags a ringed hand through his curls, his lithe fingers tugging on the locks before falling to his side in a loose fist. “Any record.” He confirms as he reaches for a kitchen drawer, tugging it open to extract a long metal spoon. “Anything you want to listen to.”

He watches as a serious expression paints itself over the human girl’s face, as if the task he’s given her is of the utmost importance.  She turns on her heel and marches out of the kitchen as if on a mission, and as Harry turns towards the now-boiling pot of water on his stove, he knows that his own face reflects a look of fondness.  It’s too easy to let his guard down with her, he thinks as he ladles his homemade gnocchi into the rolling water.  When she looks at him, there’s such an openness in her expression that he can’t help but allow himself to be seen.

But being seen doesn’t always feel so sweet, which Harry remembers the moment he hears Y/N’s melodic voice ring from the living room. 

“When did you get a piano?”

Harry’s hand freezes mid-scoop, the few gnocchi that had been dangling on the edge of his spoon falling into the boiling water.  A bit of the liquid splashes out and lands on his arm, but quickly fizzes to room temperature once it meets his freezing skin. 

“Uh—” He clears his throat as he tries to refocus on his task, but his actions are much more frantic than careful as he finishes filling the pot with gnocchi. “I’ve had it for a while, remember?  I mentioned it to you before.  At the antique mall.”

When his explanation receives no response, he gives his own frustrated sigh, and sets down the polished spoon to retrace Y/N’s steps out into the living room.  As he expected her to be the moment he heard her question, he finds her with a reverent hand tracing the edge of the matte black Steinway grand piano that’s occupied a space in nearly every home he’s had since he purchased it in the 1920s.  Seeing her nimble fingers drift over the hand-crafted edge brings back a hazy human memory to Harry’s mind— a flash of sharply manicured fingers and a strangely pale hand, adorned with an opal ring as they danced over the pianoforte in an opulent sitting room. The sound of tinkling laughter that rang like a bell, pitched almost high enough to make his ears ache, and a soft, hypnotizing voice slathered in the most delicate accent he’d ever heard. 

Harry has to blink a few times to bring himself back to the present.

“What was that, darling?” He hopes his voice isn’t nearly as strained as it feels when he refocuses his eyes on Y/N’s waiting gaze. “I didn’t quite catch that.”

“I said that you told me it was in storage.” She glides over the intricately carved music stand, the digit dancing across every twist and curve of the decorative panel. “Why did you bring it out?”

“Uh, I dunno, really.” An uncomfortable itch settles onto Harry’s skin, his stomach turning as Y/N takes a seat on the creaking piano bench set in front of the instrument. “I just, uh, figured it should be displayed somewhere, instead of gathering dust in a storage unit.  It’s a vintage Steinway, y’know?  Those need to be taken care of.”

In truth, the vintage instrument had rung Harry quite a high bill over the last few decades, not only in the price it cost to keep it in permanent storage, but in the services he’d had done to it once a year to keep it in its nearly pristine condition.  Despite keeping it out of sight to keep it out of his mind, he couldn’t seem to allow himself to let the instrument fall into disrepair, just in case he ever decided to display it again.  Or sell it, as he’d been leaning towards doing over the last few years— a genuine Steinway piano in condition as good as his had quite the high price tag.  But he’d never been able to force himself to part with it, as it looked too similar to the one he had originally learned to play on.  Even though those memories were tainted with the usual pain that came with thinking about his human life, it was still his life, and he ached to hold onto some part of it.  It’s why he had his mother’s ring, and his sister’s earring, and his father’s cross and pocket watch.  It’s why had a small wooden box hidden away under his bed with memorabilia from his first life.  As much as it hurt to remember— and it did, in ways he can’t possibly begin to describe— remembering seems better than the alternative.

“Well, if you want to show it off…” Y/N’s fingers are trailing down the fallboard now, inching their way towards the ivory keys with a daydream-like purpose. “You shouldn’t hide it away in the corner of the room.  It would look gorgeous in front of the windows, don’t you think?  A proper centerpiece.”

It would make a beautiful centerpiece, and he originally intended it to be so after the delivery company had dropped it off at his condo a few days before.  After bribing Adam and Niall with the offer to buy out their bar tabs for an entire month, the three of them had spent the afternoon rearranging the furniture in his living room to display the Steinway in the center of the room.  He’d thought that, knowing how excited Y/N had been to hear him play the piano in the antique store, she’d like to hear him play in his own home, on an instrument he knows like the back of his hand.  He’d even begun kicking around the idea of teaching her a few songs, but those musings had quickly turned sour as the instrument brought back more memories of his foggy human life.  In the end, he’d decided to restore his living room back to its original state with the addition of the Steinway thrust into the corner, where the ghosts of his past could plunk the keys quietly without drawing too much of his attention.  He’d done his best to ignore the instrument over the last couple of days, and in his hurricane of thoughts that had centered around Y/N, he’d nearly forgotten about its existence completely.

He can’t be mad that Y/N is asking about it; after all, he’d brought it out of storage with her specifically in mind.  But seeing the newfound object of his affections with her fingers poised over the keys brings back a rush of emotions he’d been repressing for the better part of two hundred years.

“It—” Harry clears his throat once more, trying to rid himself of the lump that is rising up like bile. “It took up too much space in the center of the room.  Wasn’t very cohesive.”

“That’s too bad.” The mortal girl’s words fall from her mouth in a murmur as her gaze remains locked on the keys, almost as if she’s in a trance.  Her finger begins to press down on the ivory with a slow and meticulous motion. “It seems like such a shame to—”

“Let’s— Let’s not get into that now, sweetheart.” Harry says hurriedly, his fingers catching her own before she can trigger the instrument to make a sound. “Dinner’s almost ready, and you—” He forces a grin onto his lips. “—still haven’t picked a record out.” Threading her fingers through his own, Harry gently tugs the human girl up from her seat on the piano bench. “Would you rather I do it instead?”

As he expected, Y/N wrinkles her nose with distaste as she rises to meet his emerald eyes. “No.” She scoffs as a quiet snort rises from her throat. “I don’t need to listen to some weird experimental 60s music while trying to eat dinner.”

While Harry would normally bite back at her dig, he just responds to her with a thin laugh and a smile without dimples. “Exactly.  So why don’t you pick something out,” He jerks his head over his shoulder to where his record player and vinyls sit neatly on a shelf lining the wall, ignoring the ghastly spike of pain that twinges his neck as he does so. “And I’ll plate dinner, yeah?”

“Alright.” She agrees, and Harry nearly breathes a sigh of relief before she finishes her phrase. “But you’ll play for me later tonight, won’t you?”

The phantom pain grows until it extends down Harry’s entire spine, filling every nerve in his body with a sense of anxiety and trepidation.  The last thing Harry wants to do is move his fingers over those weighted keys, and with the burning sensation now shooting through his fingers, making his hand twitch around Y/N’s, he’s not even sure he can.

But he is sure of one thing, and that’s the fact that he can’t ever seem to say no to Y/N.

“Yeah, dove.  Of course.” Keeping his voice even, Harry pulls her away from the extravagant instrument as inconspicuously as he can. “Later tonight.”

///

There are so many things that Harry has done over the last two centuries that have both angered and confused him.  

He’s held grudges against himself over the way he’s acted, the people he’s surrounded himself with, the people he’s allowed himself to trust, and the blatant disregard for human decency he’s allowed himself to succumb to.  In the last twenty decades, Harry has amassed enough vendettas for fifty lifetimes, let alone the one endless life he’s been given.  And yet, even with all of those missteps in mind, the fact that Harry ever looked at Y/N and deigned her an ordinary human might be one of the biggest mistakes he’s ever made. 

It’s so clear to him now— sitting across from her at his kitchen island, the few scented candles flickering between them doing almost nothing to cover her sugar and flower scent, her eyes reflecting back the burning flames and something else that Harry can’t quite put a finger on— that he’s not sure how he ever missed it.  How had he once leaned against the counter in her own kitchen, looked into those very same eyes, and managed to convince himself that it was only her blood that drew him to her?  How had he listened to her sweet and sensual voice murmur delicate phrases about her day and her emotions, and not realize that he was inching closer and closer in order to hang on every word, as if she had the supernatural ability to compel him as he did her?  How had he seen her in the smokiness of the club, with her fragile skin practically luminescent under the pulsing strobe lights, and thought that she was so utterly unmemorable and unnoticeable that he could easily take her home for one night without anyone wondering about her whereabouts?  How had he convinced himself that it would only be one night? 

There are so many things that Harry will always be angry about, will never forgive himself for, and his initial perception of Y/N is one of them. 

If he has any redeeming qualities, he thinks as he watches the mortal girl spear a bite of gnocchi onto her fork over the rim of his wine glass, it’s that he can, at the very least, admit when he’s wrong.  He can admit to himself that this girl— this self-assertive, stubborn, vivacious, kind-hearted mortal girl— is the most interesting and most intriguing human he’s ever met.  And as terrifying as that is, it’s also a little thrilling; it’s been so long since Harry has felt a pull to someone like this.  The sensation, while unfamiliar and something he’s severely out of practice with, is just as electrifying as he remembers, and now that he’s had a taste of it, he can’t stop chasing that high. 

It’s that undeniable pull which drive Harry to murmur an unauthentic apology about not having a dining table (he’d chosen a larger living room over a dining area when he moved in, and his friends just settled for eating at Niall’s when they wanted to sit down somewhere) because he’s secretly pleased that he has an excuse to sit next to Y/N.  It’s that pull that makes him hang on her every word about her day like she’s relaying the plot of a Greek tragedy, his facial expressions perfectly mimicking hers as she describes the customers she dealt with.  It’s that pull that sends his fingers forward of their own accord to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear as the soft melody of Hozier’s “Like Real People Do” floats between them like a comforting lullaby.  It’s that pull that, when she inquires about the entrée he’d prepared for them, causes him to proudly admit that he’d recreated the recipe from Bella Vita after wrestling it from Vincenzo.  It’s that pull that urges him to scoop up one of his own gnocchi and bring it to Y/N’s lips to feed her the first bite of the meal, his hand cupped delicately under the utensil to catch any sauce that might drip onto her shirt (which is really his shirt, and that fact alone delivers so much more pleasure than he ever would’ve thought possible).  

It’s that pull, that adrenaline rush, that indescribable sensation, but underneath it all, it’s her.  It’s always been her, since the moment they’d first met.  From the moment he first laid eyes on her.  How is it, Harry wonders, that his first sighting, enhanced by his supernatural senses, had managed to make him so blind?  How is it that he’d had this girl in front of him all along, and he’d managed to delude himself into thinking that he’d be able to stop himself from becoming vulnerable for her?  And maybe, he wonders slowly as he clears Y/N’s empty dinner plate from the marble island to the sink, he’s still deluding himself, because for some strange reason, being vulnerable for the mortal girl doesn’t seem to be as terrifying as he thought it would be.

The vampire suddenly recalls a specific day all those weeks back, when Y/N had stayed over and they’d taken their first bath together in his jacuzzi. He thinks about how he’d allowed himself to be vulnerable for just a fraction of a second, when he had admitted to her that she often caught him off guard. She had returned the sentiment, and he remembers the words he'd uttered to her amidst the warm steam and quiet splashing of the water. He had said that he found her influence on him— the influence they had on each other— to be scary, but exhilarating. And now, after spending so much time together and allowing himself to grow closer to her than he ever could’ve imagined, he’s come to find that his attraction to Y/N is no longer incredibly scary. Yes, there’s still a sliver of fear in him at the notion of opening himself up to her, but it’s only natural— there isn’t one person in existence who isn’t scared to strip themselves emotionally bare for someone else. However, his genuine excitement soothes his hesitations, and it startles him in a pleasant manner he can’t quite decipher.

Setting the dirty dishes into the sink to be dealt with later, Harry risks a glance at Y/N over his shoulder.  He watches as she wipes the corner of her mouth on a napkin before raising her stemmed glass to her lips, delicately draining the last of the crimson liquid before placing it back down with a clink.  When he catches her sparkling eyes, Y/N shoots him a smile that, even with only one corner of her lips lifted, manages to dazzle him from across the kitchen.  Harry can hear the fresh flush of blood that overtakes her cheeks, as if the wine itself is settling beneath her fragile skin.

Yes, vulnerability should petrify him.  Vulnerability means danger.  It means giving someone the ability to break you, and Harry knows this from firsthand experience.  Harry might be the only monster in the room, but in this moment, Y/N is the ominous threat. She’s the vague silhouette that hides in the shadows, the mysterious mass circling just beneath the waves, waiting for the right moment to strike.

But now that he’s dipped a toe in, Harry can’t stop himself from diving headfirst into those dangerous depths.

“D’you want another drink, love?” He asks, turning back around and leaning his hip against the marble counter as he cocks his head to the side in a questioning manner. “Some more wine before dessert?  Or another cocktail?”

Y/N glances at her multiple empty glasses in front of her, but shakes her head slowly. “No, I’ve had enough to drink.  But I’d love a cup of tea, H.  If you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.  A cup of tea, coming right up.” Harry reaches for the sleek kettle that he keeps set on the backburner of his range, flicking on his tap with his other hand before settling the hollow object under the stream of water. “You know, I think this is the first time I’m actually making tea for you.  S’a real treat, isn’t it?” He flashes a toothy grin at the girl before placing the now-full kettle back onto the burner and twisting the knob to high. “A proper cup of tea made by a proper Brit.  Can’t get much better than that.”

Y/N rolls her eyes playfully as she circles her finger around the rim of the empty wine glass, her motions just starting to get heavy with the liquor. “It’s just some dried leaves and water, Harry.  Don’t get too full of yourself.” 

“I think you’re the one who’s usually full of me, aren’t you, pet?” Although his back is turned towards the stove, Harry can hear the effect his words have on the human girl by the small, nearly imperceptible gasp that leaves her lips. “‘M not sure you’re allowed to make that observation.”

Despite the choked feeling that’s welled up in her throat at his comment, Y/N quickly clears it out with a small cough, capturing Harry’s sea glass eyes with her own to stare him down stubbornly. “I’ll make any observations I want.” She says firmly, crossing her arms over her exposed chest in a mockingly angered pose.

A fond laugh rolls from Harry’s stained lips as he opens his cupboards and extracts two tea cups that are painted with vines of wisteria flowers.  He’d found them a few years back at the very same antique mall he’d brought Y/N to, included in a china tea set that he hadn’t been able to resist buying.  The hand painted violet flowers had caught his eye from the moment he’d glanced at the china cabinet they’d been locked inside, and he’d barely been able to tear himself away from the glass case to retrieve the key from an employee.  

He’d always had a soft spot for wisteria; there had been a wisteria tree outside of his childhood home, and he and Gemma used to collect the bunches of blooms and bring them inside for their mother.  That had been a long time ago, of course.  When they were children.  Harry can’t quite remember at what age they’d stopped digging through the garden for flowers— it might have been when Gemma turned eleven, which would’ve made him…. Seven?  Harry frowns at the uncertain memory as his grip tightens around the delicate china cups.  Yes, he reminds himself, he would’ve been seven.  His sister had been four years older than him, and it was around age eleven when she’d declared herself a lady, and said that it wasn’t ladylke to dig through a garden and walk around with dirt under one’s fingernails, and Honestly, Harry, you must wipe your feet before stepping into the house, or else you’ll track mud everywhere—

With trembling hands, Harry sets the wisteria tea cups down on the marble counter, flexing his fingers to get rid of their shakiness before reaching for the respective saucers.  It seems that Y/N’s ability to make him feel more human isn’t just resurfacing the manners and emotions he’d long suppressed, but the memories, too.  How long had it been since he’d heard his sister’s voice ring in his head as clearly as that?  How long had it been since he’d thought of the tiny foyer of his childhood home, which he’d tracked mud into countless times as his mother and, eventually, his sister clicked their tongues at him?  Is the tree still there, he wonders as his thoughts continue to spiral.  Or had it been cut down in the two hundred years since he’d last seen it, long after his family had all… 

Harry places the saucers carefully down against the marble before bracing himself against the edge for just a moment.  Barely thirty seconds have passed since Y/N’s retort, and although his enhanced mind had begun to spiral, it’s not too late for him to give a half-sane response.  

“I know you will, sweetheart.” He finally murmurs, hiding his face as he pulls open his fridge to extract the carton of oat milk he’d purchased last week.  Y/N, he’d come to learn over the last few months, prefers milk over cream in her tea, just like she prefers sugar over artificial sweeteners. 

Harry can feel the burn of her eyes into his back as he extracts a teaspoon from his kitchen drawer and the kettle begins to whistle.  Focusing and relishing in being the object of her attention, Harry removes the kettle from the heat, flicking the stove off before reaching for the canister that stores his tea bags.  In an effort to fully distract himself from the troubling thoughts of his past, he begins to hum the tune to the Hozier song that had been playing earlier, before the record had spun to stop just before they’d finished their entrees.  With the near murmur of the melody reverberating through his throat, he spends a moment debating on whether or not he should use the matching wisteria-adorned teapot that sits on the highest shelf of his cupboard, but quickly decides against it— it’s too formal for the occasion.  But tossing two separate tea bags into the two teacups, he finds as soon as he does it, doesn’t feel right either; after all, he’d told Y/N that he’d be making her a proper cup of tea.  That fact settles the manner in his (moreso than usual) changing mind, and within a few moments, he has the two teabags deposited into the teapot before pouring in the boiling water to steep the satchels of dried leaves.

Halfway through his preparation, his ears had perked up with the distinct sound of Y/N rising from her chair, which had been followed by the muted pattering of her feet against his hardwood floor.  Not bothering to ask where she’d been going, Harry had instead decided to wait for his suspicions to be confirmed.  Sure enough, just as he’s stirring the sugar and oat milk into Y/N’s cup of tea, he hears the quiet press of one of the keys of his piano.  C4, if his aural skills are still as tuned as they used to be.

Setting the two cups of tea onto their respective plates (Y/N’s with milk and sugar, and Harry’s plain), the vampire easily balances both cups of tea in his hands and makes it to the living room without spilling a single drop.

Just like before, Y/N seems entranced by the piano, plunking out different notes and letting them ring into the open air.  Harry can’t help but wince slightly as he approaches— as talented as Y/N seems to be at some things, music theory does not appear to be included.

“Christ, love, a tritone?” He protests, his voice hinging on a whine as he approaches the piano bench. “What, your fingers couldn’t make it a perfect fifth, hm?”

The answer to his teasing question comes in the form of Y/N’s entire body jumping as her fingers stutter over the keys, an audible gasp falling from her mouth while her hand clutches to her chest and her head turns to stare at Harry over her shoulder. “Jesus, you scared me!” She says breathlessly, her palm massaging over her the area where Harry can hear the rapid pulsing of her heart. “Have you always creeped around like that?”

A playful grin tugs at the immortal’s lips as he extends an arm out, handing the china saucer and cup to the human girl. “Only when I’m carrying boiling tea.  Scooch over, will you?” Nudging his way onto the newly unoccupied space of the bench, Harry nods his head towards the keys she had been previously playing. “Was that an original composition?”

“Beethoven, actually.  I’m surprised you didn’t recognize it.” Y/N blows gently over her tea with pursed lips before taking a small sip.  Harry knows that his sister would have condemned the action, along with the following slurp, by calling it unladylike, but the inelegant manner leaves a fond feeling buzzing through his body once more. 

Raising his own teacup to his lips, Harry chuckles quietly over the rim of the cup. “I wouldn’t have pegged it for the classical era, actually.  Sounded more atonal to me.” He takes a small sip of tea, the liquid scorching down his throat in the best way. “You said you took lessons when you were younger, didn’t you?  Do you remember anything?”

“Twinkle twinkle little star, maybe.” Y/N takes another small gulp before setting the cup back down on the saucer. “I was, like, eight.  Nursery rhymes were as far as I got.” Her gaze drops to the caramel coloured tea with a curious gaze; Harry had remembered exactly how she takes it, despite him only having seen her make a cup of tea once a few weeks ago. “But you, on the other hand… Mr. Good Lookin’...” Her lips jolt into a teasing grin as her eyes flicker to the side to capture his own. “You’re quite the musician, from what I remember.  And you promised to play me something.”

“I did, didn’t I?” Harry’s smile grows imperceivably tighter as he takes another drag of the boiling drink, his throat growing thicker with every swallow. “And you still want me to?”

Brow furrowing at his reluctance, Y/N cocks her head to the side in bewilderment. “Of course I do, H.  I loved listening to you play for me at the antique mall.”

Harry thinks back to that day, when he’d stuttered his way through a Chopin piece before his stumbling fingers had given up entirely. “I’m just a little out of practice, love.  It’ll be a bit messy.”

“I didn’t ask for perfection; I asked for you to play.” Her warm fingers find Harry’s upper arm, massaging the tattooed muscles just underneath the tucked sleeve of his shirt as she regards him with wide, curious eyes. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but if you’re nervous because you might mess up… Well, you heard me play.” Her light laugh rings through the cavity of the piano, reverberating off the highest strings in a way that only Harry’s immortal ears can pick up. “I won’t be able to tell the difference.”

“I suppose that’s true.” Despite his reservations, a half-hearted smile finds its way to Harry’s lips over the rim of his tea cup, which he sets down on the living room side table after taking one last sip.  

Flexing his ringed fingers, he repositions himself on the piano bench, moving more towards the center of the seat as Y/N moves down to the edge to give him full access to the piano.  For a brief moment, his hands hover over the ivory and ebony keys as he evaluates the repertoire he knows he can muddle his way through without too much trouble.  He’s already played a few Chopin pieces for the human girl, so that composer is out.  Liszt doesn’t seem to fit the mood, either, as his pieces are much too ornamented for their quiet living room ambience.  Debussy is out before Harry can even consider him; the last thing he wants to do is invoke any more memories of sitting at a piano with the much too familiar composer.  And Beethoven and Mozart seem too contrived for this setting, as well.

With a frown on his wine-stained lips, Harry spares one glance at Y/N, whose own eyes are glued to his floating fingers.  She reaches out with a tentative touch of her own, gliding them across Harry’s tensed knuckles with a pressure so soft that, if not for the heat of her skin, Harry might not feel it at all.  The cautiousness of the motion is not lost on him— it’s almost as if Y/N is worried that she’ll spook him out of playing, like any sudden movements could break him.  It reminds the creature of the awareness he has whenever he touches her; how he always carefully evaluates the amount of pressure he uses whenever he glides his fingers over her vulnerable skin. 

As if she were a butterfly, he thinks, not for the first time.  His butterfly.

Harry doesn’t remember making the conscious decision to start playing.  He doesn’t even recognize the piece that’s tentatively ringing from the piano until the repetition of the first motive, when Y/N emits a satisfied breath and her warm hand falls back to Harry’s thigh, rubbing gently over his olive trousers with that same delicate touch, almost as if he were a butterfly.

The creature’s fingers continue to glide over the ivory keys, his phrases growing smoother and more confident with every passing moment.  He pays careful attention to the dynamics of the piece, trying his best to recall the sheet music that he hadn’t looked at in decades, but it only takes about thirty seconds for him to realize that it’s easier to just let himself feel the music.  With Y/N’s hand continuing to dance over his thigh in time with the tune, Harry lets himself play around with the score, peppering in crescendos and decrescendos as he sees fit.  He draws out some of the minor phrases, hoping to wrench on his obsolete heartstrings the way he had when he first learned the piece in the early 20th century, and hovers his fingers over the bass notes as he uses the pedal to make them ring out into the living room.  

Halfway through the composition, Harry realizes that he’s breathing with the phrases, timing each inhale and exhale of his lungs with the musical lines.  It only takes him another two measures to realize that Y/N is doing the same, her body leaning into Harry’s as Harry leans into the instrument.  And that, he finds as his jeweled fingers slide over the keys, tugs on his heartstrings more than any melody ever could.

As he approaches the end of the piece, he softens his touch, his fingertips almost ghosting over the keys as he gently presses the final notes.  Harry keeps his foot hovered over the pedal, allowing the quiet cadence to fade to silence in its own time, and as it does, he can feel his body coming back into itself— which is strange, considering he hadn’t noticed the trance-like space he’d slipped into.

Y/N, however, must have noticed, because her voice is hushed and hesitant when she speaks again, waiting until the final notes have completely faded to silence, as if she’s afraid that she’s interrupting something. 

“That was so beautiful, H.” She praises, her hand still rubbing over his clothed thigh.  The motion would normally drive Harry mad, but for some reason, all it does to him in this moment is bring a strange lump to his throat. “What’s it called?”

In his unfamiliar haze, it takes Harry a moment to find his own voice. “Uh, Papillons.” He says through his thick accent, clearing his throat subtly as he lowers his hands to his lap.  He hadn’t even realized they were still lingering over the last notes. “It means—”

“Butterflies.” The mortal girl nods in recognition, a thoughtful look over her face as she taps a finger against his trousers, her tone slightly jesting as she murmurs her next sentence. “I know enough sixth grade French to understand that.  Is it a French piece, then?”

“No.” Harry jerks his head in the negative, only remembering to soften the agitated motion after it’s happened.  He raises his keen eyes to meet Y/N’s, a reminder of where he is.  And a reminder of who he’s with. “It’s the fifth movement in a suite by Robert Schumann— the “Polonaise,” in B-flat major.  S’one of my favourites.”

“I can see why.” Y/N murmurs, a fond smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “It was wonderful, really.  ‘Out of practice,’ my ass.”

Even with the residual anxiety still coursing through his veins, Harry manages to force out a chuckle at her teasing. “Trust me, I’m just as surprised as you are.  But Schumann has always been a favourite composer of mine—” Harry takes Y/N’s teacup from her, noting how her eyes had flickered to the ground, as if she was looking for a place to set it, and she sends him a thankful grin as he sets the cup next to his own on the end table. “—along with his wife.  They were both incredibly talented musicians.”

“His wife?” Intrigue threads through Y/N’s voice as she props up an elbow on the piano, resting her chin on her loose fist as she turns her body towards Harry. “She was a musician, too?”

Harry hums affirmatively as he cracks his knuckles, flexing his fingers in his lap to loosen them from the buzzing sensation that’s still prickling his skin. “She was, yeah.  They had a pretty passionate love story, y’know.  That’s why his music is so beautiful— he wrote it all for her.”

Y/N doesn’t miss the reminiscent tone that seeps into Harry’s voice, and she threads her fingers through his own as her eyes widen with a gentle plea. “Will you tell me about them?  Schumann and his wife?”

“I—” Hesitating at her request, Harry squeezes her hand tightly, half in affection, half in warning. “It doesn’t have much of a happy ending, darling.  A bit of a tragedy, that one.”

“I want to know.” The human girl nods her head stubbornly as her eyes flash with determination. “Just because it has a sad ending doesn’t mean it’s not worth knowing.” 

Harry pauses for a moment, allowing her words to fully sink into his mind and spark the beacon of hope that’s sat coldy in his head for so long. “I suppose that’s true.” 

He mulls over where to begin, thinking back to all the newspaper articles he’d read about a child prodigy in Germany in the 1820s, who was the daughter of—

“So the story really begins with Friederich Wieck.” Harry’s voice falls into a smooth cadence as he begins, thumbing over Y/N’s warm knuckles absentmindedly as he recalls the information. “He was a music teacher, most known for piano, but what he really wanted to be known for was raising a child prodigy.  He had a few children, but the one who filled that description was Clara, his second oldest.”

As Harry begins to spin the tale, Y/N can’t help but focus on his expression.  Although his eyes are set on their linked hands, she can tell that his gaze is far away, as if he’s seeing the scene play before his eyes as he tells it.  It’s fascinating, she thinks, seeing him focus so intently on something as niche as an old love story between musicians, but more than that, it’s new to her.  This is a new side of him that she hasn’t seen before— not cocky, or charming, or playful.  This side of him is intent, as if he wants to make sure that every word he speaks is the truth.  His expression is almost as interesting as the story itself.

“Clara’s parents, Friederich and Mariane, didn’t really get along very well, and Clara had a lot of trouble when she was young; she didn’t really speak until she was four.  But music always came easily to her, which made sense, considering her parents.” Harry’s free hand drifts back to the ivory keys, just resting over the lacquered surface. “Her mother was a musician, too— an accomplished singer.  But after her parents split when she was five, when Mariane had an affair with a family friend, Clara was left with her father.  And her father wanted to focus on her music career.  He gave her hour-long lessons every day, and made her practice for two hours on top of that.  She made her performance debut when she was just nine years old, in 1828, at the Gewandhaus in Leipzig.”

“Okay, wait.  Pause.” Y/N worries her bottom lip between her teeth as she waits for Harry’s faraway eyes to refocus on her confused expression. “What does playing in Leipzig at age nine have to do with a love story?”

An amused laugh slips from Harry’s lips at Y/N’s impatience. “I’m getting there, sweetheart.  A little bit of patience would be beneficial to you, I think.  And a little bit of trust in me, yeah?”

Although she huffs a little bit, Y/N relents, squeezing Harry’s hand in acknowledgement at the phrase he always seems to end up repeating: Trust me. She vaguely wonders why it’s so important to him. “Alright, fine.  Continue.”

“Thank you.” Harry swipes a hand through his tousled curls before settling it back down on the keys, running his fingertips over the smooth surface absentmindedly in the same rhythm he’s swiping over Y/N’s knuckles. “Okay, so… She played in Leipzig a few times that year, and once was at a private music party at someone’s house, where she met Robert Schumann.” At the mention of the name, Harry shoots Y/N an ‘I told you so’ look, which she meets with a roll of her eyes. “He was a gifted pianist, and was so inspired by Clara’s playing that he got permission from his mother to quit his law studies in order to study piano under Clara’s father, Friederich.  So in 1830, Robert moved into the Weick household as one of Friederich’s students, and—”

“Sorry, I— pause again.” Brow furrowed, Y/N’s eyes narrow in suspicion as she mulls over Harry’s words. “So— if Clara was, like, nine—”

“Eleven, actually.  It’s 1830 now, remember?”

“Alright, eleven.  If Clara was eleven… You said Robert quit law school to study music.” Y/N’s narrowed eyes widen as she regards Harry, as if asking him to contradict her suspicions. “How old was Robert?”

“Around twenty, I think.” Harry says casually, lifting his shoulder in a light shrug. “He was born in 1810, so— yeah.  He would’ve been twenty.”

“Twenty?” Y/N yanks her hand from Harry’s as she fully twists her body to face him, as if just hearing the horror in her voice isn’t enough. “He was twenty?  I thought this was a love story?”

“It is!  It’s just—”

“No, it’s not!  It’s gross!” Wrinkling her nose in disgust, Y/N shakes her head harshly, her loose hair spilling over her flushing cheeks. “A twenty year old shouldn’t—”

“He didn’t!  Nothing happened until they were older, love.” Harry captures Y/N’s hand within his own again, smoothing over her knuckles as he hurries to reassure her. “And it was the nineteenth century… a nine year age gap in a relationship wasn’t exactly uncommon.” For a brief moment, Harry wonders what Y/N would think if she knew just how much older he really was than her.  Would she react with the same horrified expression she had now?  Yank her hand from his again as she had just done?

“Yeah, well…” Y/N’s appearance is still bristled as she shoots Harry a condemning look. “There’s a difference between a nine year age gap and a child—”

“Nothing’s happened yet, sweetheart.” Harry bites back the involuntary laugh that bubbles through his chest at the indignant tone of her voice. “Now can I continue?  Or do you want to yell some more?”

Although her response is grumbled, the mortal girl mutters, “Fine.  Continue.” as Harry lifts her knuckles to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of her hand. 

“Thank you.” He lowers her hand back down to his thigh, smoothing it over his trousers before continuing where he’d left off. “So Robert studies under Clara’s father and stays with them for a year.  And although Clara and Robert were just friends, Friederich could tell that they were becoming close, which he didn’t like.  And before you say anything,” Harry watches as Y/N’s lips twitch into a frown. “It wasn’t because of Robert’s age.  Friederich didn’t want Clara to fall in love with anyone; he just wanted her to focus on her music.  He still wanted his child prodigy, you know?  So he began to take her on tours through Europe.  But by the time Clara was sixteen, it was clear that she and Robert had feelings for each other.  They wrote countless letters to each other, signed them ‘your special friend’... And when Clara turned eighteen, Robert asked Friederich for his permission to marry his daughter.  And Friederich said no, because that would ruin his plans for Clara’s music career.”

Despite her hesitation at the relationship, Y/N still mutters a quiet “Harsh.” at the story.

Harry’s hands return to the keys, but this time, they do more than hover.  He begins to press a few notes slowly, letting one ring out completely before moving to the other, and it takes Y/N a few moments to realize that he’s playing an actual melody, albeit a deconstructed one. 

“Because Clara wasn’t twenty-one yet, they needed her father’s permission to marry, so Robert took the case to court.  And it was…” His fingers stutter over the keys for a moment as his face twists up, remembering how the story had decorated the society pages of newspapers back then. “Messy.  Really messy.  But in the end, Robert won the case, and he and Clara were married.  And they wrote all this beautiful music together…” Harry’s left hand joins his right over the piano, moving with more intention now as he adds a quiet harmony to his slow melody line. “They weren’t good with words, but they were good with music.  That’s how they communicated with each other.  You can hear the love in everything they wrote, the devotion they had for each other.  Listen,” He says in a hushed voice, the melody of the music becoming unbearably sweet. “D’you hear it?”

“I do.” Y/N nods softly, her fingers massaging Harry’s thigh muscle as he continues to play.  It’s not a lie, either; there’s a sincerity in what Harry’s playing that twists within her chest.  

Or maybe, she thinks, her eyes trained in the profile of the man beside her, it’s just Harry. 

“Didn’t you…” Y/N hesitates both in her words and her motions over Harry’s leg as a new thought tugs at her mind. “Didn’t you say the story had a sad ending?  That all seems good, isn’t it?  Clara and Robert got married, wrote music together…”

Harry’s fingers begin to slow down, returning to the reduced melody he’d been playing previously, as if weighed down by the knowledge he’s about to share. “Uh, yeah.  Robert had a lot of problems— mental health issues.  Later in their marriage, he became manic, had episodes where he saw angels and demons… and he was worried he’d hurt Clara.” Harry says quietly, risking a glance at the girl beside him, who’s watching him with such wide and trusting eyes that he almost can’t bear it.  Harry knows what it’s like to fear hurting the ones you care for. “He tried to kill himself, and when he was unsuccessful, he asked to be taken to an insane asylum.  And he never went home again.  He died there, just a few days after Clara was finally allowed to visit.  S’like…” Harry’s fingers pause over the piano once more. “S’like he was waiting for her.  Before going.”

Detecting the emotion in his voice, Y/N raises her hand from his thigh, smoothing back a few loose curls before gently setting her palm over the curve of his neck. “That is a bit of a tragic story, I’ll admit.  To have fought so hard for each other for so long… And then to lose all of it like that…”

“Yeah.” Harry clears the lump from his throat as subtly as he can.  He’s certainly no stranger to loss, to feeling helpless at being unable to save someone you love… He knows that pain all too well. 

As if she can sense the darkness in his mood, Y/N rubs a comforting hand across his shoulder and down his arm, drifting over his inked skin with a warm touch.  Her comment, however, is more lighthearted than her caring caress. 

“I still think the age gap is a little weird.  How do you go from writing letters about being ‘special friends’ to falling in love?”

Harry rises to her baited joke, doing his best to shake himself from his introspective thoughts as his fingers begin to drift over the keys once more.  He focuses on just his right hand now, playing out an absentminded yet tender tune as he speaks. “So if I started to call you my special friend, you wouldn’t like it?”

“God, no— that sounds awful.” Y/N scoffs, her own hand drifting to the ivory keys. “We’re sleeping together, not making mud pies in a kindergarten class.”

Harry’s laugh is more genuine as he begins to slow down his playing, plucking only single notes that Y/N echoes in the lower register of the piano. “Alright, fine.  Not special friends, then.”

“There’s just so many cooler historical ways to say we’re having sex, y’know?  None of that ‘special friend’ bullshit.” Y/N continues to match Harry’s notes as best she can, wincing every so often as she plays a dissonant key. “Like… ‘lover.’  That’s a good one.  Nice and simple.  Or—” Her eyes light up with mirth as the thought pops into her head. “Courtesan to the queen.  Not as simple, but it certainly rolls off the tongue.”

Harry quirks a brow at the suggestion. “And you’ll be the queen in question, I presume?”

“Of course.  Do you have a better idea?”

“‘Paramour’ is a neat little name, don’t you think?” Harry asks, his fingers pressing down a simple perfect fourth on the piano to punctuate his question. “Sounds pretty elegant.  Understated.”

“If you want understated…” Y/N matches the top note of Harry’s interval, already knowing she wouldn’t be able to match the actual notes without hurting both of their ears. “We could do what historians do when talking about ancient queer couples.  Say we’re just good friends.”

The creature hums in acknowledgment at the back of his throat. “We could, yeah.  Or we could be mistresses.   Is there a word for a male mistress?” Harry quirks an eyebrow as his lips pull into a quizzical frown. “A master?”

“Jesus Christ, never refer to yourself as a master again.” Y/N groans loudly, her fingers slipping from the keys as she feigns a shudder. “That just sounds creepy.  Even creepier than a special friend. How about…” She tries her best to stifle a wry grin as a more vulgar alternative pops into her head. “The Whore of Babylon?” 

“Fuck’s sake, what did I say about slut-shaming me?”

“I just thought it’d fit! It has a nice ring to it! But if it really irks you that much— Oh, wait—” She quirks her head to the side, a new wave of amusement lighting up her eyes as she thinks of her next step in their game. “What about ‘special advisor’?  You know, like we’re in a historical drama, and I have a kingdom to defend from oncoming war, and you’re my most trusted advisor, and when my husband is away with the army, you and I sneak off into my chambers…”

Although he giggles boyishly at the suggestion, Harry can’t ignore the twinge of jealousy that shoots up his spine at the mention of Y/N’s— albeit imaginary— husband.  He doesn’t like being referred to as her side relationship, even in an imaginary world of queens and wars.  Even then, he wants to be Y/N’s first choice. 

Because she’s his, he realizes, his fingers continuing to pluck out single ivory notes as a way to deal with the impending ball of tension that’s growing inside his abdomen.  Even in a game, in an imaginary world, in any way imaginable— Y/N is his first choice. 

He just— he wants her, in every sense of the word. And he knows all the reasons he shouldn’t— he knows how reckless it is to allow a human to get so close to him, how he’ll never truly be able to be honest with her, how he’ll always be using her for her blood, how he can’t give her the human relationship she deserves.  But he can’t stop from thinking about Robert and Clara, who fought for each other from the very beginning, who persevered through every challenge thrown their way, and who still only got sixteen years together before circumstance tore them apart. 

Harry is here. He is— for all intents and purposes— theoretically alive.  And the girl he wants more than anyone else is right next to him.  There’s no doubt in his mind that it’ll be difficult, but does he not owe it to those who ran out of time to try?  At the very least? Does he not owe it to himself to fight for the happiness he’s spent so long evading, all out of fear? 

He can manage that.  He can manage his cravings around Y/N enough to take only what he needs, and never anything more.  He can manage his double life and keep her from falling victim to the darkest corners of his mind. He can manage his strength enough to treat her as delicately as he’d treat a butterfly.  He can manage the most monstrous parts of himself.  He can do that for Y/N. 

But only if she wants him to. 

It’s that hesitation that brings a tremor to his hands as they pause over the keys, poised over the lacquered surface that he can barely tear his gaze from. “A special advisor sounds fun, yeah.  Or you could…” Harry clears his throat roughly, sweat pooling across his brow as he fiddles with the opal ring on his pinky.  He twists it back and forth around the digits, only managing to spare one look from the corner of his eye at Y/N’s quizzical face before dropping his stare back down to the piano. 

“Or you could, um… you could just… call me your…” Say it, the voice in his head practically yells. It’s just one word. It’s not that hard. “Boyfriend. You could just call me your boyfriend.”

A heavy pause fills the air in the large room, and Harry feels like he’s being suffocated. His voice grows fainter when he detects the sudden hitch in Y/N’s breath, but nothing else. He finds himself wanting to fill the empty space between them with something, or else he might pass out from the nerves. “If you… If you want, that is.  It would just keep it simple. Plain and simple.”

Plain and simple, Y/N thinks as her hands curl together in her lap, slotting between her thighs as if the pressure of her clamped legs can keep her from feeling how they shake.  It would keep it plain and simple.

But when has their relationship ever been simple?

It should’ve been simple, and the mortal girl knows this.  Two consenting adults, calling each other every once in a while for a bit of release— that’s simple.  That kind of relationship doesn’t have any pressure.  There’s no need to try and impress one another, or to meet any expectations.  That kind of relationship is no muss, no fuss, and no strings attached.  That was how they had started, and it had been simple.  It had been easy.  It had been uncomplicated. 

And it also hadn’t been that way for a long time.

Y/N’s known for a while now that the line between two friends having sex and being in a committed relationship has become increasingly blurred; that was all but confirmed when Harry nearly pitched a hissy fit when he saw her coming home from her date with Jacob.  But even with all of the dates, the gifts, the phone calls during her lunch breaks, the homemade dinners and drinks and desserts, even with all of that— Y/N never thought that they’d actually arrive at this moment.  This moment, in Harry’s apartment, their bodies pressed together on the small piano bench, his fingers fidgeting nervously as hers are pressed between her thighs, with the word boyfriend dangling over their heads like a sword.

She can’t pretend she hasn’t thought about it, because she has.  And she can’t pretend that her thinking about it doesn’t usually lead to her daydreaming about it, because it does.  It’s why she spends the majority of her downtime wrapped in Harry’s rainbow cardigan, and why she’d picked out his button down shirt to wear tonight.  It’s why she’s talked about him to her friends, why she’s begun to speak about him casually to her coworkers, instead of hiding in the storage closet when he calls her on her break.  Because even though they aren’t together— even though they’re friends in the least and seeing each other at the most— it had been nice to pretend that either of them were capable of being more.

Y/N is no stranger to heartbreak, and she’s spent long enough studying her own commitment issues to be able to recognize them in someone else.  Harry had pretty much told her in the beginning that relationships weren’t his thing, that he didn’t want to be defined by a label that could so easily be broken.  And Y/N, who hadn’t opened herself up since Bradley, had been inclined to agree.  Relationships are messy, and labels only bring expectations that would eventually not be met.  Seeing each other is easy.  Seeing each other is breezy.  Seeing each other leaves room for interpretation, for allowances, for excuses to be made if one of them suddenly changes their mind.  Seeing each other is plain and simple. 

Boyfriend.

The truth of the matter is that Y/N shouldn’t be so terrified of such a simple word.  In all forms and fashion, Harry practically already is her boyfriend— he literally calls her his girl during sex, for fuck’s sake. They do everything that a normal couple does, and have been doing it for a while now.  She’s fairly certain that calling Harry her boyfriend instead of the guy she’s seeing wouldn’t actually change their relationship that much.  But if she’s honest with herself, Y/N knows that it isn’t their present day situation that’s sending a cold sweat down her back.  Boyfriends, from her limited experience, lead to fiancés, which lead to husbands, which lead to children and a white picket fence in an unassuming suburb.  That was the exact life she’d come to L.A. to escape— how could she willingly fall back into it?

And then she hears Harry exhale shakily, his thumb fumbling with the opal ring on his pinky, and she knows exactly how she could willingly fall back into it.

This is Harry.  Harry, who tells her the stupidest jokes that can somehow still make her laugh.  Harry, who gives her all of his attention every moment that they’re together.  Harry, who listens to every story about rude customers without complaining once, hanging onto her every word as if what she says matters more than life itself.  Harry, who makes her believe that it does.  Harry, with entrancing emerald eyes, shining chestnut curls, intricately inked skin, and the most comforting arms she’s ever been held in.  This is Harry.  Not Bradley.  Bradley wanted the wife, the white picket fence, the house filled with children.  Harry— as far as she can tell— just wants her.  And she just wants him.

Plain and simple.

Y/N extracts one of her hands from between her legs, snaking it over Harry’s, where she captures one of his fiddling hands in her grasp.  Intertwining their fingers, Y/N fixes her gaze onto his opal ring as she hesitantly swipes her thumb over his cool knuckles.

“Yeah,” She whispers the word, as if speaking any louder could break whatever it is that’s brewing between them. “Yeah, that could work.  I’d really like that.”

The human girl watches from the corner of her eye as Harry’s lips, which he’d been gnawing on nervously while waiting for her response, slowly curl into a hesitant grin, as if he’s nervous to show how anxiously he’d been waiting for her to answer.  He keeps his sea glass eyes glued to their tangled hands, his own fingers contracting to test their grasp. 

Harry knows that it’s selfish of him to be so happy that the girl he cares for is entering into a relationship with a monster.  But seeing as how he’s the monster in question, he can’t make himself feel guilty for it.  All he feels is the elation that’s slowly spreading through his entire body, and the determination that’s chasing it.  He can do this.  He’s strong enough.  He can be strong enough for her. 

“Can I…” His voice is just as quiet as hers, nearly cracking at the end when he finally lifts his gaze to her heated cheeks, wide eyes, and stained lips. “Can I kiss you?”

A tender laugh falls from those stained lips as Y/N combs his curls back over his ear, dragging her thumb over the sharp lines of his jaw. “You do that all the time, so the answer is obviously yes, isn’t it?” She thumbs down the muscles in his neck, until her palm settles over the collar of his shirt to fist the fabric between her grip. “You don’t even need to ask anymore.”

“It never hurts to ask.  And this time…” Harry worries his bottom lip back between his teeth before he soothes the bite mark with his tongue. “It’s different.  We’re different.”

“Not too different.” Y/N leans forward until their noses nudge against each other, their mouths kept apart only by an inch.  She cards her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, twisting the locks around her digits in a way that’s so much softer than Harry thought possible. “Still us, yeah?”

The taste of honey and lavender is so thick on the back of Harry’s tongue that he’s almost choking on it, but he’s never felt less thirsty in his life.  He has this under control.  He can tame this.  He can.

“Yeah.” He inhales deeply through his mouth, as if he were relishing the bouquet without tasting the wine, and slots their lips together with ease. 

Although they’ve shared countless kisses over their months together, this might win the record for the gentlest that they’ve ever shared.  There’s no rush, no animalistic need to pull Y/N closer and tighter against his body.  There’s only her burning warmth, her silky skin, and her sugar and flower flavour washing out the black tea that had been lingering on his taste buds.  Harry has never felt closer to being human again than he has in this moment.  Right now, they’re not a predator and his prey; they’re simply two people who, against all odds, have managed to find each other.  And Harry is owed this happiness.  He knows he is. 

The rest of the night passes in a blissful haze of comfortable domesticity.  They eat dessert on Harry’s couch, feeding each other bites of raspberry sorbet in between giggles and banter.  It’s something they’ve done countless times before, but there’s something different about it now; maybe it’s the fact that Harry knows that Y/N isn’t going to push him away now.  She wants him.  She wants him.  She’s leaning into his touch every time he brushes his knuckles over her cheek, laughing at his poorly-timed jokes, gazing at him through her lashes in a way that stirs desire in the very pit of his belly.  They’re comfortable together, and for the first time, Harry is realizing just how wonderful that is.

It’s the only thing on his mind as they stand side by side in front of his double vanity in his en suite, his gaze tilted to the side to watch as Y/N removes her makeup with some wipes she’d packed in her overnight bag (Harry makes a mental note on the brand so that he can pick them up the next time he finds himself near the drug store).  He’s never had such casual comfort and ease with someone like this before; the last time he’d found himself in a relationship, it had been in a time where maids were required to help lace and unlace corsets and valets prepared him for bed.  There was never a chance to watch as someone he cares for ties their hair back in a loose ponytail before rubbing cleanser into their skin.  He never got to observe the quiet, intimate moments of someone’s bedtime routine.  In the early days of their relationship, Y/N had never had a chance to properly take her makeup off before Harry was tugging her into bed, her lipstick smeared across his face as much as hers.  This is his first time really witnessing that transition, and he likes it more than he thought he would.

There are, however, a few things that he knows Y/N likes before bed, and he gives her a moment of privacy to change into her pyjamas while he makes the quick trip to his kitchen to fill a tall glass with cold water.  He doesn’t need to grab an extra blanket this time— he’d already made sure to toss the knit afghan onto his bed before Y/N arrived, and he finds it draped over her body when he returns to his bedroom.

“You look cozy.” He comments with a fond smile, handing the mortal girl the glass of water as he pulls back the other half of the blankets.  He climbs underneath the covers, propping his elbow up on his pillow as he lies on his side to watch as she takes a sip of the drink. “Y’alright, love?  Need anything else?”

Y/N shakes her head as she sets the glass down on the bedside table and settles back into her pillows, stifling a yawn into the back of her hand.  She always gets sleepy after she has a few drinks, something she’d explained to Harry— much to his amusement— a few weeks prior, after a movie night at her house when he’d made his famous margaritas.  They’d been having a Harry Potter marathon, and they’d barely begun the second before her eyes had started to flutter closed. 

“I’m good, I think.” She tugs the blankets up to her chin, tilting her head to the side to find Harry already staring at her with a soft expression. “Actually…” Extending a hand to him, she lifts her covers off her body enough to indicate what she wants. “C’mere.”

A boyish giggle falls from the vampire’s strawberry lips, and he flicks off the lamp before crawling towards Y/N in the enveloping darkness.  He folds himself right into her side, opening his own arms for her to slide into, but is surprised when her hand finds his shoulder and tugs him closer to her.

Harry takes the hint and hesitantly settles himself onto her own body, allowing the mortal girl to rest his head along her collarbones, his ear finding a home just above her beating pulse.  One of her hands knots itself in his hair, delicately detangling his messy curls as the other finds a home on his naked shoulder blade, rubbing over his defined muscles with the hottest touch Harry has ever felt. 

It’s a vulnerable position, one that Harry hasn’t been in for decades.  And yet, instead of feeling the usual mix of fear and trepidation, all Harry can feel is comfort.  The combined sensation of Y/N playing with his hair and massaging his shoulder is more pleasurable than he ever could’ve assumed.  A month ago, that would have confused him.  But now… he exhales softly as Y/N’s nails lightly scratch along his scalp.  He can be vulnerable with her.  He trusts her.  And, to his extreme luck, she seems to trust him.

A few minutes pass with nothing said between the pair, the silence around them punctuated with only the sound of their breathing and Y/N’s lone heartbeat.  If Harry didn’t know better, he’d think that Y/N had fallen asleep, but his sharp senses know that’s not true; her pulse is still a few beats faster than it normally is, and her breathing hasn’t completely evened out yet.

Sure enough, Harry’s suspicions are confirmed when Y/N whispers into the darkness a moment later, as if she could hear him mentally assessing her body language. “Harry?” Her voice is gentle, halfway between a whisper and a murmur, as if she’s afraid to be any louder. “Are you awake?”

Harry bites back the smirk that threatens to overtake his lips. “Mhmm.” He hums, nuzzling his head further into Y/N’s caring touch. “Still awake.”

She matches his hum of acknowledgement, the pads of her fingers pressing deeper into the knots of his back. “I was wondering…” Her voice thickens with hesitation. “Would you, um, would you sing for me?”

Without completely lifting himself from her chest, Harry raises his eyes to meet her own, her fingers pausing their motions through his locks as he does so. “Sing?” He asks, taken off guard by the out-of-the-blue request. “Y’want me to sing?”

Although there’s a shadow of shyness across her face, Y/N nods slowly. “I heard you humming earlier today, while you were cooking, and it sounded nice, so I was just thinking about it…” She clears her throat nervously, and Harry can hear the wave of blood that rises to her cheeks. “But you don’t have to.  I know it’s late—”

“No, petal.” Harry hurries to ease her, a frown settling onto his face as he hears her breathing grow shallower with anxiety. “S’fine.  No need to get shy.” Harry is amazed at how smoothly the reassurance falls from his lips. “Yeah, I’ll sing for you.  Any requests?”

Despite him telling her not to be shy, Y/N just shrugs her shoulders in response to his question, her eyes locked on the ceiling above them as if she can’t bring herself to meet his gaze.  Harry plants a kiss along her clavicle before settling back into her plush chest, mentally running through the catalogue of songs he’d been humming earlier.  He should pick something soft, he thinks.  Something like a lullaby.

Y/N resumes her gentle combing through Harry’s locks, mostly to distract herself from his thoughtful silence.  She shouldn’t have asked him to sing something— he’d made it clear earlier that playing the piano for people was something that made him nervous.  They’d sung together playfully multiple times, and Y/N could tell that Harry has a pretty voice, but half-singing, half-rapping along to the Hamilton soundtrack is so different than singing to her in the darkness of his bedroom.  She shouldn’t have asked.  In fact, she should tell him to just forget it, and—

“I had a thought, dear, however scary, about that night, the bugs and the dirt.” Harry’s low vibrato echoes around the previously silent room, his voice no louder than a murmur.  Y/N can feel the vibrations of his vocal chords against her chest, a quiet hum that soothes her like nothing else ever has. “Why were you digging?  What did you bury, before those hands pulled me from the Earth?”

Harry clears his throat quietly between the stanzas, his own eyes drifting close.  He’s never been one for stage fright— he’s always been eager to show off his vocal skills, and there’d been a time when all he wanted was to sing on stage in a smoky speakeasy.  But this— singing in the quiet of his bedroom for an audience of one— is more intimate than he’s used to, and he knows if he catches Y/N’s observant gaze right now, he’ll lose his nerve.

“I will not ask you where you came from; I will not ask and neither should you.” Harry tunes his ear to the steady pulse of Y/N’s heart, using the rhythm as a makeshift metronome to keep his time.  To keep himself steady. “Honey, just put your sweet lips on my lips; we should just kiss like real people do.”

Harry feels a spike of warmth against the top of his head, and it takes him a moment longer than normal to realize that it’s Y/N’s lips pressing against his hair.  As he continues to sing, she times her caresses of his ringlets with the beat of his words, which he keeps timed with the beat of her heart.  They’re in a cycle, he realizes as he quietly sings the second verse into her skin. She’s lined up with him as he lines up with her.  They’re locked together, steadying the other while relying on them to keep them steady in return.  For the first time in two hundred years, Harry feels truly in sync with someone.

“Honey, just put your sweet lips on my lips,” Y/N’s mouth smudges against his temple once more as he nudges his nose along the base of her throat, allowing himself to press his own lips against the satin skin of her chest, just over her heart. He feels like he could stay in this moment forever, which means something given that he truly does have forever. He’d spend every second of the rest of eternity frozen in this instant, if the world allowed it. He’s content, and relaxed, and cradled in his duvet with the one other soul who has somehow managed to thaw the coldness from his stony heart. For the first time in too long, he feels like an actual person again. He isn’t bogged down by his carnal instincts, or by the fear of losing his composure, or by the fact that he doesn’t have a thumping rhythm behind his ribs. 

He doesn’t need all of that because he has Y/N, and she makes him feel more real than all of those aspects ever could. 

“We could just kiss like real people do.”

[readerstories]

Tie Reveal - Aaron Hotchner x male!reader

What is it with me and turning short and sweet ideas into long one shots? Yeah so anyway, enjoy (AO3)

Warnings/tags: relationship rreveal, fluff and humor, light angst

Wordcount: 2837

Summary: You come into work wearing the wrong tie

You hate rushing in the morning, preferring to start your day in a calm and relaxed manner. That’s not on the table for today however, as you and Aaron both rush to get dressed.

“You’re going to be late.” You say as you button your shirt, glad you had had the forethought to grab on from your to go bag, as not wake any suspicion or teasing from the team. Aaron glances at the clock as he puts his shoes on.

“It’s still before the time you usually get in.”

“Yeah, but not for you.” You pick up your ties from the floor, giving Aaron’s to him. You’re quick to put yours on, Aaron mirroring you.

“I’ll just say that I got a flat tire.” You nod, stealing a quick kiss from him as you grab your jacket on the way out.

“Okay, see you at work!” You’re out the door before he can respond, making your way quickly down, not even bothering with the elevator in your haste to get to your car.

—-

You make it to work on time, only a few minutes later than usual, but that can be blamed on the fresh coffee in your hand from the coffee shop down the street.

As the elevator plings to announce your arrival on the right floor, you’re met by Garcia, Reid, and Morgan standing right outside, groaning as they spot you.

“Well, good morning to you guys too.” You say with a confused look at them all as you step out.

“It’s not you, we’re just just waiting for Hotch.” Garcia explains and you raise a brow, faking confusion.

“Hotch? Isn’t he here already?”

“No, so I got worried, so I checked his phone and it was pinging on the road just outside his apartment building, which is weird cause he’s normally the first one here-”

“Are you even supposed or allowed to do that outside of a case or emergency?” Garcia hesitates, and you huff and shake your head at them.

“Well, I’m going to go and start work, like you all should.” You leave the team as they go back to watching the elevator doors, quickly shooting off a text to Hotch to let him know that the flat tire excuse won’t work.

A few minutes later you hear a happy Garcia shout Hotch’s name and seconds later he comes in through the glass doors, followed by Garcia, Reid, and Morgan.

“Guys, I’m fine, I just slept trough my alarm this morning.”

“But you never do that.” Garcia responds, hot on his heels.

“So what’s her name?” Morgan quips, Hotch stops in his tracks to give him a withering glare before resuming his path to his office.

“Ohhh, lover boy!” Morgan teases at Hotch’s back.

“Remember we got a briefing in ten minutes sir!” Garcia yells after him before the door to his office is closed behind him. You hide your smile behind your coffee, trying not to bring much attention to yourself. Garcia leaves to prepare a few last things for the briefing, but Reid and Morgan linger next to your desk, still standing.

“Do you really think that’s what made him late?” Reid asks.

“Come on, that man never misses anything and sleeps light, and Jack is away for a week, so what else could it be?” Morgan glances at you. “What do you think?” You take a sip of your coffee, pretending to think.

“Maybe, or maybe he is telling the truth. The man is only human, and with the amount of hours he spends in the office he might actually just have slept trough his alarm.” Morgan nods, but doesn’t seem convinced.

You all make your way into the meeting room. You sit down in the chair next to a standing Garcia as you often do, Reid, Morgan, JJ, and Rossi joining you around the table, Hotch striding in as usual a few minutes later.

“Garcia, please begin.” He stays on his feet, ready to go as soon as he can.

“Look to the screen my mighty crime fighters, because today you’re goi-”

“You’ve switched ties.” Reid cuts Garcia off mid-sentence, making everyone look at Reid, wondering what in the world he is talking about. He points at you.

“You and Hotch, you’ve switched.” Both of you look down, then at each other as the team looks between the two of you. Shit, he’s right.

“When you came in I saw your tie was the same as Hotch wore yesterday, a grey tie with a Gucci pattern. I just thought you had bought the same one, since you both have a similar taste in ties, but Hotch got the same as you wore yesterday, a grey tie with stripes, which still has the small coffee stain from when you spilled some yesterday.” Hotch frowns as lifts up the tie to inspect it, and yes, there’s indeed a small, barely noticeable speck of coffee about halfway up the tie he is wearing. No one says anything for a few seconds, you yourself have turned into a statue, neutral expression on your face. Hotch is much the same, everyone else looking between you two. Garcia is the first one to break the silence, squealing with glee.

“Omg, omg, guys!” She yells as she hugs you from behind, the angle a little awkward with how she leaning over your sitting form. You’re not stone anymore, but you don’t return the hug before she lets you go. Morgan and JJ are both grinning, Rossi is looking at Hotch with smile, Reid is trying not to do the same at you while you glare daggers at him. Hotch sighs.

“Garcia...” His tone is chastising, reminding everyone that there is something else to focus on, which seems to snap her back to work mode. Sort of.

“Right, right, case, lets just brush past that revelation about two of my best friends, so, uhhh, where were we? Or right! Today you’re going to-” She begins to explain the case, both you and Hotch get a few more glances before everyone turns their focus on the case.

----

On the jet you think you’re in the clear, until Rossie settles in the seat next to you. Which is odd, because you’re the only two on the jet so far, and he usually doesn’t sit next to you.

“So you and Hotch huh?” You pretend to read over the case files in front of you, and Rossi chuckles.

“You know, none of us expected a thing. Well done on hiding it from a group of profilers I must say.”

“Rossi, there’s nothing-”

“There’s nothing?” He’s grinning, clearly teasing as he looks down to your tie and taps it with a finger. “Something tells me otherwise.” You sigh, but are saved from answering by the rest of the team joining you on the jet. Everybody buckles down for take off, and not long after you’re in the air, and then all the attention is on the case.

For a little while at least.

You can tell they want to talk about it, but the case keeps everyone occupied, so there’s nothing else before JJ comes back from the hotel with the room cards. Everyone is spread around doing different tasks, so she finds you alone in the conference room the team had been given. You’re reading trough the victims files for some more specifics on victimology when she places a keycard on the table in front of you. You look up, startled as you hadn’t even noticed her entering the room.

“You’ve seen Hotch?” She asks and you furrow a brow.

“I think he’s talking to the police chief in his office, why?”

“His key card, but you can just give it to him when you see him, since you’re sharing a room.”

“I thought we were past the budget cuts-”

“Oh we are, but Garcia made some changes to the booking after this mornings briefing sooo....” JJ grins and you sigh, rubbing your forehead. There’s silence and no movement for a few seconds, then there’s a hand on your shoulder.

“Hey, you know we will always support you guys right?” You sigh heavily, resting your own hand on top of JJ’s, looking up at her.

“I know, it’s just... It wasn’t revealed in the best way.” She grimaces.

“Yeah.” She looks uncertain how to respond, but seems to go for light, which you are grateful for. “But I’m surprised none of us caught on until then, it has been going on for at least a couple of months right?” You try to hide your grin as you pretend to go back to reading the files.

“Well, I’m not a ‘kiss and tell’ kinda guy, but it’s a bit more than a couple months.” JJ laughs and pats your shoulder before leaving the room.

You find Hotch not long after, and when you tell him the whole situation around the shared room, he sighs too, but mostly in a ‘oh what can you do’ kind of way, seemingly mostly resigned to everyone knowing now.

Even with sharing the same room and not needing to hide anything from the team, you go back to the hotel without him. The man is a workaholic, and you want a shower and some sleep, but he promises to join you soon. Instead you end up sharing a car with Reid and Morgan, neither of which say anything in the car, but while you’re waiting for the elevator, all bets seems to be off.

“So, you and the bossman huh?” Morgan teases with a grin as you do your best to ignore him, watching the numbers on the display tick down. The elevator door opens and you quickly step inside, hoping to leave them both behind. But alas, no such luck, as they step inside and Reid presses the button to the floor above yours.

“You know, work place relationships aren’t actually that uncommon. Did you know-” Here you tune him out, once again watching the numbers off the elevator. Normally you like when Reid goes on a tangent, but now, not so much.

“Reid, I will strangle you with my tie to shut you up if I have to.”

“Don’t you mean Hotch’s tie?” The grin on his face is shit-eating, which is rare from Spencer, and Morgan laughs loudly. The combination of it makes you curse under your breath as the doors finally open to your floor. You don’t bother saying goodbye, just going straight down the hall towards the door with your room number on it. Sliding the keycard in, it opens with a click. You drop your bag on the floor as soon as the door shuts behind you, and you switch on the lights.

You can’t help it.

You laugh as you take in the big room in front of you.

Or rather, the suite.

The honeymoon suite by the looks of it. Red and white decor, candles, big bed, nicely decorated with towels shaped like a heart, and some champagne in an ice-bucket on the desk in the room. There’s a small white card right next to the champagne, which you quickly read. ‘Have fun ;) -G’. You snort at it, that woman is a menace. (But also very nice, but you do shoot her text to warn her that she should sleep with one eye open. The only response you get is a winking emoji).

A surprisingly short time later you hear the door to the suite unlock, alerting you to Aaron’s arrival where you just stepped out of the shower. He calls your name in a questioning tone, you’re quick to respond as you wrap a towel around your mostly dry form.

“In here, one sec.” You step out of the bathroom, Aaron’s attention going straight to you before pointedly looking around the room. You lean on the door frame of the bathroom.

“Garcia.” You offer as an explanation.

“Ah.” He accepts, looking around once more. “This is going to be a fun expense report.” You snort at that, pushing yourself of the door frame and walking over to him. Putting your arms around his neck, you pull him close for a kiss.

“Certainly, but let us enjoy it for now, I’m sure Garcia has an explanation locked and ready for the report when we need it.” Aaron tries not to smile at that, but is halfway to failing when you catch his lips in a kiss.

----

The next time your relationship is brought up is on the jet back when the case ends well a few days later. Everyone have found their way to pass the time as usual. Reid and Rossi are playing chess in the one of two seaters, Morgan is half asleep, JJ is typing away on her phone next to him, across from them in the aisle seat is Hotch who has started on more paper work already, and you’re laying down on the couch across from them reading a book.

Everybody is in their own little bubble, that’s until Rossi is standing in the aisle and clearing his throat. Everyone looks at him, even Derek who JJ jostles awake with an elbow. Rossi got a bottle of expensive looking whiskey in one hand, several glasses in the other.

“I believe a little celebration is in order.” He starts handing out glasses, you sit up and close your book as you accept yours, just as Garcia pops up on the screen over the couch.

“What for?” You ask, genuinely curious, giving Garcia a look trough the screen, a very grinning and happy looking Garcia.

“Well, the case went well, we saved several people, and ah yes, your not so secret relationship anymore.”

“Rossi-” You and Hotch try to say something at the same time, but Rossi doesn’t let either of you speak another word.

“Oh no no no, neither of you get to Rossi me. Just shut up and listen okay?” He pours a hefty helping of whiskey in everyone’s glass as he speaks, even Garcia got a glass back home somehow, no doubt filled with something similar.

“We just want you both to know that we are very happy for you, both of you. And though the way us knowing came about wasn’t ideal, we will always support and be there for you.” You and Hotch look around at your team, noting the happy faces watching you before making brief eye contact.

“I want you all to know that nothing in this team changes with this, we’re still going to work together and remain professional while on the clock. There will be no preferential treatment here.”

“What he said.” You incline your head towards Hotch as you look around the jet once more.

“Aaron, we know that. Like I said, we just want you both to be happy.” Rossi says, soft smile on his face. You raise your glass, trying to pretend that the slight sting you can feel in your eyes is just tiredness.

“Cheers to that.” Everyone joins in, clinking their glasses together in loud celebration and happy voices, Garcia cheering with her glass against the camera lens back home. Everyone takes a sip of the whiskey, several mentioning the smooth burn of it.

“So, how long have you two love birds been together?” Morgan eyes flicker between you and Aaron.

“See, that right there Morgan is the million dollar question.” Rossi points between you both. “Come on, out with it.” You grin, trying and failing to hide your grin behind taking another sip of the whiskey, Aaron doing the same.

“Do you want to tell them or should I?” You ask, getting up to lean on the chair Aaron is sitting in. He looks up at you, taking your hand and placing it on his shoulder.

“I think you should.”

“Okay.” You say with a shrug, looking at all of the team before settling your gaze on Spencer. “Remember the strangulation serial killer we caught in LA earlier this year?”

“We caught him and finished that case 6 months, 11 days, and 9 hours ago.” Spencer helpfully supplies.

Then it dawns on them all what that means.

Yells of surprise from everyone, and this time neither you or Aaron try to hide your matching grins. Rossi is laughing loudly while slapping his knee, Reid seems to have lost his composure, mumbling that he should have seen something sooner, Garcia is speechless for perhaps the first time since you have known her, Morgan looks frozen in shock, and JJ is trying to hide her laughter behind her hand.

“6 months? How even?!” Morgan exclaims. You shrug, your grin shit-eating by now.

“What can I say, we’re good profilers and now how to hide our tells.” You glance at Aaron and squeezes his shoulder, who in return brings your hand to his lips for a brief kiss on your knuckles. Garcia squeals from her screen, gushing over how cute the two of you are as you smile and laugh in response.

[whumperooni]

Scorched

Pairing: Enji x Reader

Word count: 7.2k

Tags/Warnings: A/B/O; tw breeding kink; tw noncon/dubcon; tw angst/no happy ending; rough sex; tw dumbification (i think?)

A/N: Uhhh, this ended up a lot different than I originally intended. I might do a rewrite in the future/alternate ending? Who knows! Sorry for the angst at the end;;;;

“....Natsuo? Are you- are you sure this is really okay?” You feel bad for asking, but you can’t help letting the question slip out- it feels so...not wrong per say, but it feels so very much like you’re intruding as you look at the looming Todoroki estate. It’s so big- fancy and traditional, beautiful and intimidating- and you bite your lip in worry as you eye it, grip your suitcase tighter. Someone like you doesn’t belong in a place so grand. “Of course it’s okay! Fuyumi was psyched when I told her you were gonna stay the weekend with us!” Natsuo pops his head out from the trunk of the cab and he sends an easy grin your way- sweet, but doing little to ease your nerves. “But, um…what about your dad?” you mumble, shuffling in place and sending the home in front of you an anxious glance. “I don’t think...I don’t think he’d want some random stranger-” “It’s fine.” It’s curt, his voice. Cold. You flinch from it and guilt pokes at you- you know your friend has...issues with his father (though he won’t really talk about them) and you feel bad about bringing up someone that upsets him. (Though, it is a fair question- the house belongs to Enji Todoroki. And you really don’t want to get on the number one hero’s bad side.) You bite your lip, head ducking, and miss the way that Natsuo’s eyes soften at your submittance. You do catch the sigh he lets out, though, and the way his hand falls to the top of your head. He offers another smile- something smaller and a little tired, somewhat less easy than the first- and he pets your hair with a gentle touch that almost has you purring. “It’s fine,” he tells you- softer and without the ice from before. “I promise. Dad is never home and, well, even if he does come home, it’ll be okay. It’s really no big deal.” You doubt that, but you don’t protest anymore- you just nod your head like a good girl and offer him a hesitant smile in return. “Okay, Natsuo,” you mumble. You force your smile a little bigger and take a breath, nod again. “Besides, we’re already here.” When your smile grows this time, it’s more natural. “And I can’t possibly pass up your sister’s famous cooking.” Natsuo grins and he ruffles your hair, grabs your suitcase before pulling away. “C’mon then- Fuyumi’s waitin’ for us.” You huff, but you follow after him- smiling just a little to yourself despite the nerves quietly jittering and fading away underneath your skin. You have always wondered what Natsuo’s family home looks like. And you’ve really wanted to meet Fuyumi after hearing so much about her from her brother. She seems nice, enthusiastic and you really do want to get to know someone that’s so important to your friend- it’ll be nice to finally meet her. You smile at the thought and step through the gateway and onto the Todoroki estate. You immediately seize up and freeze. Everything smells like...cinnamon whiskey. Cigars. Hot metal. Scorching, fierce, searing heat. It smells like alpha. (It smells good.) “...you okay?” You startle- eyes wide and hands shaking. You hadn’t realized that you had stopped- hadn’t realized that you had frozen up like a newly presented omega smelling an alpha for the first time. You touch the scent blocker plastered to your neck and breathe in deep through your mouth, try to gather yourself before Natsuo can worry even more. (What a pathetic, embarrassing response. You’ve been presented for so long now- you should be used to these things. You shouldn’t be frozen and startled with beads of sweat prickling at your hairline, your heart pounding in a frenzy against your rib cage. ….but god, though, that scent is something else- faint now that you’ve gotten used to it but still so...so… So striking. Just a whiff had frozen you in place and you know it’s just from the way Enji-san has marked the territory with a fierce, protective nature but, still, that’s remarkable. A little scary. It makes you nervous over how you’d react if you ran into the real thing.) You gulp and your fingers press tighter against your neck, push at your blocker as if it’ll make it work even better. ...you should probably take another suppressor soon. (You really hope they’ll withstand Endeavor if he comes home.) A shaky breath and you force a smile on your face, wrap your arms around yourself as you take a trembling step forward. “S-Sorry,” you apologize, a breathless laugh leaving you. It sounds quivering and overwhelmed- something so embarrassing. You fluster and hurry forward until you’re by Natsuo’s side, look up at him with wide eyes and flushed cheeks. “I’m okay.” He eyes you, puzzled, and you feel a rush of gratitude that he’s a beta- that he can’t catch your overwhelmed scent that’s flared up at his father’s own scent. (You can only imagine how well that would go if he were to find out.) “I’m fine, I promise,” you tell him more earnestly. You wrap your hands around his arm and flash him a big smile, hope that’s enough to erase his worry. “Let’s hurry so we can settle in and I can meet your big sis, huh?” Natsuo eyes you, but he nods and starts walking, tugs you along toward the waiting home. “Yeah, come on,” he says with a faint smile. “Let’s go.” You walk with him and try to ignore the fluttering in your chest, the way a scalding scent is swirling around you. ~~~~~~~~~~~ “Natsuo, I can’t believe it took so long for you to bring her here!” Natsuo grins, hand rubbing the back of his neck, and you duck your head with a smile as Fuyumi wraps you up in a quick hug. She smells nice- like vanilla and spiced oranges- and it’s almost a disappointment when she pulls away to smile down at you. “It’s so nice to finally meet you,” she tells you- warm and cheery. “Natsuo’s told me so much about you!” You blush- you can’t help it- and you gently elbow Natsuo in the side whenever he laughs. “He’s told me a lot about you too,” you say- maybe just a little shy but smiling all the same. “Fuyumi, I’m gonna go put her stuff in the guest room,” Natsuo pipes up. “Is dinner almost done?” Fuyumi nods and Natsuo grins- pleased as punch as he begins to walk away. You remember your need for suppressants and quickly reach a hand to grab onto Natsuo’s jacket, look up at him with sheepish eyes whenever he cocks a brow your way. “I, um, need something from my suitcase,” you tell him- trying not to let stray embarrassment show on your face. “I’ll go with you.” He just shrugs and you scamper after him- waving to Fuyumi with a little smile. The house is big- bigger than you had realized. It’s as nice on the inside as it is on the outside- very traditional and very simplistic, elegant. You can tell that everything is expensive and well taken care of on top of that. It’s nothing like the little house in the ‘burbs that you grew up in and, honestly, you would be lying if you said you weren’t in awe as you followed Natsuo throughout his family home. It’s so nice. You feel guilty for being in it for some reason- like your presence is going to somehow dirty such an immaculate, dignified home. It’s a ridiculous feeling, but you still find yourself sticking closer to Natsuo than you normally would, you find your hands curling up against your chest as you walk so they don’t brush against anything. “My room is just across the hall,” Natsuo informs you, pointing ahead. “So if ya need anything, you can knock.” You nod when he looks at you and eye his room in interest whenever he looks away. You’re kind of curious over what your friend’s room looks like- it’s nosey, maybe, but you can’t help but want to peek your head in and poke around. The room that Natsuo shows you to is plain- nice but plain; clearly a guest room. It’s going to be strange sleeping on a futon- you’ve always had a bed-, but somehow you’re kind of excited for it. It’s a little...novel? A new experience. “The bathroom’s down the hall on the left,” Natsuo tells you as he sets your suitcase down. You nod and he stretches his arms high above his head, shows off a sliver of a toned stomach that you politely avert your eyes from. “I’ll give you some time to settle in and then we’ll join Fuyumi for dinner?” You nod, smiling at him, and hum out a little, “Yeah, that sounds good.” Natsuo smiles in return and then he turns to leave. As soon as the door is closed behind him, you rush to your suitcase and unlock it with fumbling, clumsy hands. Enji-san’s scent is stronger inside the house- you absolutely need to make sure you take your suppressants. You paw through your suitcase looking for the little bottle of pills, getting frantic when it’s not in the side pocket you thought you had put it in. It’s not stuffed underneath your clothes or in your makeup bag either and you start to panic then, empty your suitcase onto the floor to sift through everything. It’s...it’s not there. How is it not there? An upset noise claws its way up your throat and you turn from your suitcase and toward your purse. There’s an emergency little pill case in there, but it only has two suppressants- enough for tonight and tomorrow. Not enough if Enji-san comes home. Hand clenching around the case, you swallow hard and try to calm down. Natsuo said that his father shouldn’t come home this weekend- that he’s rarely ever home. It should be fine; you should be okay. If...if he comes home, you’ll just have to make an excuse and leave. Or try to bear it- though you really doubt you’ll be able to. God, maybe you should ask Fuyumi if she has any? They won’t be near strong enough for you, but in a pinch… You’d have to explain why you need them, though, and that’s almost as embarrassing as Natsuo finding out that your oversensitive omegan senses are prickling in instinctual interest at his father’s territorial scent. God, being a fecund is such a pain. You whine to yourself softly- cheeks flushed in guilt and hand hurting from holding onto the pill case so tight. It’s an embarrassing situation, but it’s your fault for forgetting your suppressants at home so you’re just going to have to suck it up and deal with it. (And pray that the number one hero is kept busy chasing criminals all night long) You swallow and tuck your pills back into your purse, begin to put everything back into your suitcase. It’ll be okay, you tell yourself. He’s not going to come home. I’m going to be okay. Nervously, you tidy up after yourself and try to pretend that there’s nothing wet between your legs. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ “-and now my class is not allowed to have pencil grips.” You giggle, not able to help it, and hide it behind your hand, smile at Natsuo whenever he shoots you a grin. Fuyumi is unexpectedly funny- you’re really enjoying yourself. (Even with your nerves still so frayed and your instincts still trying to react to Enji-san’s strong, strong scent.) You swallow, smile wavering, and hide it with a quick drink of wine. The Todoroki’s have very good wine- of course they do. It’s a luxury for you to enjoy- you usually end up grabbing the cheapest bottle from the corner store; you hardly ever get to enjoy something top shelf. You take another sip of the wine and blush whenever Fuyumi looks over you, set it down hastily. She doesn’t say anything- only smiles gently- and that helps you relax back down, gets you smiling back at her- albeit a bit abashedly. You hope that she hasn’t picked up on your stress- it would be much, much too embarrassing if your best friend’s older sister knew that you were battling against the way their father’s scent is trying to pull you into need. “Aren’t you taking them on a field-” A trilling ring cuts Natsuo off and he huffs at that, checks his phone and then smiles apologetically at you both. “Sorry, that’s my lab mate,” he explains. “I gotta take this- we’re working on a group project.” You nod along with Fuyumi and Natsuo gets up and walks out of the room- leaving you alone with his older sister and a quick ripple of nerves that has your fingers curling into your palms. There’s quiet for a moment and you bite your lip in a sudden whip of shyness, take another sip of wine. Fuyumi merely watches and smiles at you, fingers her own glass. “Are you alright?” she asks, just a bit softly. She tucks her hair behind her ear whenever you blink at the question, bites her lip and looks almost guilty for a moment. “I, um, I know that it can be a little jarring coming here for the first time. Dad kind of...well, he kind of gets carried away with marking his territory…” Oh, fuck. You choke on your spit as your eyes widen and Fuyumi hastily raises her hands, blushes as she waves them around. “I’m sorry! I didn’t want to bring it up, but I know that it can be hard to deal with and I’m sure that Natsuo didn’t warn you! And, well, you’re a fecund so it’s worse for you and I just- I just wanted to make sure you’re okay!” Natsuo told her? Embarrassment, shame runs through you and you have to bite your lip to hide a noise that wants to sound, you dig your nails into your thighs as upset washes over you. You don’t like telling people that you’re a fecund. You don’t like people knowing that you’re such a weak, pathetic thing. Who else has he told? Worry ripples through you and there’s an undercurrent of betrayal; Natsuo knows how hard you try to keep your status a secret and it hurts that he spilled it- even if it was just to his older sister. Fuyumi must be able to see the upset on your face- her own expression softens and there’s regret in it, something apologetic in her eyes. She doesn’t seem to be judging you or looking down on you and it helps, a little, but you still can’t quite reel in your frustration despite your instinctual efforts to do so. Great- now you’ve made things uncomfortable. Good going, idiot. Your lips quiver and you force a smile to form, clench your hands into fists tight enough to make all your fingers ache. “I…” You have to clear your throat to compose yourself, keep the hurt and shame from your voice. “I...I’m okay.” There’s a flicker of disbelief in her eyes, but it disappears quickly and your cheeks burn as her gaze turns pitying. “...if you need anything, please let me know,” Fuyumi tells you gingerly, kindly. It should be comforting, but it only brings more embarrassment and you hate yourself a little bit for not feeling grateful like you should. “Dad shouldn’t...he shouldn’t be home tonight. And, um, if he does come home, it wouldn’t be for long...I- I’ll warn you if he says anything about turning up…” You wince internally and all you can is nod, hang your head as you whisper out a strained, “thank you.” It’s quiet after that, uncomfortable. Fuyumi, for her part, looks guilty but she doesn’t try to say anything more. The silence only gets broken whenever Natsuo returns and you force a smile on your face even if you can’t quite look at him, even as your heart hurts and your nails dig deeper into your palms. You take a long drink of your wine and listen as he starts chattering about his project, stare at the table as worry and upset crowd your mind. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Several glasses of wine later, your upset is forgotten. Your worry is still there, but it’s blurred under your fuzzy senses, easier to deal with. Or, accept, maybe? It’s hard to say, but you do know that you’re more relaxed- not frantically fighting against Enji-san’s scent but softening into it, letting yourself be tugged slowly into the submissive thing you were born to be. It’s almost comforting now, that simmering scent. You’re starting to feel...hazy. Loose and small but in a good way. Though, that could be from the wine. It could be from the way you’ve found yourself snuggled up and purring against Natsuo’s chest. It’s a good contrast- the toasty scent clouding your senses and your best friend’s cool, soothing touch. You’re not overwhelmed by one or the other and it’s easier to maintain yourself when you can press your flushed cheek against Natsuo’s shoulder, burrow your nose into his neck and inhale his neutral, cleansing scent. A purr works its way through you and you curl your fingers into Natsuo’s shirt, knead at the fabric and look up at him with half-shut eyes. He’s flushed, like you, and there’s a content smile on his face, something in his eyes that you can’t put a name to. He looks happy. That’s good- you want him to be happy. Your purr ups its tempo and Natsuo laughs a little- though you’re not sure why. His hand smooths over your hair and a chirp slips from your lips whenever it travels down to your back, starts to rub slow, cool circles along you. “You’re so soft right now,” Natsuo mumbles. “I’ve never seen you like this…” He hasn’t? Oh, you suppose not… You hum and let your eyes shut, sigh contently when the arm wrapped around your waist holds you a bit more snug to him. Like this, you can almost forget your hurt from before. Almost. You shake your head against him as you feel your upset try to bubble to the surface, curl your fingers tighter into his shirt. You don’t want to be upset and stressed again. You just- you just want to relax. You just want to keep feeling nice and dreamy and a little thick. The sound of footsteps has your eyes creaking open and you blink slowly toward Fuyumi when you spot her in the doorway of Natsuo’s room. She looks...worried? You don’t know why, feel guilty over it for some reason. When you chirp softly at her, her brows furrow and you nearly get up to take her by the hand, draw her into your nest so you can nuzzle her until her worry goes away. Nest...no, wait, no. It’s not a nest you’re in- it’s Natsuo’s futon. His big, comfy futon with its cool sheets and soft pillows, fluffy padding. How did you get into his futon again? (How much did you drink?) You blink again, a little confused, and miss the way Fuyumi bites her lip, the way she hugs herself and casts a nervous look Natsuo’s way. “Natsuo…” You feel him shift underneath you and that rocks your world a bit, has your eyes shutting once more. You don’t catch the words she whispers or what Natsuo says in return, but you do feel the way Natsuo hugs you a little closer whenever Fuyumi’s so very pleasing scent drifts away and it gets drowned out by Enji-san’s so very dominating one. Cool fingers brush against your cheek and slip along your jawline, down under your chin. You whine, softly, whenever Natsuo tilts your head up to look up at him and blink heavily under his scrutinizing gaze. Why is he looking at you like that? “...are you okay?” he asks, after a few seconds of silence. Your head tilts in question and Natsuo huffs gently. “...when was your...when was your last heat?” Your last heat? You can’t remember your last heat, not really. It was drugged and fuzzy, horrible with your leaden limbs and the way you were all alone without an alpha. You’ve...you’ve never had an alpha during your heat. You’ve never had an alpha at all, actually. But- but there’s an alpha here. You can smell him. He’d take care of you- he should be taking care of you. Where is he- where is- Your lashes flutter with furious blinks and a sharp inhale has you almost choking on the scent cloying your senses. You shiver and nearly scratch Natsuo as you grip at his shirt tighter, flush in muffled embarrassment when you vaguely realize where your mind was going. Oh...oh you shouldn’t have drank so much. The moment of clarity helps to jar your mind into something almost functioning and you shudder, squeeze your eyes shut so you don’t have to see your best friend’s concern. “Natsuo...I…” You trail off, swallow back a whine that wants to sound. “Can you...my purse...I have- need to take my suppressor…” You feel the deep breath he takes, feel the way his arm around you tightens. There’s a swallow from Natsuo- audible and something that has you feeling guilty- and then his hand pats your hair, he moves to sit up. “Yeah...yeah. Give me a sec.” You don’t want to move. You don’t want to let him up- you were so comfortable before. But your clarity is lingering and you know that you need him to fetch your pills for you, you know that you can’t sink further into this. (Stupid girl, how could you weaken so much?) Reluctantly, you sit up and out of the way. The smile that Natsuo gives you is a little strained, but the way he ruffles your hair is kind, gentle. When he gets up, you move to curl against the pillows and that’s when you feel something slick on your thighs, that’s when you realize that your panties are wet. When did that happen? Did- did Natsuo know? Did Fuyumi know? You don’t- you don’t understand- when- Embarrassment claws its way out of you in the form of a whimper and shame chases after it- panic, too. You swipe at the slick on your thighs almost frantically and whine as you try to scrub it away, tear up in drunken upset. Humiliating. You manage to rub the tears away before Natsuo comes back, but you’re not quite able to get your wobbling bottom lip under control. He startles in the doorway when he sees you and you hang your head in shame, don’t look at him whenever he passes a small pill and a glass of water to you. The water is soothing, at least. The pill is soothing, too- you know it’ll kick in soon and you’ll be able to gain control of yourself, pull back from the path you were wandering down. Natsuo sits quietly beside you as you drain the glass and you sniffle your embarrassment, hunch your shoulders tight. “...’m sorry,” you mumble. “I didn’t...I don’t…” Natsuo’s arm wraps around you and his hand finds the side of your head, gently pushes you until you’re leaned up against him. “...it’s okay,” he sighs out. You flinch because you know it’s not okay- it’s not okay at all. You’ve ruined things. “You’re not- you’re not going into heat are you?” You wince and you shake your head, hide your face against his broad shoulder. It’s not a lie...you think. It’s just- you’ve just been overwhelmed is all. Overwhelmed and drunk. You’re not- of course you’re not. You can’t be… You grip the glass tight between your hands and shake your head against him, let out a shivery exhale. “I just...I just drank too much,” you mumble. “‘M sorry, Natsuo…” He sighs again, big hand moving to pet over your hair. The cool kiss he gives to your temple is a surprise and soft noise leaves you when his lips press to you, your tension unwinds whenever he nuzzles against you. “You don’t have to apologize,” he tells you- firm but so kind, so sweet. His lips find your temple again and something in you squirms, another soft noise bubbles up and out of your throat. “...are you okay staying here tonight? If you want, I can-” You shake your head before he can finish the suggestion. Even if you’re still fuzzy and drunk, you can’t let yourself be a further burden on your friend, his family- you’re going to have to just make it through the night here and deal with any embarrassment in the morning. ...you hope Natsuo won’t look down on you when you wake. “I-I’m okay,” you insist- words stumbled, fumbled. “I��m fine. Just- just drank too much.” You lift your head and force a smile on your face, grip the glass tight once more as you try not to tremble at the sight of his furrowed brow, his worried frown. Natsuo’s hand finds your cheek and you shudder at the touch, press into his palm and try to cling to your clarity. “I’m okay,” you repeat- softer and with lowered lashes. You reach up to touch his hand and press it more against his cheek, bite your lip when his eyes widen and then soften. “I promise…” He stares down at you and you blink up at him. It’s quiet quiet quiet until Natsuo breathes in deep, gives a small nod. “Okay...I...okay…” He breathes in deep again and you let your hand drop, close your eyes whenever his moves from you as well. “Do you want...do you want to watch a movie or something?” Natsuo suggests- awkward, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. You nod because, yes, that does sound nice and, honestly, what else can you do? Natsuo moves to get comfortable and you hesitate for a moment before creeping close to him, curling up against his chest. The arm he wraps around you is firm, helps you believe that maybe he doesn’t think you’re a gross and pathetic thing. You don’t want Natsuo to think you’re gross. You don’t want him to think you’re pathetic. Natsuo puts a movie on and you close your eyes, curl your fingers into his shirt. He pets over you and you try to sink into the softness from before, avoid drowning too much in it. You drift off- dizzy and still washed over in shame, still wet between your thighs. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ...thirsty. Eyes creaking open, lips parting with a croak, you peel yourself off of Natsuo and rub your eyes with shaking hands. Thirsty. Hungry. Hot. You fumble out of the futon and Natsuo doesn’t stir, doesn’t move as you crawl away from him and stand on weak legs. Feels...you feel… ...fuzzy? You shiver and hug yourself, find your palms wet whenever they touch against your arms. Hot and cold. Doesn’t- doesn’t make sense. You’re- you’re- Thirsty. Hungry. Hot. Cold. Fuzzy. ...lonely? But Natsuo is still there...you shouldn’t be...but...he’s not- he’s not… You shake your head and rub your hands over your arms, look back toward the hallway. You’re just...you just need...you just need some water. That’s it...that’s- that’s all you need… You squeeze your eyes shut tight until stars spark up behind your lids, breathe in deep to try to clear your head. ...you’re fine. You just need some water. Another deep breath and you head toward the kitchen, dig your fingers deeper into your arms. Is it hotter in the house? It takes a moment for you to find the glasses. You try to be as quiet as you can, but your hands won’t stop shaking for reasons you don’t want to think about it. It’s...it’s hard to think anyway. Why is it so hard to think? You fill the glass with cold water and wince when your trembling hand causes droplets to splash onto you, wet your digits. You down the water faster than you have ever done before, fill the glass back up as soon as you’re done. You’re still so thirsty. You’re still so hot. Does...does it smell more like cinnamon too? Does it...can you taste whiskey on your tongue? A soft noise works its way up your throat and your lashes flutter, your thighs press together. You clutch at the counter when your knees threaten to buckle, spill the water into the sink at the sound of heavy footsteps. What...who… You whimper and turn your head toward the doorway- movements so sluggish and a gasp catching in your throat, sweat beading along your hairline. Enji-san- Enji- alpha- Flames lick into the kitchen and you slump against the counter, whimper once more as turquoise eyes stare you down. What is he- he’s not supposed to- he’s- “Al- alpha…” Enji takes a step toward you and your knees buckle, your nails scratch against the counter as you desperately try to keep yourself upright. Not supposed to be here. He’s not- he’s not- why is he- alpha- alpha- alpha smells so good- Your lashes flutter and your head tilts back with a moan, your mind clouds over even as panic pricks through you. Enji takes another step and a growl breaks through the quiet of the room, his shoe sole scorches a mark into the beautiful floor. “Who,” he rumbles out, “are you?” Your palm slips from the counter and your legs tremble, you start to fall to your knees. A thick arm wraps around your waist and drags you back up before you can hit the floor, crushes you against a broad chest. You go limp in the hold and shudder whenever fingers tilt your head up to look at him, whine softly as they splay down and brush over your throat. They’re so...they’re so warm. Big. Thick. Such nice fingers, so wonderful. You want them in you. You want alpha to- to- Oh, god, what are you thinking? A growl answers the whimper that leaves you and you whine, weakly reach a hand to his chest to try to push yourself away. “Behave.” Your hand falls. His scent flares. Your lashes grow wet and his hold on you tightens, his eyes grow darker. His fingers roam over your neck and your own twitch, your chest hitches with little pants and gasps. You don’t quite realize he’s found your scent blocker until it’s peeled off and a groan is leaving him and, by then, there’s nothing you can do about it. There’s nothing you want to do about it. (But you do- you do! He’s- he’s Natsuo’s- you can’t- you can’t!!!) A snarl sounds and you squirm at it, mewl whenever you’re dragged up higher and his nose glances along your jaw, drags down to bury against your scent glands. “Fecund.” The word reverberates against your heated flesh and it’s accompanied by rough fingers digging into you, hot air fanning over your throat. Tears leak down your cheeks, but you can’t tell if it’s from overwhelming need or from fear. Both, maybe, but how can you decide on that when your whole body is trembling, when your senses are flooded with a spicy scent, when your cunt is dripping with your slick. Teeth graze over your scent glands and you whine, grip at broad shoulders and cling to your best friend’s father. You’re thrown over one of those shoulders before you can tell what’s happening and left gasping, scratching along Enji’s back and whining whenever his hand smacks against your ass. “Alpha!” A snarl is all you get in response. You’re carried through the house- down the hallway, past the guest room, past Natsuo’s bedroom. Shades of shame have more tears dripping down your cheeks and you sob as you’re hauled off past your sleeping friend, tremble as you try to rock against Enji in search for some pathetic pleasure you so desperately need. Is alpha taking you to your nest? You want- you wanna be in your nest. You wanna- you wanna be- A door gets flung open and you’re dropped onto a futon, left blinking stupidly up at Enji as he brackets himself over you and bares his teeth. He’s so big. So- so big. Perfect for taking care of you, perfect for protecting you, perfect for breeding you. You chirp at the thought and reach up to him, purr whenever he grabs your hand and presses his nose against your wrist. “Fuck...” It’s ragged, rough. Makes something tingle up your spine. Your purr rumbles louder at it and you coo when his teeth scrape against your wrist, whenever his hand reaches to your waist and pins you down. Alpha is so strong. Why were you...why were you worried before? You can’t remember… “Alpha,” you mumble- only half-aware of it, not quite able to see him as your head lolls and your back arches. “Want...want…” Enji groans against you and his scent doubles down, his grip on your waist becomes bruising. Hurts but it’s- it’s okay- alpha can- alpha can do whatever he wants. “Needy,” Enji growls, hand pushing up your shirt. You nod, whining, and he snarls- chest heaving and pupils tiny pinpricks, flames blooming feverishly. “Good mate.” Pleasure flares all throughout and you whimper as slick gushes from you, as your pussy throbs with your need, with the giddy joy and sheer thrill of being praised by such a strong alpha. Tears have your vision blurry and they bead over your lashes, drip and sear down your cheeks as you smile and shake. Good mate. You want...you want to be a good mate for alpha. Your alpha. A big hand rips your shirt off- Enji’s impatience tearing it to shreds and the fabric digging tight into your skin as he yanks it off and makes it into so many pieces. Your bra is reduced to cinders and the cry you let out from the heat only makes Enji snarl, only has him gripping your breasts with callused hands and giving a rough squeeze. “Tender little morsel,” he growls- brilliant eyes glazing over and a sizzling slather of drool gathering between his teeth. “Mine. Been so long- going to- fuck! Going to breed-” He cuts himself off with another snarl and you sob, reach up with shaking hands to grip at his shirt, desperately try to yank him down closer to you. “Ple- please! Alpha! Breed! Need- want pups! Your pups- Alpha! Alpha! Al-” (No- no- yes! Yes! NO! What are you saying? You can’t- you can’t- You want to be full so bad.) Tears stream down your cheeks as you choke on your pleading words. Enji doesn’t pay attention except to growl and bare his teeth at you, incinerate your shorts and panties. A whimper crawls from your throat as you're burned and marked, but the pain is forgotten when his teeth find your neck and his drool gets spread along it, when your legs are forced into an aching sprawl and he grinds himself mindlessly against your dripping cunt. Feels- feels good. Hurts so much. Feels so good. You need him inside you. You whine, speech forgotten and lips and tongue useless, your mind lost and swirling with need you could have never imagined before, would have feared to comprehend. It’s so hot and thoughts are truly gone from you now- all that’s left is instinct and need, the base and feral desire to be fucked and used and bred- for your purpose as a fecund to be fulfilled. (Why were you ever ashamed of your status? This is what you were born for- this is what’s bringing you such a pure happiness that you’re weeping and shaking and crying out) You don’t protest whenever your limp body is flipped over- just snivel and whine and rock your hips back against Enji- against Alpha. There’s no prep or build up or easing into it- Enji shoves his cock into you and you’re left screaming as pain and bliss sear through you in rough, overwhelming streaks. You collapse completely underneath him and come on his cock- blood dripping down along with your slick, your thick and honeyed juices. The lick to your neck helps soothe the pain and you mewl, allow your head to loll to offer your throat to him. Enji’s neverending growl deepens as his teeth scrape against your scent glands and his fingers bruise into your hips whenever you weakly clench around him, try to rock your hips despite the sting and stretch his cock brings, despite the way you’re aching so badly that you won’t be able to move tomorrow or the day after that. That’s okay, though- alpha will take care of you. Alpha...alpha will take care of you. You need him to take care of you. You can’t do anything without alpha. Enji’s hips draw back and you whine frantically at the thought of him withdrawing from you, claw at the futon and whimper out pleading, wordless mewls. You can’t have him pull away and leave you empty- you need him buried inside of you, you need him to keep you filled and full. Never leave you empty- always keep you full- you need it- you need it! Enji slams himself back into you fully and you sob as you’re filled completely again- body jarring forward with the force and his teeth tightening and digging deep into your throat. The growl that reverberates against your flesh has your body tightening, your claws tearing into soft padding. They rip through the fabric as his hips buffet against you harder and harder and tiny feathers begin to fly through the air, stick to your sweat soaked body as alpha fucks and fucks and fucks you. Through your blurred vision, it looks like snow swirling in the air- impossible coolness despite the heat burning through the room. You coo dreamily, blearily and something scratches in your mind, claws against the pleasure that dulls the pain and has all your senses so broken and drugged. Snow...cool...there’s someone- there’s a reason you shouldn’t be- who- Flaring flames scorch the feathers to ash and you shudder as they lick close to your skin, squeeze and spasm around the thick cock that’s shaping you into Enji’s perfect little hole to breed. (If he doesn’t burn you to a crisp first.) You whimper as he grunts, drip tears and cum and sweat. It’s too much. It’s not enough. You need more. You need his- you need alpha’s- you need- you need- “Kn- knot! S- seed!” The plea scratches out of your throat in a choked sob- hoarse and whiny, so needy and garbled. It’s loud enough that it covers the sound of running steps, desperate enough to make Enji roar out and shove your face into the futon, shove you down so low that your vision is halved by padding and tears as he spears his cock into you again and again and again- swelling knot catching on your slick, sore hole. Your cunt clenches down- gummy insides so desperate to be sprayed and stuffed with his scorching seed- and you’re left drooling over the futon- lashes fluttering and eyes threatening to roll back as begs get caught in your throat and stuttered out in pathetic, broken moans. Please please please wanna be filled wanna be filled so bad need seed need alpha to come need alpha to fill me alpha give me pups alpha breed me alpha please let me give you pups alpha breed your omega alpha breed your bitch alpha alpha alpha ALPHA ALPHA ALPHA- “ALPHA!” Enji comes and it hurts- his seed searing and blistering your insides, his knot slamming and sealing the boiling cum firmly in your spasming, screaming, creaming cunt. You’re yanked up by the hair and his teeth find your neck as you sob, break through your tender flesh as he marks you from the inside out. Tears drip down your cheeks and down your throat, mix with the blood that bubbles and beads through his teeth and past his lips. Hurts- hurts. But- but alpha came- alpha filled you. Alpha bred you. So you’re happy- so happy. A gurgling, broken coo sounds from you and you smile even as you tremble and fall so limp against Enji- smile even as Natsuo and Fuyumi run into the bedroom. Alpha growls against you- content- and a weak mewl leaves you when his tongue licks over his claim, when his scent falls heavy to begin to soothe you, tamp down the pain that is threatening to break you from your fog. “What did you- what did you- WHAT DID YOU DO?!” “Dad! You can’t! Why-” You clench around Enji and whimper at the intruders, twitch and shudder as your lashes flutter to a close. Want- want more- need alpha to- need him to breed you more… You pass out as Enji’s growl turns violent, as Fuyumi clamps a hand over her mouth and sobs over your blistered body and swollen stomach, as Natsuo screams his horror and rushes toward Enji- ice coating his hands and melting from the fierce heat of the room. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ “Alpha...when is alpha…I need him...when is coming home...?” “...soon. Rest now.” A mewl sounds and Natsuo’s heart breaks as he watches you snuggle down into your nest, tears threaten to sting at his eyes whenever you chirp softly at him, burrow your nose into one of his father’s sweaters. You’re so big. Soft and full and stupid. His best friend- his first one true love- has been reduced to nothing but a dumb little omega- a helpless thing who can’t do anything more than chirp and mewl for your alpha- for Enji. This is all his fault. He should have never brought you here. He should have known better. How could he be so stupid? Natsuo grits his teeth and clenches his hands- unable to turn his head from the way you curl around the small bump in your stomach that’s growing larger and larger each day. All he had wanted was to bring you home. All he had wanted was to introduce you to Fuyumi. All he had wanted was to spend time with you, hold you close and gather the courage to whisper his feelings to you. And now...now that’s all gone. The chance has been crushed to bits and he only gets this with you- watching over you and making sure you’re healthy, seeing the way his father’s seed is growing inside of you. He’s going to have another brother or sister. He hates it. He hates Enji. He hates you. ...he hates himself. He should have never brought you here. He should have whisked you away whenever Fuyumi whispered her nervous worries. He should have done so many things. A sigh leaves you- soft and content, sleepy as you run your hands over your stomach. Natsuo finally turns away and he leaves the room- tears wetting his lashes and the tiny shards of his broken heart shattering even smaller. He misses his best friend. He wishes he had never dragged you into his life. Natsuo heads to his room and you stay in your nest- smiling as you drift off, mind blank and all your screaming thoughts of your future and your fear muted by the scent of cinnamon whiskey and cigar smoke, hot metal and searing heat.