#I hope they spill blood again but this time kiss each other’s bloody mouths :) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sunflowervolvimp3 · 4 years

Text

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.”

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles imagine #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles smut #vampire!harry styles #vampire au #one direction fanfiction #one direction fic #one direction imagine #harry styles au #writing #ysijwa

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golddaggers · 3 years

Text

midnight rendezvous

pairing: louis tomlinson x f!reader

warnings: filthy smut with hints of fluffness. period sex. petnames. him calling you baby doll. defo nsfw +18, so my dudes, read carefully.

a/n: it's your renegade writer back with her fantasies. i've written this a while back and though it'd be such a shame to share. if you do like it, make sure to reblog and like. thanks and enjoy *wink* leth x

word count: 3k+

It’s just a bit past midnight when I park home, no one wandering the streets, or children playing about, there’s just the chilled breeze fumbling with the leaves. I don’t notice a second car on the driveway until I’m up close, I blame the dim yellow streetlights and my exhaustion. It had been a particularly busy shift at the hospital, I wanted nothing more than to sleep for about two days straight.

The cold crisp air makes me tremble for a split second, but I am soon welcomed by the warmth of the inside. I kicked off my sneakers, trying to be as silent as possible, I didn’t want to wake him up. A second car meant Louis had come home and he must be tired, it had been weeks since he had a break, we hadn’t seen each other for even longer. The weekends he happened to be around, I couldn’t work my schedule to spend them at home with him. It sucked, and I missed him more than I could put it into words.

A frustrated sigh slips while I walk to the kitchen, filling up a glass of water. After so many years, I should be used to it: the busy schedule, the months spent apart. I’m not, though. And being honest, I don’t think it’s possible to not be in pain when waking up to an empty bed beside me, to not hear the soft humming when he’s doing the dishes, to not miss the press of his lips on mine. I just wanted us to buy a bunch of lands somewhere, live a quiet, happy life, have children, and grow old. Just the two of us.

This was something I would never tell him. Robbing him of his passions wasn’t on my mind. I knew he’d oblige if I did say so. If I asked him, but I couldn't.

I leave a half-drunk glass behind, and go upstairs, taking off my plain white shirt then unbuttoning my jeans. Before I got to the bedroom, however, I froze, strangled sounds coming from there startling me for a second. It's followed by a smile creeping in, I’m very much aware, and familiar, with them.

The door isn’t closed, so I peek in. I see him naked, sheets pooled by his feet, and one hand wrapped around himself, moving up and down with ease, his thumb applying just enough pressure. I feel my mouth watering at the sight, a cramp twisting my belly. Desire gathers quickly, I was so touch-starved that I might as well come undone just by watching him get himself off.

His eyes are closed, thin lips parted. I slide off my pants, throwing both them, and my shirt away, walking inside in just my black lingerie. Even that was starting to be uncomfortable.

“Lou?” I call him, standing with crossed arms. He’s quick to drop everything, shooting me a wide, surprised glare. “Sorry, didn’t mean to spoil your good time.”

I’m half-joking at this point.

“I thought you’d only be home in t’ mornin’,” Deep blue eyes, sparked with lust, stare up at me. I'm very aware of how much I want to be near him again. “C’mere.”

He pats the space on his right side, it’s mesmerizing how quickly he can go from a sex god to a warm loving man. I go, but I don’t stay beside him, instead, I take my seat on his lap, which makes him laugh, rough hands on my waist, squeezing the flesh. I shift, uncomfortable, feeling him beneath me. So hard, so ready. It’s been so long I might just assume I'm a virgin all over again, shamefully responsive to anything he might do to me.

Louis leans in, planting a kiss just between the curve of my breasts. The prickle of his bead makes my pulse rise. It’s the intimacy that gets me hooked. He feels like coming home. A warmth that springs from the tip of my toes to my head, flushes my cheeks, and makes my forehead sweaty.

A “missed ya” whispered on my skin makes me shake, he then kisses the soft spot where the shoulder meets the neck, I let out a groan, moving, seeking friction. His smirk is taunting, both hands going up to my cheeks, four eyes meeting in the middle of a tired night.

“What now?” I say, unsure, panting as his thumb toys with my lips, pushing inside for a moment.

“Do you want a shower first?” He asks, staring at me, a boyish smile on his face.

“I should. I’m disgusting.”

“Nonsense,” The tip of his nose is pressed to my cheek, a ghostly kiss left behind on my jaw. “You look amazing anyway. Why d'ya think I’m so worked up?”

“Were you thinking of me? Getting yourself off imagining my hands around you? My spit and my lips, hmm?”

Louis pants when I grind down on him, slick with the throb of him against me. The fabric of my panties still forbids me from knowing his skin on mine, from sinking and swallowing him whole.

“Yeah, I was. Always think abou' ya', love.”

“I think about you too,” The friction makes me lean forward, sighing against his warm neck. “Nights get so lonely… I miss you so much, you know.”

“Darling…”

“Mmhm, I have to touch myself, grab my boobs,” I place his hands on them, and he squeezes, promptly. Fills his hands. It’s swollen, sore even. I’m burning up.

“Do you say my name when you come?” Louis asks, quietly, sucking a patch of skin. I’ve got goosebumps, I’m reeling from the build-up.

“I do. Over and over and over,” The room feels warmer if that's possible. Sweat drips down my back. I’m aware as to why I’m so sensitive, besides the yearning when it’s been months since he last touched me, my period heightens things up.

For a moment there, I almost forgot it.

“Can I just fuck you now, doll?” It’s a hoarse whisper, I clench in frustration. I’m hot, nearly suffocating. “Want t’ feel yeh so bad.”

His accent thickens, I’m lost, too into the moment to think coherently. I go for his lips, kissing him with passion, biting down on his bottom lip, still moving my hips, rolling against his. He pushes back, groaning into my mouth. It’s sinful. Everything about him is.

“Can’t, sweets,” It slips out, breathlessly. “‘M bloody down there.”

He smiles, soothing, hands firm on my hips. My stomach somersaults, it’s amazing how Louis manages to make me feel 17 every time he gives me that gorgeous smile of his. I feel like one of his groupies.

“Never cared ‘bout that before. C’mon, help me out.”

“Lou…” A strangled noise followed. I’m reaching a point where pleasure mixes with pain, I’m too aroused, too sensitive. He touches me there, trained fingers light to not hurt me but enough to stir me on. “You’re trying to bribe me, aren’t you?”

“Am I getting there?” The double entendre makes me chuckle, nodding. “Good. Let me take those off, hmm?”

“Come,” I untangle myself from him, the cold, empty feeling brings a pang to my lower belly. “If we’re doing this, let’s do it in the shower.”

I slide off my panties, tossing them at him. Louis laughs wholeheartedly, balling it in his hand while kicking the sheets away to follow me into our bathroom.

It’s bright, with mirrors everywhere. My hair looks an absolute mess, strands falling down my shoulders, I’ve got flushed cheeks, and glistening skin, perspiration all over. Five minutes with him just does that to you. He looks impressive from behind me, his brown hair was thrown back, wide blue eyes staring right at me from the reflection. I can see the extension of his tattoos, the tanned skin from being under the sun a little too long last weekend.

Louis is a sight for sore eyes.

We exchange a look then smile. The kind of intimacy that only comes when you love someone, beyond passion, beyond attraction.

He undoes the clasp of my bra. I sigh in relief, gasping when his hands cup my boobs, pinching my oversensitive nipples. I can’t help but toss my head back, resting it on his shoulder. He’s good at this, playing with me, edging me out.

“Missed them even more,” Louis expresses, a half-smile on his face. “You’ve got the prettiest tits I’ve ever seen.”

“You know you’re probably the only man on earth that can get away with saying stuff like that, right?” We share a laugh. “Turn the water on, sweets, yeah? I need to take the tampon off.”

While he busies himself with getting things ready, I put my leg up on the toilet and gently pull it out, being careful not to spill any blood on the floor. I’m mentally grateful it’s not an extra heavy day. I wrap it up in toilet paper and toss it in the bin.

“Water is warm, baby,” Steam starts to fog up the room. “Come.”

“I hope I will.” I wink at him. I don’t know why I’m suddenly so cheeky.

“Don’t tease me,” Lust soaks up his voice, eyes stern. He’d punish me for sure. When I wasn’t expecting him to do so. When we weren’t so desperate for each other. Whenever he’s back home, there’s no games, just tension relief.

He goes in, standing beneath the shower rain, his back facing me. I look at his ass, all perky and round. It’s no secret that I got a thing for it, and I might’ve bitten it a few… hundred times. Whenever I get the chance, really. I grab them, squeezing the muscle, a hoarse laugh falling from his lips. Louis thinks it’s silly, doesn’t see how it’s so great.

We kiss, then. In a brief moment, he spins and pulls me in, tongue rolling ‘round with mine. It’s wet, crude even. I make sounds that would mistake me for a pornstar, groaning when his tip brushes where I’m aching with need. He pulls my hair back, exposing my neck to him, sucking and biting. Leaving behind bruises I’ll have trouble covering. The adrenaline high doesn’t let me focus on that, though.

His hand slides between us, lodging between my legs, his palm pressing my pulsating clit. I call out for him, squeezing his shoulders, whimpering. Just this faint touch sends me into overdrive. It’s borderline ridiculous. How good he is. Or how much I want him. How I crave for him like a junkie craves a fix. It’s the trip of a lifetime when he’s inside me.

I go for his dick, so painfully hard it could cut right through me. There’s something about watching his eyes snap close, or how he moans, but I wobble, my breathing going fitful. He says my name, pressing his soft lips to my forehead, still rubbing me out. My hand seems smaller when it’s wrapped around the width of him. Louis feels heavy and scorching hot.

“I want to do something,” I whisper, high on the pleasure he was giving me. “Would you let me?”

“I want to fuck you, darling,” It’s raw, doesn’t sound dirty, more like a pleading question. “Please let me, hmm? I want to fill you up. Watch it drip down out of you. My pretty baby with cum all over her legs.”

A pained whimper comes out.

The tip of his fingers are stained red, they never really slipped inside me, just circling, creating a build-up that leaves me in discomfort. It’s unusual how much time we are taking with this, at this point, we would’ve fucked about three times already. Either way, I like it. The glint in his eyes, eyes that I adore. Diamond beauties staring down at me, so full of desire. It’s powerful. To know you have such an effect on a man like him.

I place him in the tight space between my thighs, both of us groaning with the stronger contact. I’m dripping and it’s not just blood, he’s thrumming, hips sloppily jerking forward. I feel him almost in me, but not quite. I scream, I’m sure our neighbours would make complaints. I don’t find it in me to care. It's way too heavenly.

Tattooed hands land on each of my love handles, our bodies are almost one at this point. That’s when he lifts my leg, we both can’t do any more foreplay, no more waiting. I help him inside, a little bit of blood gushing before he’s deep within. It takes a while for me to get used to him again, two months can be enough for things to shrink back up.

“God, your cunt is so fucking tight,” He mumbles, out-of-worldly. “You’re gonna make me come and I barely even started.”

“And you’re so fucking big, gonna split me open,” I shoot back, gripping tight on his forearm, trying to balance myself as he starts to pound, slowly at first. “Fuck, baby. This is so good.”

“Tell me who can make you feel so good, baby doll,” A particular hard snap of his hips makes me sway on my step, but his iron grip steadies me. “Use your words. I want to know.”

“You!” It’s a desperate squeal, I feel full, he stretches me to a burning point. Pain mixing with pleasure. It doesn’t take a scientist to tell me I’ll have trouble sitting down tomorrow. “You, baby.”

Louis lifts my other leg, both on the crook of his arms, and presses me against the tiled wall of our bathroom. His teeth clamp around my nipple, biting, sucking. I feel dizzy with the torrential rain of emotions. The water keeps falling on us, warm. It splashes when he thrusts.

None of us is lasting longer. I wasn’t particularly known to do so, not when he was the one handling me anyway. Some people are just skilled. Just know how to push somebody else’s buttons. And Louis knew how to push mine. He knew how to push me into the fucking edge. Coax a string of orgasms out of me if he so wanted. With his fingers, with his tongue, with his dick.

I moan, one hand tugging the hair at the nape of his neck and the other going to where our bodies met. It’s a fucking sight. Watching him go in then out of me. I start rubbing myself.

“You have to be quieter,” He says, our foreheads glued together, still slamming into me like I’m his favourite rag doll. “We don’t need people calling the police.”

“It’s your fault,” My reply is followed by a curse word. “Giving it to me so good like that.”

“Mmhm,” Dark blue looks at me, I can feel him getting sloppier. It’s close.

In urgency, he kisses me, I’m too frail, too putty in his hands. A numbness starts on the tip of my toes, it makes my eyes roll back, I can’t even voice anything anymore, entirely surrendered to him. To the vulnerability of this moment. Being his as much as he’s mine.

Time stands still whenever I’m with him. And right now, I can’t even keep track of it, too lost in him. That’s why I don’t know how long it took, it could’ve been seconds or minutes or hours. But I broke. Went up screaming. Barely registering he was telling me to shush, that it was too late in the night to be so loud. If that was what he was saying at all.

I’m shuddering, that I can tell with conviction, convulsing. That doesn’t happen often. I mean, it’s always fucking good, but like this, like I’m on something, that’s exceptional. At one point, he growls, squeezing me tighter. His hips stutter, face squashed against my chest. He spends himself inside me, as it was promised. I’m beyond satisfied, I’m in a state of bliss no one can reach me. Where the world doesn’t exist, only him.

Louis stays in for a while longer, nuzzling between my breasts, I play with his hair, a bubbly smile on my face. No high higher than this. He helps me down, I don’t trust my feet, clinging to him like a child. A chuckle falls from his lips.

“That good, huh?”

I just nod.

“I’ll help you clean up.”

With a sponge and a bit of liquid soap, Louis rubs down my body, taking his time to bubble me up. I’m still sensitive to touch, I have to pull his hand away when he tries to touch me down there, where I’m probably red and still swollen. I can feel the burn. Good burn, though.

When we both finish cleaning ourselves up, we step out of the shower. He still has a protective hand around my waistline. I wince at the thought of moving away, but I have to, I can tell I’m one second shy of making a mess on the floor.

He fetches us towels while I go deal with the bloody problem. Pun intended. I clean the dripping blood mixed with cum on my thighs, and when I look up, deep blue is fixed on me. As if entranced.

“What?”

“You just look hot.”

A little laugh slips.

“Thanks. You don’t look so bad,” I groan, it’s still sore-ish when I slide the tampon in. “You really did a number on me.”

“Eh, who’s counting?”

Louis winks, helping me up, I’m still weak on the legs. There’s no need to get dressed, so we wrap ourselves under the sheets, our sopping hair making stains on the pillows.

It’s so painfully intimate.

“I love you,” I whisper, half-asleep, minutes later.

“I love you more.”

His voice is the last sound I hear before I drift to the first night of sleep where I feel full, happy, and satiated. Slept like a queen, his arms wrapped around my waist, cheek pressed to my back. I was on my little piece of heaven and no one could ever snap me out.

#louis tomlinson #louis #louis x reader #louis tomlinson x reader #1d #one direction #smut #fluff #ish #sweet!louis #period sex #louis tomlinson smut #louis tomlinson fluff #louis smut #louis tomlinson period sex

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desiredmalfoy · 4 years

Text

In His Defense

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Universe: No Voldemort :)

Genre: Fluff! (Maybe Slight angst?)

Warning: Minor cursing & mention of blood.

This idea came to me after I saw @thefallenbibliophilequote comment on my other work about how cool it would’ve been if the reader defended herself and how Draco would be proud of her. So, this was the end result! Thank you for the inspiration!

Masterlist

Draco gets hurt while playing quidditch and the reader defends him.

Nothing was more high tense at Hogwarts than a Slytherin vs Gryffindor quidditch match. The days leading up to the game were filled with rivalries between students of both houses. Pranks and hexes were the most common form of targeting each other. Words would also be exchanged. But this was nothing new, this rivalry went back decades. The Weasleys targeting Slytherins during this time. Poor Tracey Davis being their latest victim.

Your boyfriend happened to be the seeker for Slytherin. Which meant you were even more involved in the rivalry than other students. You were standing in the hallway waiting for Blaise and Pansy to get out of class when a bunch of Gryffindors were coming your way.

“I’m sure your girlfriend would be a better seeker than you Malfoy”, Oliver Wood laughed as we walked past you and Draco.

“Leave her out of this”, Draco yelled back at Oliver who only just stopped and turned to face you.

“I’m not insulting her mate. If anything it’s a compliment. But then again anyone is better than you.”

“I’ll remember that when we beat you and your crying in the showers after the loss Wood. I mean it won’t be the first time right?”

“We’ll see during the game Malfoy.” That seemed to shut them up as they decided it was best to walk away then continue to fight. None of them looking to get suspended before the game.

“Don’t listen to those prats babe”, you said looking up and giving him a smile.

“Thanks, darling”, Draco responded with a sincere smile and a kiss.

Weeks like these, he constantly felt more pressure to win the game. Especially since he was going up against Harry. His rival since his first year. Both boys making everything a competition.

---

Today was no different from any day during this week. It was the night before the game which meant that practice was even more difficult. Everyone had to be playing at their best.

“Don’t worry babe, you’re the best seeker Slytherin’s ever had.” He was sitting in the middle of his bed as you came up behind him to massage his shoulders. He had just finished a long grueling practice with the team in an effort to secure their win for tomorrow. “Best in Hogwarts.”

Draco seemed to relax with your touch. Flexing and leaning back into your body as he attempted to let the stress go. He leaned his head back and was looking at you upside down. You pressed a quick kiss on his lips before returning to what you previously were doing.

“You’re the best you know”, he groaned. “This feels amazing.”

He turned around and grabbed you by the waist so that you were now sitting on his lap. He grabbed your hand and started to play with the rings on it.

“You’ll be there right?” He did this every single game. He would always ask you if you would be there. You would always reassure him that you would.

“Wouldn’t miss it for anything”, you reassured him gently. “I’ll always be there.”

“I know, my personal cheerleader.”

“That’s me.” You used the hand that he wasn’t holding to run it through his hair.

“Are you going to be wearing my favorite outfit of yours”, Draco cheekily asked you. “You know that green plaid skirt tha-“

“Draco!” you playfully yelled at him. “But yes, I will.”

——

Both the Slytherin and Gryffindor section were decked out in their respective colors and mascots to support their teams. The stands were packed with students of all houses. High stake games were usually attended by a large portion of the students. You sat in the stands with Pansy and Daphne as you watched on and cheered Draco on.

“I can’t believe this has been going on for this long”, Pansy yelled to you over all the noise so you could hear her.

“I know,” you yelled back. “I hope Draco catches the snitch soon!”

The game had been going on for close to an hour now. Both teams constantly evening the score which currently sat at 60 - 60. It seemed that the game was going to come down to who caught the snitch first.

You looked up at the sky to look for Draco once more. He was sitting high above looking for the snitch. Completely concentrated on the task. That’s when both he and Harry seemed to spot the little gold ball. Both immediately going after it in a matter of seconds.

Draco seemed to reach it before Harry but it was incredibly close. It seemed to escape the grasp of both boys every time they attempted to reach for it.

“Come on Draco”, you yelled excitedly in support of your boyfriend.

Draco and Harry were battling it out for the snitch. Each trying their best to reach it before the others. Both of them pushed into each other in an attempt to move the other out of the way. It was no surprise to anyone that each team played a bit dirty and attempted to push their luck.

As both of them came near the snitch Harry used his shoulder to push Draco with a bit more force than all the previous hits. This caused Draco to lose his balance and lose the grip on his broom. You watched as your boyfriend began to plummet to the earth.

Time seemed to slow down in your eyes as you saw Draco drop towards the ground. You knew you were screaming as he made his way down but you couldn’t hear yourself anymore. Your mind was only focused on him right now.

That’s when you saw Professor Snape cast a spell that slowed his fall. Instead of hitting the ground with great force and speed, he fell with less force. It didn’t matter though, you could tell he was still injured when he didn’t move at all.

You quickly moved through the large crowds of people in the Slytherin section leaving behind Pansy and Daphne who were trying to follow after you. You pushed a few people as you made your way through the crowd. Scattered apologies left your mouth as you didn’t care enough to see who you had pushed. Running down the stairs and as fast as your legs could carry you, you made your way through the quidditch field to Draco who was laying on the ground. Motionless.

“Draco…hey Draco can you hear me? It’s me.” You gently tapped his shoulder. Your voice cracking as you spoke and tears threatening to spill. He wasn’t responding but you could tell he was still breathing as his chest moved up and down. “Dray, I’m here okay.”

Madam Hooch immediately came followed by Professor Snape, McGonagall, and Dumbledore. “We need to get him to Madam Pomfrey quickly.”

“We must see if he presents any injuries.”

Others from both teams were now on the ground too looking towards the commotion of what had occurred.

“I need you to move back Miss (y/l/n) so that we could properly tend to him.” Professor McGonagall said gently as she helped you stand up from the ground. You looked down helplessly at Draco. Your head snapped up as you heard Harry Potter in the distance. Your worry and sadness being replaced by anger.

“Are you bloody kidding right now Potter”, you marched up to where Harry was standing with the rest of his teammates. He attempted to back away but you followed. You stood mere inches apart from him as you looked up at him.

“It was an accident” he attempted to defend himself from what had just occurred. His hands lifting up in defense. “It just got a bit out of hand.”

“A bit out of hand?” you sneered at the boy in front of you. You pushed your index finger into his chest with force.

“A bit? My boyfriend is now laying on the ground not responding because it got a ‘bit out of hand’ according to you.” Your voice mocking his own as you spoke. Merlin, you were extremely angry. Fuming at this point.

“Look (y/l/n), Harry didn’t mean to hurt Malfoy. It was an accident and stuff like this is a part of the game.” Ron came forward to defend his best friend. He grabbed Harry by the upper arm and began to pull him away.

“Really Weasley?” You responded with even more anger lacing your voice at this point. He wasn’t making it any better now. At this point, members of both teams had come closer and surrounded the both of you. Each awaiting what was to come. Theo and Blaise standing directly behind you ready to come to your defense.

“You know what else is an accident?” Your demeanor changes quickly, suddenly back to your sweet voice. This caught them off guard. “This.”

You swing your fist back to gain momentum before it connects with Harry’s jaw. His head snapping back a bit from the force of the punch. He was definitely not expecting it from you. He looked back down at you, eyes wide in shock. Blood started to drip from his now busted lip.

“Oops… it was an accident. It seems my fist slipped and it got a bit out of hand.” A smirk formed on your face as you heard members of the Slytherin quidditch team laugh at what you had done. Professors still attending to an injured Draco didn’t notice what had occurred.

“Shit. That was so cool!” Pansy said laughing out from right next to you. You didn’t even realize when she got next to you.

You could feel Blaise right next to you as he grabbed your shoulder. “I think you should go with Draco. They’re going to take him in now.”

“We got it from here.” You quickly turned around to be Draco who was being carried away to Madam Pomfrey in the infirmary.

“Sorry Potter! I’m sure you understand it was an accident right?” You yelled back at him as you began to run after Draco who was being carried in.

—-

Luckily Draco didn’t have any major injuries. His back slightly bruised from the impact but that was the biggest injury he had received. With healing potions he received right after he had first woken up, his injuries were starting to disappear.

You sat in an uncomfortable chair as you waited for him to wake up again. You were restless as you stoked his hand. You were hungry and tired but you didn’t want to leave his side.

He started to shuffle slightly as you were lost in your own thoughts.

“Hey, Draco how are you doing?” You reached to stroke his cheek gently and try to bring him some comfort.

“I feel dreadful”, he mumbled as he attempted to get up by pushing himself up.

“Don’t try to get up love”, you said as you tried to keep him from getting up. “You need to rest.”

“I can't believe I got hurt by Potter.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I punched him in the face.” You mentioned with a slight smile. This caught his attention immediately. He laid himself back down waiting for you to explain further.

“Wait, you punched Potter?” Draco’s eyes light up with pride. He couldn’t believe it. He never thought his sweet girlfriend would have it in her to punch anyone.

“Straight in the jaw. Made him bleed and everything.” You laughed thinking back at what had occurred earlier.

“That’s kind of hot. Wish I could’ve seen it.” There’s the Draco you knew and loved.

——

Draco had been let go from the infirmary the next morning. The potions had helped him heal pretty fast and he was let go that morning. You were walking next to Draco on your way back to the Slytherin common room when he spotted who he’s been waiting to run into. This was going to be good.

“Potter”, Draco yelled after the Gryffindor in the hallway. Harry, Ron, and Hermione turned around at the sound of Draco. Clearly already annoyed before Draco even spoke.

“What do you want Malfoy?” Harry responded harshly as he walked up to the both of you. Harry avoided looking directly at you and instead focused on Draco.

“How’s your face after that punch from my girlfriend? She’s got quite the punch.”

“Sod off Malfoy,” Hermione responded with an eye roll as she pulled both boys away.

“He’s definitely scared of you babe”, Draco said laughing at the trio walking away from you.

“I’m sure he Draco.”

“No, Potter is definitely afraid of you.”

“He better be.”

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scummy-writes · 3 years

Text

Better in The Morning

Rating: Explicit (Minors dni)

Words: 5703

Pairing: Theo/Arthur

Tags: Jealousy, Drinking, Blood Drinking, Anal Sex, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Light Angst, Choking, Idiots to Lovers, Biting, Theocona

Full fic under the cut!

Preview:

The feel of Theo’s tongue against his drew a shudder out. Arthur twisted his fingers into Theo’s shirt, head beginning to spin as Theo’s kisses grew rough, more demanding, making Arthur’s hands shake as he blindly searched for the buttons of Theo’s shirt and clumsily worked them. It was difficult to concentrate or even attempt taking back control when Theo kept stealing his breath, and Arthur was pleased; safe from the burden of thinking past impulses.

Three buttons undone, and Arthur’s palms spread out against Theo’s chest as they finally broke apart, gasping for breath. He watched as Theo surveyed him, taking in the sight of his hair disheveled, his slick and swollen lips. Arthur knew the heat spread across his cheeks was obvious, and when a ghost of a prideful smirk took over Theo’s features, Arthur wrapped his arms around his neck with a strained chuckle.

------

Sex was just a formula in the end: Flirting, enticing, tempting touches. Hushed promises breathed against heated skin, the shuffling of clothes along with the creak of a mattress. Slow, purposeful touches that crept faster, until thinking wasn’t needed as instinct took over.

Or, most of the time it’s how it went.

Arthur hazily looked at the woman laid bare in front of him, sweat shining on her breasts while her hands dug into the sheets. Her eyes were squeezed shut, mouth hung open as her gasps and groans began to rise higher in pitch. With such a pretty little bird beneath him and pleasure making his mind spin, how was it that his thoughts kept flitting elsewhere? Making his breath catch for other reasons; movements falter.

What a disservice to the one calling his name…

Arthur leaned over her, making her shiver with the playful nips he drew along her jaw, trailing further and further below until he could nose her pulse, sighing at the fragrance of perfume mixed with such a lovely drink. He timed his bite with a harsh thrust of his hips, feeling her nails dig into his back as she clenched around him.

It wasn’t as if it was a bore, but the only thirst quenched tonight was that of his throat. He found himself getting dressed rather quickly after discarding the condom, and the woman hazily reached out to him, barely having caught her breath and struggling to keep lucid with the pleasure still trembling through her.

“W-where are you…?”

“Ah, sorry luv,” He feigned a pout, giving a quick kiss to her cheek, “got a rather busy morning tomorrow, can’t quite risk being late.”

Granted, he wasn’t a total ass. Arthur made sure to clean up the mess they made without disturbing her too much as she faded out, but he was still out on the streets faster than usual. Huffing to himself, he stretched as he walked.

When was the last time sex felt so pitiful for him?

Deep down Arthur knew the reasons why, but he was stubborn, if anything. Refusing to give his feelings a name as they steadily bubbled within him, begrudgingly recalling a scene from earlier this afternoon. Where he had finally caught a glimpse of Theo after days on end of elusive misses; the man having been too busy to even linger for breakfast- or rather, linger long enough for Arthur to wake up and join.

He had been so excited too, walking up to try and ask the art dealer for some of his time. Only to stop when a woman seemed to join Theo, watching as her bright laughter brought on a smile he had never seen from Theo before.

It was such a small scene, and truly, shouldn’t he feel happy for his stoic friend? Instead, his throat had felt tight, a wash of bitterness overtaking him as he turned back around, finding himself heading towards visiting his favorite pub.

Now, Arthur kicked a pebble ahead of him as he walked home, unable to properly distract himself as he played the scene out over and over in his mind.

---

Arthur sighed, dropping his pen aside as he took his glasses off. Crumpled papers were littered on his desk, and his current sheet in front of him was just filled with scratched out words and ink blots. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting to produce, after being awake for well over a full twenty-four hours now. It wasn’t as if his eighth cup of coffee would magically yield better results than the last.

“Blast…”

It was too late to go out of the mansion at this point, far too late to see if he could even swoon some minx into a distraction- and the appeal of that dwindled down as he remembered the pisspoor attempt from last time…

Standing up, he stretched his back before slumping.

Running from troubles were always temporary, in the end. After a while, they caught up, and Arthur knew when he had to settle in and let them run their course. It didn’t mean he wouldn’t be sour over it, hating the way his anxieties and fears would churn in his stomach, but at least his reluctant acceptance still gave him a vague feeling of agency over his own mind turning against him.

The parlor felt like a breath of fresh air in comparison to his stuffy room, and Arthur placed the decanter of whiskey he snatched on the side table, knowing he could be left alone to ruminate over his childish feelings in peace, nursing a glass and hoping to fall asleep. The warm glow the light gave off certainly helped him feel a bit drowsy, even if his wandering thoughts were working against him in that regard.

Arthur settled himself into the chair, pouring himself a drink as he surveyed the cover of a book. Just a harmless collection of poetry, but recalling the way Theo seemed so absorbed reading it in the salon made his stomach stir. Against his better judgement, he opened the book and flipped through the pages, scanning each stanza and wondering.

Was Theo reading this and thinking of that woman? Each flowery bit of prose bringing that same smile she had managed to drudge out as Theo thought about her?

Arthur knew he had no right to be so torn up about this, not when he had a body count that was too high to remember, but…

It still stung regardless. Pooling in the pit of his stomach, making his breaths harder to take in the longer this feeling ruminated inside. He knew that, even if he weren't so cowardly, that he hadn't a hope of pulling those smiles out of Theo. That his refusal to admit his feelings, even to himself, was what had landed him in this mess.

Of course, while he sat there bitterly overlooking poem after poem, the man he had been lamenting about comes into the parlor. At the height of Arthur’s self degradation, nonetheless.

A gruff sigh spilled out of Theo once Arthur wearily met his gaze. He didn’t say anything at first, eyes glancing at the bottle resting beside Arthur, then towards the book he held. If Theo had any strong feelings towards the poetry, he didn’t show it as he walked over, taking the seat beside him.

“Didn’t think you read the stuff.”

Didn’t think you did either. But Arthur shrugged, setting the book aside, “someone left it in here.”

It was quiet. Theo didn’t seem to have any reason to come into the parlor, but he sat patiently beside Arthur regardless, toying with the decanter’s top as time ticked by.

“How long have you been here?”

“Mm. Dunno. Long enough to wonder how long until le Comte updates his library,” he gestured his glass towards the book resting between them, “that book is older than the both of us.”

Arthur could feel Theo’s gaze on him. It wasn’t like the man was attempting to hide it, but he kept silent as Arthur took a slow sip of his whiskey with a sigh.

“Couldn’t find a ‘bird’ to put up with you tonight?”

And deal with another woman with a mothering complex trying to ‘nurse him’ back to whatever his normal was? No. He just shrugged at Theo’s question instead, raking a hand through his hair as he slouched in his seat, shaking his head, “wasn’t in the mood.”

“Mm. Finally gaining a conscience over leaving those women alone in the morning?”

The gentle prod was obvious, but Arthur ignored it as he poured himself another glass. He wasn’t sure what brought forth concern on Theo’s end. Did he look as haggard as he felt? Sleep had never came last night, and he knew that much was obvious, but what else was causing Theo’s eyes to narrow while Arthur stared into the amber liquid?

Downing it in one go, Arthur made the motion towards the decanter but felt Theo’s hand on his.

The warmth of Theo’s hand stole his thoughts away. He was so used to wearing gloves that he found himself unable to recall a moment where they had skin to skin contact before now. Skinship that wasn’t drunken brushes between each other. Arthur swallowed thickly, mind overcome with imaginings of Theo holding that woman’s hand and smiling- smiles Arthur could never evoke from him, feeling his chest clench again.

Drinking suddenly felt like a need, rather than a want.

“Theo?”

Theo blinked, swallowing when his eyes wavered with something Arthur couldn't catch, “we both know you’re a lightweight, slow down on the drinking.”

Arthur’s brows furrowed, shaking Theo’s hand off, “we’re at home, anyway, ‘s not like I’m going to cause trouble.”

“Arthur.”

“Bloody hell, what is it?” Theo recoiled at his tone. He took his time with a response, ruminating on the words for a reason Arthur couldn’t fathom, but the words just made his sudden temper worse.

“Drinking isn’t going to help whatever mood you're in.”

Silence stretched out between them as Arthur held his breath, his glass still resting on the table as they looked at each other. Theo’s concern was evident, and deep down Arthur knew that it was genuine; possibly even what had prompted Theo to come into the room to begin with, but jealousy kept skewing his perception. Arthur clicked his tongue as he finally tore his gaze away.

“It’ll help me sleep tonight,” another pause, then Arthur rubbed his eyes with a huff, annoyed at himself, “I haven’t slept for ages-”

“Drinking will knock you flat on your ass, but you know as well as I do that it’ll make you go through hell when you finally do wake up.”

“Maybe I’m just a glutton for punishment-” It certainly felt like it when he couldn’t stop himself from deliberately pushing people away from him, but Theo ignored his depressive tone, yanking the decanter out of his grasp.

“Then, view this as a punishment.”

"For God's sake- you're going to do this all night aren't you?"

It wasn't so much a question, not with how Arthur rolled his eyes, finishing off his glass before Theo could think about grabbing it. "You do know there's more booze in the mansion, don't you?"

Theo shrugged his shoulders, "I know that if you're too lazy to go distract yourself with one of your 'skirts', you're too lazy to scour for more."

Arthur didn't respond, eyes closed as he leaned upon his elbow, propping his head up with a sigh.

"... What do you propose, then?"

At Arthur’s first stumble out of the parlor, Theo tsked and wrapped his arm around his shoulders, huffing a reprimand in the process. It was an accident, Arthur really hadn’t drank that much yet, but… He let himself be led towards his room, feeling careless ideas come to mind the longer he let Theo keep his grip.

Each step closer, Arthur considered his options, feeling his emotions battling out his rationale. What proof did he have of Theo really getting with that woman? A quick glance and Theo had no lipstick markings on his cheeks or neck, no scent of perfume… Most people were quick to spend as much time with a new partner in the beginning stages. Given that Theo rarely had any breaks from work and didn’t appear to spend his rare day off with the woman Arthur had saw, it opened two possibilities.

Either they had yet to breach the hurdle of admitting their feelings towards each other, or they had been together for longer than Arthur realized.

The latter stung at the back of his throat as he swallowed the thought down, focusing on the first. Because if they had yet to get together… Well, Arthur could do what he does best.

He smiled bitterly to himself, playing up the role of a drunk as they neared Theo’s room.

Excuses. That’s what Arthur needed; something to make his behavior forgettable in the morning. Something to make his shame easier to deal with the next day. He took advantage of Theo’s dazed state after they stumbled into his room, cupping his cheeks mid-scold and stealing a lingering kiss. At first, Theo seemed frozen, unsure of how to react, and Arthur’s fear exacerbated. He nipped at Theo’s bottom lip, feeling his shoulders drop with relief when the man finally kissed him back.

Theo was hesitant, his grip unfocused as Arthur managed to take the lead; distracting him as he slowly backed Theo into his desk chair, straddling him easily. When they broke apart, panting as Theo’s confused look swept over him, the taste of him still lingered on Arthur’s lips as he nervously licked them, “don’t you want a distraction too?”

Theo’s gaze narrowed for a moment. The threat of getting an answer he feared pushed Arthur to act impulsively, crashing their lips together in one fluid movement.

Regardless of how clumsy it was, Arthur was thankful when he felt Theo’s grip focus on his ass, pushing their bodies flush together and dragging out as gasp when his fingers threaded themselves in Arthur’s hair; holding him in place as their rushed kisses deepened. Every heavy breath between them reeked of ethanol, and as Arthur felt Theo slowly get harder, he pushed the thoughts of their crumbling friendship aside.

“You’re not going to stop there, are you?”

With a slow blink, Theo finally came back to the present and slid his palms over Arthur’s ass again. A surge of heat rushed through Arthur, making him bite his lip in pleasure.

They weren’t sober by any means, but neither of them were drunk. Yet when Theo suddenly began pressing his lips against Arthur’s neck, he let out a breathless, excited laugh with his groan, Arthur’s head spinning as if he had drank his limit three times over.

A brush of Theo’s fangs against his skin made Arthur thread his fingers through Theo’s locks, shivering with the teasing waves of pleasure it brought. Slowly, the chair they sat on began to creak as Arthur rolled his hips, grinding their clothed erections together with an open moan. It only took a few more desperate pushes to coax Theo into changing positions.

Arthur nearly yelped as Theo abruptly stood up, carrying him over towards his bed with much more ease than expected- only to drop Arthur onto the mattress.

“Bloody hell, Theo, I’m not a toy-” but his flash of annoyance disappeared as Theo straddled him, working his shirt off. Unable to look away, Arthur’s eyes raked over Theo’s chest, a hum of appreciation unabashedly slipping out, “... maybe we should have done this sooner.”

Theo scoffed, beginning to roughly unbutton Arthur’s shirt, looking pleased when Arthur arched into his touch. Excited, Arthur smirked as he slid his hands between them, deftly unbuckling Theo’s belt.

It was rushed, and Arthur liked it that way. Dragging out teasing touches just opened up the chance for his unwanted thoughts to consume him and take him out of the mood. Arthur wanted to speed this up, drive Theo mad enough to shove his face into the mattress and give him the mindless pleasure he craved. So he tugged Theo’s zipper down and cupped his length, a breathless laugh escaping him when Theo briefly thrusted against his palm with a low grunt.

Arthur took Theo’s open pleasure in stride, grinning as he slipped his hand into Theo’s boxers, grasping his cock and giving a few loose strokes. Already, precum was leaking from Theo’s slit, and Arthur couldn’t help the soft groan he let out when he felt it wet his palm, “all because of me, hm?”

“Something like that.”

The unintentional pout he gave made Theo bark out a laugh, which caused his lips to twist into a frown. ‘Something like that’. He’ll make it because of him, regardless of Theo’s pride.

Running his thumb over Theo’s slit, he dragged the precum gathered there in a slow, teasing circle along his glans, loving how Theo’s eyes fluttered shut with a moan, “mm, are you sure?”

Theo’s eyes snapped open in annoyance, and suddenly Arthur’s belt was roughly being undone and tossed aside so Theo could yank his pants down enough to take his cock into his hand, mimicking Arthur’s earlier motions. Giddily, Arthur thrust into Theo’s grip, letting out a content, low sigh, “finally.”

He had to wonder what he looked like to Theo, a man he was unsure of would even find pleasure in any of this before now. A flushed, sultry mess like the minxes Arthur happily devoured, tempting Theo to explore new sinful approaches to their relationship?

Arthur almost scoffed at himself, but he still played his part; tugging Theo down by his arm, demanding another flurry of biting kisses as their cocks brushed against each other. He took delight in the strained moan Theo choked on when Arthur reached between them, grasping their throbbing cocks in his hand. There wasn’t any need for words. Theo quickly began to slip his tongue back into Arthur’s mouth, thrusting in time with Arthur’s strokes, swallowing their muffled moans.

But then Theo’s fingers pried Arthur’s grip open, threading their hands together and instead forced Arthur to stroke them like that- as if they were holding hands. It shouldn’t have tripped Arthur up, not when the move made it easier for them to chase after their release, but he found his thoughts slipping back towards a different type of neediness.

It took a lot to break apart from Theo, who quickly busied himself nipping at Arthur’s neck while he caught his breath long enough to speak, “H-hey, surely you don’t want it to- ahn, end like this?”

“Mm, think you can handle otherwise?”

Arthur just chuckled, running a hand through his sweaty bangs, “don't make me beg, Theo, I'm not sure either of us could take it.”

The cocky tone earned him a harsh nip to his pulse, making Arthur let out a choked noise when Theo paired it with a squeeze to the tip of their cocks. Theo finally let go after a moment and carefully got off of him, reaching into his nightstand to pull out a jar of lube.

"I can't believe you jerk off more than sleep around, ' Arthur mused and removed his undergarments as Theo rolled his eyes, '...what does the stubborn Theodorus Van Gogh get off to, hm?"

His question seemingly went ignored as Theo came back to him, fingers slick with lube. Gently he rested his knees on the bed, nudging Arthur to spread his legs before he spread lube around his hole.

Arthur hated this. He hated the careful way Theo pushed a finger inside of him, watching as Arthur held his breath. It’s not as if it hurt- god only knows how often Arthur’s been more adventurous- but the process takes time. And asking patience from a man who was struggling as much as he was torture.

“Better tell me if it hurts, klootzak.”

He nodded, knowing Theo would stop otherwise. After a few careful pumps, Theo pressed another finger inside, drawing a content sigh of his name from Arthur. By the time the third one was in, Arthur slowly began to stroke himself, shooting a smile Theo’s way when he watched intently, “enjoying the show?”

“Wondering how you manage to keep from being a quick shot.”

"Believe it or not, I do have some self control."

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” he scoffed.

The way Theo smirked as the tip of his cock started to push into him made Arthur’s arousal flare, and… Well, it didn't feel bad, but Arthur winced as Theo inched deeper, his length thicker than Arthur had initially believed.

With that slip in confidence, Theo stopped abruptly, making Arthur grumble impatiently.

"Come now, you're not going to tease me this badly, are you?"

"You're already wincing-"

"Well, I didn't realize your thick-headedness extended that far down, Theo."

Regardless, Theo carefully pulled out of Arthur, evidently ready to settle on a different method of getting off.

“If you’re that worried then,” Arthur sat up, stealing another kiss before muttering against Theo’s mouth, “lay down.”

The look Theo gave was skeptical, but he backed off. Laying down he eyed Arthur, his caution ebbing away as Arthur threw a leg over his waist, straddling him with a grin. He kept one hand on Theo's chest as he reached behind him, giving Theo’s thick length a few good strokes before steering the tip of his cock to his entrance. The anticipation that had built up in Arthur’s abdomen dissolved into a fiery heat once he gingerly lowered himself onto Theo’s cock, his quiet gasps making Theo grab onto his thighs in a flash of worry.

“Hey, don’t push yourse-,” but Arthur’s hips sank down in one fluid movement before Theo could finish, taking Theo’s cock in as deep as he could manage.

“F-fuck, Theo, I-” a shudder overcame Arthur as his own cock throbbed with need.

“Yeah? Thought you said you could take it?”

He shot Theo a bleary-eyed glare, one that barely lingered, his expression morphing into one of pleasure as he tested a roll of his hips, loving the way Theo’s length pushed back into him impatiently.

Arthur spread his hands out on Theo's chest, doing his best to ignore how fast Theo's heart was beating as he used the leverage to start an unsteady pace.

It was difficult to quip about Theo's flushed features, not when his head was already spinning from finally getting Theo tangled up with him like this. Each bounce on Theo's cock slowly made Arthur's composure slip, his speed faltering when he managed to plunge Theo's cock in deeper on some thrusts more than others.

Admittedly, it drove Arthur nearly mad; getting Theo just where he wanted him, only for Arthur to clumsily take his cock like this. Whereas Theo… Arthur hesitated, shivering from the excitement buzzing throughout him, Theo still wore a confident smirk with his skin just as flushed as Arthur’s.

"I thought you've done this before?"

"I have- y-you're just so bloody thick-" Theo's rough hands grabbed ahold of his hips, interrupting Arthur as Theo pulled him down just as he thrusted upwards, drawing out a strangled cry from the writer, "Theo!"

“Does it hurt?”

“No-”

“Then,” Theo tightened his grip, keeping up the pace and covering the speed Arthur was lacking, “stop complaining.”

And maybe Arthur really had too much to drink; he couldn’t focus on anything but chasing the pleasure of this secretly harbored fantasy coming to life. He was unable to care about the noises spilling out as Theo roughly guided Arthur’s hips to meet each thrust he gave.

The throbbing arousal coursing through him reached a dangerous peak not too long after, and Arthur’s nails dug into Theo’s chest as he attempted to regain some clarity and control himself better. But Theo slowed and stopped moving, causing Arthur to pant out a curse.

"Y-You're such a devil-!"

"Mm, doesn't seem to stop you from mewling."

Arthur’s head spun as Theo pulled out, drawing an embarrassing whine out until he was pushed onto his back. Theo's palms slid along the underside of Arthur's thighs, ass, until he grabbed his sides, pushing in deep with a lazy roll of his hips.

"Uhn- ah! Theo-" Arthur’s voice was already strained, but another groan bubbled up when Theo picked up the pace. It was obvious Theo was getting close, his jaw clenched tight as his thrusts delved deeper, harsh enough to make the bed creak in tandem.

Fumbling, Arthur tugged on Theo’s locks to crash their lips together again. Nails dug into his hips for a moment, and then Theo broke them apart, eyes narrowed at Arthur’s chuckle.

Finding a hand at his throat, Arthur lightly gasped as Theo’s barely-there grip focused on the sides of his throat. It was enough to give Arthur a chance to rasp out any type of rejection to the idea, but instead the writer dug his heels into Theo’s ass, urging him to keep going.

At first, Theo kept his hold as it was, but as he began to get closer to his release, he tightened it just enough for Arthur’s knees to press against his waist, Arthur’s eyes going hazy at the new pleasure.

And then he let go, permitting Arthur to take in a deep breath, “fuck…”

“Tell me if I need to stop,” Theo warned, but Arthur just chuckled.

“Don’t stop until you cum. You’re, ahn, just as close as I am, h-huh?” Arthur gave him a smug look despite the flush on his cheeks, despite the way his bangs were ruffled and damp with sweat; Theo gripped him tight as he leaned over, nipping and sucking a mark onto his neck, right where his collar couldn’t reach. Arthur’s cock throbbed at the sensation, feeling as though he was being claimed.

“Then- Tell me where you want it.”

"I-inside! Oh hell, Theo, I want to feel it-"

Arthur's back arched as Theo's grip tightened again, feeling Arthur clench around his cock.

"Feel what?"

Release, Arthur sucking in air as he spoke all at once.

"Want to feel your cock throb- a-as you cum, mmph. Make me feel- ghk-!"

Another tightened grip, and Arthur's eyes welled as Theo slammed into him, heavily panting as Arthur shook with each thrust. The lack of air nearly became unbearable, but just before it was too much, Theo let go. Instead he pushed on Arthur’s thighs, nearly folding him in half as he thrusted once, twice, and then spilled inside with a rasp.

The faint smell of ethanol lingered between them, mixed into the way Arthur desperately tugged Theo close, smashing their lips together in clumsy kisses. He threaded his fingers through Theo's hair, keeping him in place for just a moment, to meet his gaze when they broke apart.

"Theo."

His name is muttered as a lovelorn sigh, Arthur's eyes searching his for something, but Theo dipped his head against Arthur's neck, avoiding the unspoken confession as his fangs broke skin.

“Ah-Ah! Oh gods-” Arthur’s nails dig deep into Theo’s back and scalp, his noises turning into choked rasps as Theo reached between them, jerking Arthur off to the timing of his slowing thrusts.

Arthur lasted just long enough for Theo to pull his fangs out, to let out a string of curses as he tensed and spilled over Theo’s hand, and then Theo pulled out with shuddering breaths, forehead planted against Arthur’s shoulder.

It took what felt like ages for the two of them to catch their breath. As soon as the afterglow fades and a slow ache replaces it, Arthur found his thoughts immediately settling onto his current issue: Theo. Who was refusing to look at him, head still pressed against his shoulder.

Embarrassment started to creep in the longer they refused to speak.

What did you do, Arthur?

"Well, that was a nice bit of fun," he swallowed thickly, hoping Theo can't feel the hammering in his chest, "perhaps we should do this again sometime…"

Theo groaned, frustration clear, "is sex the only thing that's ever on your mind?"

"You weren't complaining before-"

But Theo finally got up, sitting back on his knees, "can you get up?"

"What, kicking me out so soon? No wonder you can only get with your hand."

"Bath, Arthur. Trying to see if you can make it to the le therme."

Oh…

Shame struck Arthur once they both sink into the water, the heat drawing attention to all the parts of him that ache. He was lucky his job wasn't anything like Theo's, and that he could get away with sitting on his ass all day.

Getting here wasn't as easy as he thought. All his bravado fizzled away when it became apparent just how hard they had gone at it, and Arthur's stumble when getting up prompted Theo to…

Well, he's just thankful no one saw how pathetic he looked getting here.

Arthur sank a little deeper into the water as the silence between them stretched out, glad the heat was helping his lower back. But the longer they were quiet, the more Arthur’s thoughts rushed; had anyone else heard them? What was Theo thinking right now?

Had Arthur just ruined whatever was built up between them, or were those feelings completely one-sided?

An annoyed tsk caused him to glance at Theo, who was rubbing his neck.

“Did you have to leave a mark so high up? How am I going to explain this…”

Ah… now that he was looking at Theo in the light, he noticed his desperation all over him. Lovebites along his neck and collar, Theo’s hair still mussed and scratches along his shoulder… At the thought of others catching a glimpse, Arthur felt his jealousy simmer.

“I think it looks good,” looked like he’s taken, at least.

"I feel sorry for all those women you sleep with if they wake up like this. Tch, I look like a fool."

Arthur wasn't sure what to feel. Proud? Sated? There was a sliver of joy humming inside of him; he finally got a taste of what he'd been craving for so long. But guilt and fear were quickly taking ahold of him, unable to keep himself from wondering just how bad he screwed things up.

"What does this mean now?" The question slipped out as soon as he thought it, and Arthur felt his ears burn as Theo shrugged.

"You said you wanted a distraction, and you got it."

Ouch. But he did deserve that, he supposed.

"So… We just go along like this never happened?" Theo gave him a noncommittal grunt, and Arthur kept on, "Theo, just humor me, will you?"

There was a sigh, Theo rubbing the back of his neck, "I don't know what answer you want, Arthur. For fucks sake, neither of us were thinking."

"Doesn't this have higher stakes for you? What about that pretty bird you keep taking strolls along the Seine with?"

Theo froze, giving Arthur an incredulous look, "you mean Mr. Garnier’s wife?"

Arthur went quiet, feeling heat in his cheeks as he processed Theo's words, and the accompanying embarrassment. Weakly, he stammered, "i-is that the only woman you've… you've been seeing?"

And Theo, the bastard, burst in laughter as a response. Not quietly either; loud enough to make Arthur's ears ring as the foolishness of this situation sunk in.

"Theo, for gods sake-"

"Is that what this was all about? Is that why you were in such a mood earlier?"

Arthur covered his face, his pride washing away, "my god man, do shut up."

His laughter continued until it faded off into a chuckle. Seeing Arthur still unable to look his way, Theo finally relaxed, wrapping an arm around Arthur’s shoulders and tugging him close.

“Come ‘ere.” Arthur still doesn’t speak, but Theo slowly continues, choosing his words carefully, “is this really why you’ve been moody lately?”

“At this point, does it really matter if I give an answer?”

Reviewing tonight’s events should have been enough of an answer, but with the reluctant confirmation, Theo just gives Arthur a half-hearted squeeze. It made Arthur finally relax his shoulders, no longer hiding his face.

“I’m… Not good with these things, Arthur,” No, he wasn’t. It was another reason Arthur had been so surprised to see him happily with another woman. But now, knowing all of that jealousy was pointless, to an extent, well… Arthur kept quiet as Theo continued, “even before arriving here, when I didn’t have so much weighing me down, I wasn’t good at this. But…”

Theo trailed off before taking another deep breath, “if this is genuine... then I’m willing to give it a try. With you.”

Surprised, Arthur looked over to meet Theo’s gaze- only to see the man was turned away, the tips of his ears reddened.

“‘I’m not good at these things’, he says…”

Theo turned to shoot him a glare, only frowning when he realized it let Arthur see just how badly he was blushing.

“I’m trying.”

Chuckling, Arthur felt his anxieties start to ebb away, “you really want to do this? With a mess like me? If this thing goes south, well…”

“I’d be handling this ‘mess’ in one way or another, regardless.”

“Very romantic, Theo. Thanks.”

The quip eases them both with the laugh it brings, and this time the quiet that stretched out was comfortable.

“We’ll need to talk about this more, in the morning, but for now,” Theo slipped his arm around Arthur’s waist, relaxing, “don’t work yourself up. We’re fine.”

“That obvious, huh?”

“You’re not the only one good at reading others, you know.”

Arthur merely hummed in response, letting that comfortable silence come back.

It felt odd, to say the least, to even consider getting into a serious relationship. Years of waving off most chances at happiness caused an almost knee-jerk reaction to do the same here; to chase Theo off with showcasing the worst of him. But Theo had already seen all of that.

There was still the chance of this not working out, or working out in the way they planned, but Arthur finally let himself rest against Theo, choosing to ignore those obnoxious worries at least for tonight.

------

I've discovered a friend can innocently send me a song saying it makes them think of a shared favored ship, only for me to dumbly open a word doc to scramble in a fic inspired by it.

I've wanted to write a longer Theocona fic for a while now, I didn't think it'd be like this, especially given how it's. Rusty. But if you read through it all: Thank you!

While I love these fools, I'm not too sure when the next time I'll write another fic for them. Theo's really hard to write, and I have so many older wips I need to finish... Maybe sooner than later I'll have another, but an established relationship themed one...

Thank you again for reading!

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#ikevamp #ikemen vampire #ikevamp theo #ikevamp arthur #ikemen vampire arthur #ikemen vampire theo #theocona #smut #they really are just idiots but I love them

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genshingarbage · 3 years

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Don’t Say Goodbye. || One-Shots ||

I am just in a mood to create broken hearts right now it would appear, this is just a few one-shots on a couple of the boys and my take on how they would act with there s/o dying in their arms due to various reasons based on the character i am writing for. - Mod Diluc

Diluc

The sound of yells grew distant as the vision began to blur from your eyes. The only sensation you could still feel was the tight grasp of your hand in the larger one wrapped round it squeezing it. Diluc was holding you as you laid there on the muddy dirt, resting your bloody and broken body on his legs. Cradling you like a new born while shaking back and forth, trembling in traumatic disbelief over what was taking place before him.

His eyes were swelling with tears threatening to break out and spill down his cheeks, he kept kissing your weak hand gently, each kiss being dragged out longer than the one before, shaky shushes passing his lips in a frail attempt to soothe your weakening body. You'd been adventuring alone again for several weeks away from Mondstat and The Dawn Winery.

You didn't think much of it as you often left for long adventuring trips, bringing back goofy and silly souvenirs for your beloved Diluc, you just didn't realise this time around you'd be ambushed by the Fatui on your long trek back to his winery. Having been unbeknownst to you fatally wounded, you managed to break free and escape, bleeding heavily from your right side, shakily sprinting to the only place you knew could be a safe haven, Dilucs winery.

You'd fallen to the ground in a crumpled heap not barely a few seconds after Diluc spotting you running down the dusty and dirty road. He sprinted to you eyes wide yelling as loud as his vocal chords would physically let him. "Y/N! No!" He skidded and slumped down into the dirt himself, tugging you carefully but quickly into his lap muttering 'No' over and over in rapid breaths. And now you were where you were at, the life slowly but surely leaving you while all you could feel was Dilucs gentle kissing lips and warming embrace.

Does he know how much you love him? Did ever know how much he meant to you? Oh no... the souvenir you'd found for him... you dropped it back when you was ambushed... he would've loved it so much... however likewise with him to you, did you know how much you meant to him? How truly happy he was that he'd finally found someone he could trust and give his life to. Had he ever even said he loves you back? All these questions that were going to be left unanswered to the both of you.

Still trembling he watched as your light dimmed in your eyes, leaning his head down he softly placed a kiss against your unresponsive lips, parting ever so slightly to rest his forehead against yours and whimpering in a broken tone. "I love you, Y/N" When he lifted his head back up he felt the air being squeezed out of his lungs to see your eyes were now closed and there was no longer movement in your body.

He looked up at the night sky, the stars twinkling so beautifully over such a devastating and tragic moment. Closing his eyes he silently prayed the gods take good care of you up there till he can finally be there with you. Lifting up slowly with your now lifeless body bridal style in his arms he began to walk back to his winery, his expression stern and showing no pain. But it was all a facade for inside he was crying and screaming to the heavens and hell for having let this happen to you.

"They will pay Y/N, I promise you. I'll see you again soon; someday."

Childe

The rain was pouring heavily, hitting angrily against the cold hard concrete, the drops splashing up and back down as they landed with such impact. You were wet and cold, but your body had been going numb for minutes now as the blood was leaving your body so quickly. You shakily looked round to see the last attacker being cut down to the floor by your one and only love, Ajax.

The unknown man's body hadn't even hit the floor by the time Ajax had thrown his weapons down and rushed to your side. "Oi oi, come on now, look alive. More will be coming soon." He let out a nervous laugh not wanting to believe what he was seeing in front of him right now. You'd only gone out for a little drink and joke about in the beautiful rainy day, you both enjoyed running around in the rain so much after all. He tapped your cheek gently trying to keep you conscious as he could see your focus leaving you as fast as your blood was.

He pressed his hand against the open wound in your chest; a pitiful attempt to try slow the bleeding. You cursed yourself for not being more alert of your surroundings when that man crept up behind you and ambushed you by surprise. He shook his head vigorously side to side. His mask hiding most of the unbearable pain behind it. He should've known better than to think it was safe to come back to Liyue so soon after having caused such chaos.

Why the fuck did they have to go for you both though, you were innocent from all this it was him they wanted so why, why?! Why you?! He made a soft 'Tsk' sound from his mouth as he choked back the tears while looking at you. You had little vision left, little time too, but with what little strength you had remaining you lifted your hand up gently and pulled his mask off. Wanting to see his face one last time before you're gone from this world.

Exposing his damp cheeks and red eyes to you, you were able to form the smallest smile at him. "Don't... d-don't leave me Y/N, please..." his voice was barely a whisper now as he remained stiff by your side. "I won't..." You coughed back gently, you didn't even try to sound believable with that; you both knew it was a lie and you were on your way out with only seconds to spare.

You were his everything, he knew you was too good for him from the very beginning, yet you was determined to always be by his side. He knew he was a bad guy, a villain, but with you by his side he was able to feel like someone's hero. You meant fucking everything to him so why did someone so pure have to be taken so soon. You coughed gently once more before choosing your last words carefully, knowing they were to be your last.

"Childe- Ajax, you're not a bad guy. I have and will always love you..." Your voice faded into a whisper and then... nothing. Your eyes closed and your hand that had been against his cheek was now limp, the only reason it was still in its prior place was because Childe himself had been applying slight pressure to keep it there. You were gone now, at rest and probably somewhere much better and further away from this hell.

He looked at your resting face just wishing you'd open your eyes again and say it was all just a big terrible joke. But that wasn't the case, however his broken and torn expression immediately dissolved when he heard the rapid steps growing louder. "There he is! Apprehend him now!" One of the guards shouted to the several others. He quietly apologised to your resting form, letting your hand leave his face and finally rest with the rest of your body, he was also sorry as he wasn't gonna be able to give you the burial you deserved, he wasn't gonna be able to use that ring he'd bought you to propose with, and unknowing to him, you wasn't gonna be able to tell him the good news that he would've been a dad.

He lifted up slowly, hair now soaked and water droplets falling from all over his body. The blood leaving your body had began to swirl and dance with the water pooling against the concrete as the heavy rain showed no signs of slowing down. His mask back in his hand before it found its way back on his face, turning and stepping over to his slung down blades and kicking them up into the air grabbing them. Parting his knees swiftly and getting into his battle ready stance. The mask made him look like the bad guy every one claimed him to be, but underneath was the most broken and tormented boy that they'll never know.

"I'll always love you too Y/N, I am sorry but you're wrong, I've always been a bad guy, I just... I tried to be a better one for you."

Xiao

The sky was ablaze, organe and yellow flickering all over, ember floating up and down softly. It was so hot; unbearably so as you were laying on the wooden floor of the top balcony at the Wangshu Inn, blood spilling out of you and soaking the wood all around you. The fire was growing dangerously closer, but did it matter now? You would be dead in a couple more minutes away.

Had everyone escaped the Inn at least? Was everyone safe? You hoped they were. But it was then you felt an instant gust of cold wind wail past you like a roaring monster and die down the flames that had been encircling you and drawing ever so closer. Your vision was nearly gone and it was hard to make out anything except the smoke and fire, but those blue oni mask eyes were unmistakable, Xiao was above you right now.

His hand was hovering over your cheek, still scared that even now he may cause you more pain than comfort in your fleeting moments. "Y/N wake up. Don't be defeated so easily, this is truly pathetic, even for your standards." Harsh words as always, you knew he was sad and just lashing out, his words were cracking and his voice was wavering in its tone. Was that a sniffle? It was hard to make out among the crackling fire destroying the walls and wood around you and his mask muttering and muffling his already quiet words.

Why did they go for you? They wanted him to become nothing anymore, to just slip away and leave the entire history of Liyue to them. Leave the nation built under Rex Lapis to the incapable feeble hands of mortals. He couldn't ever allow that, he refused to back down so easily. But this? Surprise attacking the Inn and burning it down while taking the only mortal who held something to him away? How sick and lowly of them.

You went to speak but all you could muster was a cough as blood spat out your mouth across your bottom lip, your time was fading fast. He swallowed down and removed his mask, a shake in his hand as he did so, resting his proper gaze on your form one last time, allowing you to see him in his first ever vulnerable state, tears slowly falling from his face, letting his hand slide across your cheek gently, swiping the blood off your soft delicate lip. Why did it hurt him so bad? Why was this reaching so deep within him?

All those times he'd sighed and disappeared to get away from you, all those eye-rolls to your silly jokes and huffs to your tedious and pointless tasks. Why did he feel an ache in his throat when he thought about how he won't ever get to experience those annoying moments again? What was this? It couldn't be. Had he truly fallen in love with a mortal? Impossible, but what else could explain this gut wrenching feeling he had swirling inside him.

Everything was crumbling apart around him but his focus remained on you as you looked at him with those eyes, those same eyes that often stared at him with hope and admiration, now they stared with soft kindness and fleeting wishes. If this was love then he wasn't ready to have it taken from him so soon, but what could he do except watch as you left this world. He gritted his teeth together and his hand clenched tightly round his blood stained spear. This was truly unforgivable. If only he had killed those monsters sooner, got to you quicker... maybe then he could've saved you.

"I..." he began to stutter gentle words out while stroking his thumb delicately across your cheek, why hadn't he just swallowed his pride and touched you sooner? Why hadn't he just admitted this to himself quicker and embraced you. You had always been there for him despite his many harsh rejections, you were nothing but kind and truthful, loyal and honest to him and now? He resented himself for not having taken the chance to love that he had had in his grip for so long. Your vision was gone now and your ears were following quickly behind. "I... Y/N..."

Just spit it out already, before the time runs out for you- "Y/N I love you..." he looked at your face searching for a response but you were gone now. The gods had given you all the time they could spare and unfortunately it wasn't long enough to Xiao. It wasn't fair. He couldn't even let you know how he truly felt before you were ripped from him. Tears rolled down his face faster now, but the sorrow and pain he felt quickly welded into anger and inner rage boiling at the highest temperature.

He frowned deeply, lifting up from your body, hiding his broken expression behind his oni mask once again, shakily breathing in with a deep sigh, the shake in his hands slowly dissolving as his mind set itself onto a new mission, he turned and walked to the banister of the balcony and swiftly lifted up onto the top, looking over the landscape around him as the only place he'd truly ever known as home was burning to ash around him. He turned round taking one last longing look at your lifeless form and then leapt high into the air soaring through the skies, straight for Liyue.

You never wanted this, he knew that, you'd never want him to cause a war over your death, but you wasn't here to talk reason into him anymore. He was never gonna see your annoyingly beautiful face again, and this was all Liyues fault. They had to pay, and if that meant causing a war between humans and Adepti... then so be it.

"Forgive me Y/N, but without you here now, I see no reason to keep caring for these monsters. I'll hope you'll understand when I see you again one day."

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xo-cuteplosion-xo · 3 years

Text

Broken promise | Dazai x Reader|

I could probably turn this idea into a whole 30,000-word fic but I won't XD at least not RN

Words- 942

Broken Promise | Dazai x Reader| Gender nuteral

A promise to stay together, to never forget the other. Do such things ever truly remain? To never forget, that would be the easiest to complete. After all, who could ever forget the one person who brought them out into the world? Staying together, it’s nearly impossible. In this life of death and gore, partners are always isolated. What did they think would happen? A mafia boss and his subordinate. Promises can not be kept in this business. He remembers the smile, the heat of the room. Their body connected to his, the scent they always wore. The feel of their skin, the sight of their loving eyes. He’d never forget, but he’d always wish he could.

It’s truly disgusting, their ability. It made them like him, inhuman. Immortal Beloved, that’s what they called the ability. That immortal power may have sounded blissful at one point. The ability to regenerate and reconnect limbs, then fix minor wounds within seconds. It’s a power many would have coveted. To them, it was a wall between living. While they would live after a deadly shot, something that would kill them before their body regenerated, if they lost consciousness while healing, suffered too much damage, they would die. The person they were would be dead. The last moments would forever imprint in their mind in this next life, but the self that they had once been would be erased. The love the two of them shared, erased as if it had never existed.

It happened, a price he paid for leaving. Had he not thought losing them would be more or an equal pain to losing Oda? Had he thought they’d be safe, be okay in the mafia without him? He’d watched them fall to the floor with not one, not two, not three, but twelve bullets to the chest and three to the head. He’d watched every wound attempt to heal, but the killer had been smart. Each bullet seemed to be laced with poison. The whispers of pain showed with every struggle of breath as their body attempted to stay alive and conscious. The words they spoke, the way they spoke, it killed him inside. Wearing tan instead of black. He’d only worn the color for a few hours now. Cleaned his friend's blood from the jacket and slipped it into his arms. “Let me die, I’d rather die than live without knowing you, Osamu.'' Those were the words they had spoken that night. Underneath the pitch-black sky as the killer got away and held her.

Love, it was never an emotion he’d thought he would ever feel. He’d always thought it was just attraction. Too afraid to admit what this was. Afraid to feel this, love was a road of pain. Pain was something he hated. Yet here he was, having never said I love you to this person. His eyes stung like he wanted to shed tears and mourn over both deaths that came onto him today. Yet, he didn’t know how to. He hardly understood why his heart throbbed so much, why it felt like somebody was tugging it from his chest. “Yeah, sure.” His ability, No Longer Human, canceled out all other abilities. The moment his hands brushed their skin, he shut his own eyes. Bringing their bloodied form to his chest. For the first time in his miserable life, three words left his mouth. “I love you.” Too late, they would never hear those words. He couldn’t stay any longer. Not when the mafia would be here to investigate what had happened here. He’d lain your body down, brushed a strand of your hair from your face, kissed your cooling cheek, and walked away.

He’d watched you die, he’d seen his ability cancel yours out. So why, why were you standing there? Hair blowing elegantly through the wind, eyes brightly reflecting light. The sunset made it all the more painful. He watched your gentle form, watched the way your eyes met his. The pain all came flooding back. The words from your lips hurt him the most. “I’m sorry, do I know you?" he’d nearly choked on air seeing you in the agency, but the confused whisper of your voice was worse. He wanted to lunge and wrap his arms around you. He wanted so much, but he couldn’t have any of it.

Forced to bite back the pain of his voice, he shook his head. “No, I’m sure you'd remember a man as stunning as myself if you met me.” He brought his arm over his forehead in a splay of dramatics. Listening to your light chuckle, he nearly broke down. Freezing as he felt your touch, your hand pulling his arm to his side.

The closeness of your body to his was torment, but the words that your lips spilled granted him a slight peace. “Well, how about I get to know you…” the pause at the end was the lack of a name to call him.

“Dazai, Osamu Dazai.” he forced the words out despite the pain.

“(Y/n) (L/N), it’s nice to meet you Dazai. I hope we can become great friends.” friends, yes that’s what you wanted. Why did it hurt him so much to see you like this? The promise broken, the love gone, the spark extinguished.

“Maybe a beautiful lady such as yourself would love a double suicide with me~” he’d act, for you he’d push it all behind him. He’d make you fall for him again. His devilish touch, his snarky remarks, his confident strides. If it never happened, it would be alright.

Your laugh that mocked his request soothed him as he hid his disappointment.

#bsd #bsd x reader #bsd x reader angst #bungo stray dogs #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs angst #bungo stray dogs x reader angst #dazai #dazai x reader #dazai angst #dazai x reader angst #dazai angst x reader #bsd angst #bsd angst x reader #bsd fic #dazai fic #dazai x reader fic

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americxn · 3 years

Text

Welcome to the Cortez

James Patrick March x GN!Reader

《 as a detective, the reader attempts to infiltrate James’ life at the hotel for information regarding several disappearances centred around the Cortez 》

requested by @just-some-lesbian - the original request asked for smut, it is likely that I will write a part two and incorporate smut into that but this scenario seemed too heavy and inappropriate for smut. (I’ll write out the headcanons you requested too, I just really liked this idea and wanted to turn it into a full fic!)

wordcount: 3.8k warnings: swearing, blood, violence, gore, death

Your stomach leaped as James opened the door, a mere second following the last rap of your knuckles against the hard wood. Dressed in his usual finery, his appearance sucked all moisture from your throat, your fingers betrayingly stiff as you expected the hand he held out to you. You had been meeting twice weekly with the man, your nervousness in his presence seeming to only grow with each dinner you were subjected to; this evening, your nerves were at an all time high. This wasn’t a scheduled meeting. Several hours ago, Mr. March had instructed Miss Evers to invite you for an impromptu meeting that evening, which could only mean bad news for you, an undercover detective that had been secretly prying into the several recent disappearances at the Cortez, Mr. March being your prime suspect.

“Come in, dearest. You look wonderful.” He drawled, leading you into the all too familiar room, full plates of food and tall glasses of wine already ornamenting the long dining table. You thanked him, allowing him to lead you through the twice weekly routine: pulling out your chair, pressing a swift kiss to your temple and offering you a cigarette before skirting around the table to his own chair, the brush of his fingertips on your shoulder a cold, lingering touch as he moved away from you. “So, why did you call me here?” You enquired, taking a deep drink of your wine in the hopes that it would quell your nerves, your words presenting a feigned confidence. “Not that I mind, of course.” You adding quickly, causing James to smile softly as he glanced down at his food. Your own stomach growled quietly, the fragrance of the food beckoning; James never ate in your presence and out of caution, you didn’t dare touch the food either. “I just wanted to see you again, my apologies for any convenience.” He’s lying. You smiled pleasantly, looking down at your plate in faux flattery. “No convenience at all, James. You know I always look forward to our dinners.” Now who’s lying? You silenced your inner voice, taking another sip of your drink, utilising the opportunity to scan the room over the rim of your glass, looking for anything out of place that could potentially raise alarm. James never did anything without ulterior motives. That was something you had learned very quickly; he always had a reason for everything. James matched your easy smile, taking a swig of his own drink, some sort of liqueur. Strong liqueur, if the smell of it was any indication; he was always drinking but you had never seen the alcohol hold any effect over the man. You had always just written it off as high tolerance, but watching him now as he drained the remaining liquid from the glass before immediately filling it back to the brim, the ice softly clinking from within, it tugged at some part of you, willing you to question why. The room fell into awkward silence, your eyes flicking back to James as you lowered your glass, setting it gently back onto the table. He was already staring right at you, his eyes dark and gleaming with something you couldn’t place as they searched your face. You blinked at him, shifting slightly on your seat, his intense gaze unsettling. The corners of his mouth rose, almost as if he knew he was making you uncomfortable and took pleasure in it. “So, uh, you were telling the me other night about those hotel renovations. How are they going?” You took absolutely no interest in whether or not James recent renovations to the Cortez were going successfully or not, but asked anyway, if other to clear the awkward tenor of the room. “Progression is slow, but I suppose that perfection can’t be rushed.” He responded mildly, his eyes still trained on you. Clearing your throat, you nodded, your spine prickling in warning. Leave. There was no ignoring the voice whispering from the darkest pocket of your mind, not as James cocked his head, predatory intent settling over his pale features. Your stomach tightened to the point of pain, your eyes dropping in a vain attempt to avoid his vindictive scrutiny. “Well James, I appreciate you having wanting to see me this evening but I’m feeling kinda tired. Do you mind if I go back to my room? Sorry, I know I haven’t been here for long.” James’ mouth quirked upwards at your timid explanation, taking another long sip of his drink before leaning forwards, his eyes flicking down to the fist you had laid on the table before you, your fingers tight with stress. “Yes, I do mind.” Your mouth went thoroughly dry, your mouth parting in surprise. “I dismiss you. And I’ll be damned if I let you leave so soon.” All coherent thought cleared from your mind at his statement, his dark eyes filling with utter amusement at the mask of alarmed surprised that slipped over your features. “What do you mean?” You ventured, your feet shifting beneath the table, soles pressing firmly into the floor, readying to flee from the man if this interaction grew any more worrying. He seemed to blindly track the moment, his self-satisfied smirk only growing. “I mean, I’m not permitting you to leave yet.” He spelled the words out for you, taking pleasure in employing a condensing tone into his voice. Your spine straightened, your eyes flicking around the room to ensure that there was no one hidden within the dark corners of the space; James was an odd, eccentric man, his energy charged with a strange humour. But even for him, this situation was uncomfortably disarming. “You don’t get to ‘permit’ me to do anything.” You breathed, pushing back your chair slightly as you readied to stand, wanting nothing more than to be out of this room and away from the man before you. James sat back, his eyes twinkling in the light of the candles scattered across the surface of the table between you. Pulling the small silver case from his breast pocket, he flicked it open with a thumb, surveying you darkly as he took a cigarette and tapped it on the lid. A lighter appeared in his other hand, a spark flashing before a small flame sprung up; James lifted the cigarette to his lips, storing it between his teeth as he brought the flame up, a swift inhale lighting the cigarette. “You’re prying around my hotel. I would be inclined to argue that I can permit you to do as I please.” His words clanged through you. Prying.| Taking a glance to the side of the table, your eyes landed on the smaller wooden table beside the one you dined on; several platters, their contents spilled on the plates before you and James, resided on a silver tray atop it, but you didn’t miss the gleaming slice of the edge of a knife, almost completely hidden from your view behind a large bowl full of untouched buttered vegetables. Flicking your eyes away from the knife, careful to keep your possible intentions hidden from the sly man before you, you focused all of your attention on his predatory scrutiny, not daring to so much as shift under his stare. “I want to leave.” You stated firmly, growing increasingly anxious as to the real reason he called you here, and having absolutely no intention of staying in his presence long enough to find out. “You don’t get to leave until I dismiss you.” “Then tell me why you actually called me here.” You threw your words across the table at him without hesitation, every nerve in your body attempting to recoil from his dark gaze as his eyes widened with glee. “I have a sneaking suspicion that you already know full well why I called you here... detective.” You were on your feet the moment he uttered the first syllable of that condemning title, your chair falling onto the floor as you reached over the dining table, your fingers straining to reach the knife winking at you from the silver tray. The carving knife was as long and cruel looking as you had hoped it would be, a cool weight in your palm as you pushed away from the table, twisting towards the exit and preparing to step over your fallen chair. You squealed in surprise when, instead of meeting open air, you slammed into a hard, suit covered body, the knife in your hand tilting and driving up into his stomach; it was a reflex, a terrible, terrible reflex and your mind emptied as you stared at the hilt in your hand, already slick with hot blood, the blade fully submerged is his gut. Your eyes were wide as your gaze travelled up his body, his own already trained on your face, his head tilted to the side with what you could only describe as curiosity. You recoiled in horror, the edge of the table hitting the backs of your thighs as you released your hold on the knife, his blood running in hot rivers down your hand and wrist, dripping onto the tips of your shoes as James’ mouth curled upwards in a slow, predatory smile. “That was one of my favourite shirts.” He mused, gripping onto the simple handle of the carving knife and drawing it from his abdomen with a flourish. You gaped at him, rooted to the spot as the sharp intruder was removed from its burrow, expecting him to collapse to the floor as a torrent of blood spurted in wake of the knife. A multitude of questions formed on your lips as you watched him take a step towards you, frozen as he chucked the knife onto the table behind where you stood motionless with a loud clatter, his hand bloody. All words dissipated into the cold air as James reached up, looking right at you as he pulled his signature neck tie away from his throat, the fabric immediately drinking in the thick coating of blood on his pale fingertips. Ripping open the top button on his neatly laundered shirt with one hand, his smirk turned positively feral as your eyes widened, your jaw falling slack as you beheld the fleshy chasm marring the base of his pale throat, sinew and torn tissue exposed in a deep slice. “An admiral effort, darling. But you can’t kill the dead.” You lurched to the side, stumbling over the long legs of the capsized chair as every nerve in your body bleated in terror, urging you to put as much distance between you and the ghost leering before you as possible. The floor swooped towards you as you lost your footing, only just managing to recover before your body slammed into the soft carpeted ground. It took a matter of seconds for you to cross the room, your palms slamming into the surface of the door as you ran at it, unable to slow your momentum as you reached for the handle, wrists creaking at the impact. Pulling the door open, you threw a sparing glance over your shoulder, your racing mind slowing as you beheld James standing motionless where you left him, his bloodied neck tie discarded on the table as he placed another cigarette between his lips, watching you with an amusement disposition as he coaxed a flame from the lighter. Time seemed to slow as you turned back around, Sally appearing before you on the threshold of the room, her lipstick-smeared smile teary as she reached forwards, taking ahold of the side of your head and slamming it into the wall to your left with a savage force, hard enough to cause the world to slip away into blackness.

Reality presented itself to you in throbbing waves, light infiltrating your lightly shut eyelids, coaxing you to stir with a small groan. Your allowed your eyes to open, trying to pull a hand to your throbbing temple; in your dazed exhaustion, your inability to move your hand failed to register as you forced your eyes open wider, the dim light of the room aiding in the slow process of pulling your mind back to full consciousness. James surveyed you from across the room as you stirred, the artful pleasure he took in having you at his disposal evident in the neatly tied ropes that secured your wrists to the centre of the dining table you had sat at hours earlier, your torso stretched to the edge of the table, your legs dangling freely off the side. He walked slowly to you as you turned your head, your eyes alight with terror as the brutal seriousness of your situation settled over you. James smiled warmly as you beheld him, hot, unrestrained tears already sputtering from the corners of your eyes as you watched him near, dressed in a fresh shirt, another necktie neatly secured around the base of his throat. You moaned in defeat as he paused by your head, taking a long pull on the old fashioned pipe clutched in his pale, slender fingers. You jerked away from him as he dropped his cold gaze to your face, physically recoiling from his stare and shifting on the surface of the table as far as the ropes would allow. “I’ve spent a long while thinking of what, exactly, I wanted to do to you.” You felt physically ill at his words, the pounding headache racking your temples doing nothing to soothe the sudden roils of nausea. “But then I realised,” he began, his mouth quirking to the side as he leant down, running the tip of his finger down the side of your wet face from your ear to the sharp angle of your jaw, “why should I have to choose just one scenario?” You willed your mind to fade back into unconsciousness, your mouth turning utterly dry as his finger completed its journey down the side of your face. “You knew.” You groaned quietly, James’ eyes flicking from the exposed length of your throat to your lidded eyes. James didn’t need an elaboration to know what you were talking about. “Of course I knew. I was made aware of your prying intentions from the moment that you stepped foot into my hotel.” His face blurred through your gathering tears, pouring down the sides of your face and disappearing into the wisps hair just above your ears. At your silence, he sighed, withdrawing his finger from where it rested on the line of your jaw, ensuring that his nail scraped against your soft skin as he did so. You flinched, looking up at his harsh face. “Aren’t you curious to know what I’m planning to do with you?” Your chin wobbled at his question, the hesitant shaking of your head in response worsening the pain radiating through your skull; your very scalp felt tight, with pain or fear, you could’t tell. Perhaps both. James tutted in disappointment, moving to sit on the table just above your head, your eyes straining to follow him as your chin lifted slightly, terrified to take your eyes off him for so much as a second. “Well, I suppose I can let you in on my plans. It’s not as if you have anywhere else to be.” He winked down at you, malicious cruelty twinkling in his eyes. He was toying with you, taking twisted delight in watching your eyes shutter with terror. “Cruel bastard.” You hissed quietly, shrinking away from him once more in regretful fear as soon as the words were spoken. “Yes.” James mused simply, taking another puff on his pipe, directing the exhaled smoke down at your face. “Yes, I suppose I am.” He closely tracked the movement in the column of your neck as you swallowed thickly, a dim ache glowing in the back of your throat as you fought to keep your cries contained, a wave of sobs trying to claw their way out of you, threatening to spill over. “As I was saying.” He continued, his eyes locking with yours as he explained with brutal simplicity: “I intend in killing you first.” The air caught in your throat, your worst suspicions confirmed with condemning simplicity. But James continued, elaborating further: “As I’m sure you have come to realise, no one really dies in this hotel. Therefore, once I’ve taken your life, you will be unable to leave these grounds and your eternal punishment will begin.” The fruitful information that he had just provided you regarding the supernatural nature of the hotel fell deaf on your ears as his final statement settled over you. “No, James! Please. Please, I’ll leave. I’ll leave this hotel and not say a word, I swear.” He smirked in response to your frantic words, pulling a short, slender blade from his breast pocket. You shrieked, bringing your legs up onto the table and twisting your torso away from him, your eyes squeezing shut as his cold grasp settled on your wrist, holding your trembling arm still as he cut the rope securing you to the table in one smooth motion. One of your eyes cracked open hesitantly as he did the same with the second coil of rope, the two of you moving in synchronisation, anticipating one another’s next move as you pushed yourself upright, lurching forwards; James’ arms wrapped tightly around your torso, pulling you back to him before your toes could so much as skim the deep red carpet. A sob bubbled up from your chest as your body collapsed into his, your arms clawing at the hands he had secured around your waist in savage desperation, his lips moving to your ear. You stilled as his warm breath settled over the side of your face. “Plead all you want.” He sneered, his voice a low growl in your ear. “In fact, I prefer it.” You clenched your teeth, lunging forwards in his hold with a cry of indignation; it was an attempt made in vain, his hold was too strong. “Are you familiar with my black closet?” He crooned, taking immense pleasure in your futile struggling. Groaning despairingly, your head fell forwards as more tears built and spilled, staining your hot cheeks with salty streaks. “Let me show you. And then you get to make a choice.” James slid off the table, taking you with him, forcing you to stand and heaving your body across the room, through a small archway set into the wall and depositing you in the large room that served as James’ personal bedroom and living space. With a harsh kick to the back of your calf, he forced you deeper into the room, spinning you around to face him and gripping onto your jaw, forcing your head up and exposing the flesh of your throat to him. You reached up, hitting at his chest and clawing at his face. In his other hand, a cruel, curved blade was summoned into his grip, the metal cold as he pressed it to your throat. You froze, your breath catching as your eyes searched his, pleading silently with him. “It’s your choice.” He grunted, eyes bright with perverted excitement. “Choice?” You repeated on a stammering breath as he pressed the wickedly sharp blade further into he soft flesh of your neck, itching to rip into skin, to spill blood. James’ eyes flicked over your shoulder, an exalted smile curving his lips upwards as he applied even more pressure to the knife at your skin, his other hand coming to grip the back of your neck, pulling it towards the instrument at your throat. Small scarlet beads of blood appeared around the sharp edge, igniting a pyre of utter dread within you. You took a step back, James closely mirroring your actions, closing in on you. Heart hammering at his close proximity, you stepped back, again and again, your eyes frantically searching his, his own glowing in building excitement as he backed you to the wall. Your back bumped against the edge of the room, cruel amusement slipping onto James’ face. The wall behind you gave way slightly as he pressed you even further into it. “Excellent choice.” He uttered darkly, eyes flashing before he allowed the knife at your throat to fall to the floor, his hand coming to rest on your chest. Your brows furrowed, your relief at the removal of the blade at your throat short lived when he gave your chest a sharp shove. The wall behind you parted entirely, James quickly driving you into very small, dark room, the air suffocatingly stale, his force on your chest causing you to stumble back. A blinding pain ignited in your lower back and you cried out, straining to push away from whatever was causing the pain. But James’ body proved an impenetrable barrier and he gripped onto your throat with both hands, driving you even further into the room. An ungodly scream ripped from your throat as the pain worsened, your insides bleating as they were unforgivingly torn through, bone splintering, skin ripping and stretching. James’ face was alight with perverted satisfaction, your shoulder blades hitting the wall behind you. Pain like you had never know radiated outwards from your centre, your hands falling to your stomach as more burning pain grew from the front of your abdomen, akin to the one at your back. James landed a harsh kick to the front of your thighs and with a sickening crunch, your full back collided with the wall, your mouth parted in a silent scream as the world spun, dangerously close to pulling you under. You prayed that it would, begging the darkness to quell the unbearable pain radiating through every nerve of your body. Your hands fell onto something hard and slick with warmth. In the dark, it was almost impossible to make out what it was and the sickening spinning of your pain fogged mind only made it more difficult to decipher what you were touching. James watched on in eager delight, releasing his constricting hold on your throat, allowing your head to fall forwards. The world tilted on its axis as you beheld the impossibly thick wooden stake running straight through your stomach, your blood running off the dull end, it’s surface marred with deep gashes and bumps; it pried your flesh apart, your hands completely covered in the blood that ran in torrents down its length, dripping from the blunt tip and pooling around James’ feet. James leaned in as the corners of your vision began to fade, your body beginning to slump around the stake that held your upright. You felt utterly numb, the pain dimming as the world was swept away. “Welcome to the Cortez.” He whispered, pressing a sickeningly sweet kiss to your temple before every sense of life slipped from your limp grasp, consciousness and feeling fading into blissful nothingness.

taglist: @kitwalker02 @three-eyed-snail @forevercountess @kitwalkerangel @milly-louise @thecountessesglove @undeadcortez @kitwalker64 @samsassinparvismagna @xmaximoffic @divineruler @liandav @tatesweaterweather @evanmybeloved @tatelangdonsupremacist @ikkleroniekins

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eureka-its-zico · 3 years

Text

Half Bitten Pt.5

Prologue Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Summary: You find yourself alone, without Jimin, and inside Namjoon’s home. Trapped with his followers and his need for dominance, you try and think of ways to escape. Your only options seem to either submit to him or learn to harness your dormant powers in hopes to give you your own bargaining tool: power. But is it possible to become the hunter when Namjoon, and now Jungkook, hunt for a taste of you at every turn.

Pairing- Jimin x Reader, Jungkook x Reader, Namjoon x Reader, Reader x BTS in general atp

Genre- Vampire!AU, Witch!AU, Heavy Smut 🔞 sub/dom mentions,

Words: 13k

Warnings: this chapter contains sexual content and small mentions of violence.

A/N: Okay, so this has taken a long time. I had to sit and really think about what and how I wanted this story to take shape and (after a lot of anxiety and a lot of stop/starts) I finally figured it out. I hope you all enjoy this labor of love. I hope the storyline peaks your Interest and that as always, you very much enjoy. Much Love, Jenn.

shout out to @dearneverlander for being amazing, reading over this, and entertaining me about this and other fic ideas. You are the best.

Tag list: @giveonslove @pjmnoir

For what felt like a recurring theme, you found yourself in a room you’d never seen. Your legs resting on someone’s hips as his body eclipsed yours in a bed that definitely wasn’t yours. No matter how foreign it seemed, this man, whose lips were coaxing you to open up to him, felt like home. He buried your body against the sheets and his touch became something your body shamefully craved. Except this man wasn’t the same one who’d haunted you for the past months. This man who moved above you like sin, whose lips and tongue formed against yours as if he’d mapped out your entire body with his tongue, wasn’t Jimin.

You knew who he was by the strength of his hold. The curve of his muscles that bowed under your fingertips. His head pulled up and away from your lips to leave love bites across your collarbone like a set of crimson pearls. This man, who had taken you in the most intimate way with his lips latched on your throat, was Jungkook.

Your mind couldn’t make sense of what was taking place. How you’d ended up in a mess of sheets. Your bodies beaded in sweat with your skin decorated in snake bites under your breasts, and hidden inside the inner curve of your thighs. The only thing you were sure of was the way you dived into him and let him drown you with each new crashing wave of his hips.

In between each crushing new weight of an orgasm, Jungkook sunk his teeth into a new spot. Your shoulder. Neck. The bend of your arm. Bites were strung across your back like a string of erotic galaxies that he’d mapped out in his continued efforts to explore everything you were willing to offer.

You weren’t sure how long you’d been in this bed. How long you’d been exposed to his overwhelming presence as his hands and mouth continued to roam the contours of your skin. Even his bites seemed to only escalate each new orgasm. Your body seemed to buckle and start all over at just a graze of his teeth along your skin. So eager it was to be penetrated a second time, much more animalistic, that it felt like a drug how badly you seemed to crave it. And every time your body was met with what it so badly craved it was only able to voice breathless moans that were silenced with a crimson soaked tongue.

You knew, ultimately, Jungkook was trying to devour you. To own every last inch of your soul and bend your body until all he needed to do was look at you, and you’d turn into a puddle at his feet. The thought should’ve been enough to push him away, but a twisted part of you was too turned on at the exhilaration of being owned. At the thought of him coming at any moment and his mouth easily claiming you as his.

You were barely starting to come down from your latest orgasm. You felt spent and raw, but Jungkook’s hips were still moving between your thighs as his arm moved to wrap underneath your arched back. A hand on the small of your back helping to prop you up higher, closer to his mouth so his tongue could reach out and flick across your hardened nipple.

The accompanying sensation of his tongue with the continuous movement of his cock pushing back inside you, riding out your orgasm to bring you to another, made your back arch harder. Your walls clenching tighter against him as your fingers dug into his hair with a hushed prayer for him to not stop escaping you. Pleading for him to do what you knew was coming next. Those soft flicks of his tongue that circled your nipple were only the beginning, and Jungkook did not disappoint.

He’d waited until your second orgasm came. Your body grew more sensitive with each continued stroke and, suddenly, his teeth penetrated down into the soft flesh of your breast. This time Jungkook was too occupied to keep down the moan that tore free from your chest. It moved inside the room like a living thing and bounced on every wall until it reverberated all around you.

Your arms had moved to wrap around his shoulders to bring him closer so he could drink you down faster. Your hands still locked tight to his hair as he moved to echo your movements with his arms moved to wrap around your waist. A hand dropped down to push away the bundled sheets at your hips to lift your back off the bed up and bring you to straddle him.

Your hips were now keeping up the speed Jungkook had created as he relaxed down on the bed. The hand he’d used to to push back the sheets between you had now moved to your ass. Using it to move you to the rhythm he was trying to commit with his own hips. You grinded down hard on him taking every last inch of him inside you. You tightened yourself around him to stroke and tease him with every new rise and fall of your hips and loved the way his grip tightened on your ass.

Jungkook lifted bloody lips from your breast. His own moan tearing free from him as you worked your hips over his cock. You watched him as his eyes fluttered closed and, with that stern playfulness off of his face, you were able to see just how beautiful he was. His head tilted back just enough that the light of the room showcased a mole under his lip, another decorated the side of his neck, and a scar on his cheek. An indent you were sure came from a time long ago when he was much more alive.

The sound of his moan spurred you to ride him faster. A part of you craved to bring another moan from him as his eyes opened back up and struggled to focus back on you. Jungkook knew what you were trying to do and a smirk quickly raised his lips.

“The only one who's going to be making any kind of noise here, Pet, is you.”

His nickname for you didn’t seem to register as a strong hand on your neck forced your lips crashing down into his. You opened up for him instantly and felt yourself tasting the copper of your blood back on his tongue and underneath that, was the sweet taste of your juices from when his mouth had been between your thighs lapping up every last bit of your first orgasm.

A moan gasped against his mouth as you tore away. The feeling of him so deep inside you was beginning to make your orgasm begin to build; threatening to spill as his hands took control of your hips and had you take him impossibly deeper. His fingertips were bruising against your flesh but you didn’t care. You needed more. You wanted to wear each marking he gave you, could give you, like decorations to your new favorite holiday.

You were so close to coming again. So close to another mind blowing release when you saw him.

Jimin.

His body perfectly formed into the chair with a leg carefully thrown over the other. A forearm resting on the chair's arm as his hand strategically placed itself over his mouth. You were sure it was to hide a frown that had set on his pouty lips. His eyes watching helplessly at the show you continued to give him.

The betrayal at being caught; being seen in such a position made you tear your lips away from Jungkook’s kiss. Your body, however, wasn’t ready to unlatch itself from him. Not when you were so, so close.

“Jimin?”

You knew Jungkook must have heard you. Was he unaware of the man sitting in the corner chair? Or was Jungkook putting on a show of how he’d taken your body so easily from him?

In part, you received your answer. In a blur of speed Jungkook placed you back on the mattress. His fingers hooking under the knee of one leg to hoist it up towards your stomach and placed your calf on his shoulder. It was such a small movement, but it somehow intensified his next thrust.

A moan that was more a scream crawled its way from your throat and out into the room. Your eyes fluttering shut on Jimin’s figure as you focused on the way this new position made you tighten around Jungkook’s cock. The width of him as he stretched and filled you up to the point your body began to shake. The only way you knew how to release the pleasure Jungkook rolled through you with every pounding of his hips was by shouting his name and marking him as your nails dug into his hips.

You were so close. So close and when you opened your eyes, Jimin was no longer sitting in the chair. No. He was now kneeling beside the bed, his face inches from yours and watching as your hips eagerly pushed off the bed to meet Jungkook’s.

It would be hard to deny that watching Jimin’s eyes take in the swell of your breasts, moving down the plains of your stomach, and ending, eyes hungrily watching Jungkook enter you, isn’t what made you cum. Because it was. Underneath that sadness he showed. The anger at seeing someone else touch you, was a lust at watching you cum under another man that made you feel like you’d left your body.

You came screaming and clawing feverishly at Jungkook’s back and arms. Your legs cramping through the strain of staying propped up to keep the power of his thrusts from breaking as you waited for it to end.

What you were really waiting for was the feel of Jungkook’s teeth setting into the soft flesh lol somewhere. Your body vibrating with the need to feel that soft pinch and the wave of euphoria that came right after, but none came.

You craved it so badly, you were practically writhing in disappointment underneath him when it never came. A whine left you pleading and the devilish smile on Jungkook’s lips didn’t surprise you. It only infuriated you more that he’d treat this like a game.

“Do you want me to bite you, Pet? Do you want me to taste you?”

Jungkook pulled away from you and began to move himself down towards your feet. He made sure to keep his body from touching you. The motion leaving a small view of his naked body exposed to the room and that alone was enough to make you keen into the room. Your lower half bucked up towards his face as he passed, but he easily dodged the motion.

Your eyes looked wildly up for Jimin. He was still there and the betrayal was coming back, but his earlier sadness was now replaced by understanding.

“What the hell is going on?”

You’d like to say that you sounded like yourself. That you weren’t still focused on the man now moving between your legs, inching your legs up to bend at the knee, and were more focused on getting some answers. Or the fact that you wanted Jimin to kiss you right when you felt Jungkook kiss at the crease of your inner thigh.

“You’re dreaming.”

Jimin stated it so matter-of-fact it hit your body like a smack to the face. It gave you enough clarity to look at him, really look at him, and then to the room around him.

“This has been a dream the whole time?”

This time your voice did sound more like yourself. Jimin moved to sit on the edge of the bed beside you. His eyes looking at you with an expression you didn’t deserve as he gently caressed his hand down the edge of your face.

“I’m guessing somehow you must have gotten a taste of Jungkook’s blood. A considerable amount it would seem.”

A soft smirk tilted the corner of his mouth as he looked down at your body and at the other man in question. You couldn’t help yourself. Your own gaze moved down to glance at Jungkook and found him, smiling, and looking dead at Jimin. A challenge in his eyes as his fangs began to grow past his lips and, instantly, the insane aching to be his toy knocked the air of sanity right from your lungs.

You knew you should reply but the only thing you found yourself doing was bucking your hips helplessly towards him. Your head falling back onto the mattress in frustration as you tried to grasp at some form of clarity.

“Why does this keep happening?”

Your words came out a panting, heaving, mess with your eyes shut tight. As if that would ever be enough to get your body back to normal and not be this lust crazed thing.

��I’m sorry. I should have protected you better. I should have been more cautious when I approached you. It was foolish of me to think Namjoon didn’t have his own plans in motion.”

You listened closely to Jimin’s words. Your mind scrambled to hold on to each one like a drowning man searching for a life jacket. You opened your eyes and found him smiling sadly down at you. His fingers moved through your hair, and tucked a piece behind your ear. That pain, that sadness, he tried to keep at bay was consuming even his smile now. All you wanted was to kiss his worries away. You knew he meant it. That all Jimin ultimately wanted was to keep you safe, always.

The thought alone was enough to bring you back. Your hand moved out to touch him. To grab a hold of his hand and bring it to your lips just so you could give it a gentle kiss.

“Namjoon probably asked Jungkook to give you blood. But I am sure that Namjoon doesn’t know he’s doing this.”

At the mention of his name, a growl came from the man in question and it took everything you had left in you not to look back down at him. Your eyes were trained solely on Jimin, and were determined to stay that way.

“Namjoon wouldn’t let him do this?”

Jimin shook her head as he spoke, “Namjoon would have asked him to watch over you. Heal you if you need it, but this-“ Jimin looked around the bedroom for added emphasis before bringing a disapproving gaze back to you. “This is more for Jungkook than anyone else.”

“I couldn’t help myself. She tastes so good.”

Jungkook’s voice touched along your skin like velvet. It worked its way like an invisible hand along your body, until it felt like it tightened around your throat demanding for your attention. You wanted to give it to him. To see that pretty face still waiting, teasingly, between your thighs with fangs exposed. You only gave him the satisfaction of letting him see you shiver.

“I still don’t understand how this is possible. How you can just enter my mind and create dreams like this.”

“I told you, Y/N. Blood is the conduit to the soul. Once it’s shared, it cannot be unshared. It helps us to see your desires and it leaves them exposed to us.”

“Are you trying to tell me I wanted this?”

You should’ve been past feeling embarrassed, especially in your current state, but with Jimin’s statement you felt exactly like he’d stated: exposed. The embarrassment in your chest hot as you fight the urge to cover up.

“In some way; yes. A part of you wants Jungkook and, because of the shared blood, he now knows it. And he capitalized on it to create this moment.”

Your mouth was open, ready to fight back at the idea you’d want any of them, but Jungkook was quick to silence you. Proving you to be nothing but a liar.

“You both talk too much.”

His teeth sunk down into the soft flesh of your inner thigh, and your back arched up off the bed. A moan violently erupted from you as your hands curled into the sheets and threatened to rip them apart. You were barely aware of your body when Jimin’s lips formed around yours and, before you were able to fully register his lips, his tongue danced across your bottom lip and you were quick to give him entrance just before you were thrown from your dream.

Your body lurched forward off of the mattress. The sheets crumbled at your waist as the haze of the dream kept your vision cloudy. You were struggling hard for your vision to clear and, in your haste, you only seemed to make it worse. Your world was swimming in dizziness as objects seemed either too close to you or too far; lurching forward and back until they stopped in their original spots.

It wasn’t until you were able to fully calm yourself that you were aware of the bodies in the room. The first you noticed was the one you weren’t exactly able to see, but you could feel them. Your skin came alive with goosebumps as fear rolled through you. It took everything you had not to turn around; to keep your heart from bursting out of your chest. But you couldn’t bring yourself to turn around even if your life depended on it, because that second body, the one you knew was there, was right in front of you.

With his hips cocked against the large dresser and his arms resting behind him he was the picture perfect image of seduction. The devilish smile on his lips was a tell-tale sign as his gaze drank in your position in the bed that he knew what you were thinking. But how could he not? Even then, with him fully clothed, your mind was able to recall the bunch of muscles in his chest that combined into his stomach. The way your hands dipped inside the plains of his back as his hips worked himself deeper inside you making you come undone beneath him. No. You knew his body the way that he no doubt knew yours.

“Jungkook?”

His name fell from your lips in a whisper. One that was either a curse or excitement or possibly both. You weren’t entirely sure. What you were sure of was the itch in your palms to rub them against your eyes. To see if he was still there, like a bad dream caught on a loop. Thinking of him like that felt wrong, somehow and that’s when you knew you were in trouble.

You watched as he ran a thumb along his bottom lip. The knowing in his eyes as they moved across your body like a touch sent you shivering in response against the covers. If your mind and body were aware of the dream then so was he. The dream that felt real. A touch your body now longed to feel with him this close. To be used up and your skin decorated with his mouth and teeth like a scandalous map of where he’d conquered.

Your eyes were so heavily trained on him; sinfully watching every drawn out movement he made that you could hardly pay attention to anything else. How you could’ve missed the other body next the bed was something you couldn’t fathom. Of course you would’ve known that the vampire V, was right beside you. But you were so shamelessly engrossed in the show Jungkook happily provided, that you weren’t aware of him until his fingers were stroking through your hair.

Your body gave a violent jolt as it turned to face him. An odd child-like mischief swept across his face like a wildfire. Setting off sparks in his eyes that roared to life as his gaze hungrily drank you in and, without speaking, knew you were in trouble.

His hand reached out to touch you again, and you found yourself struggling against the bundled sheets at your waist to back away. You cursed under your breath. The harder you seemed to struggle the more your legs became hopelessly tangled further in the sheets.

V was wasting no time as he moved to join you on the large bed. The muscles in his arms and back strained against the thin silk fabric of his shirt. His body movements gracefully calculated with each inch he covered as he made his way towards you. His hands moved seamlessly over the sheets without getting caught up in them. Unlike you, who only seemed to tangle yourself further the more you struggled against them. No, the way he moved and how he looked at you made it painfully obvious that he was the predator here. And you? You were nothing more than prey.

You didn’t have to be a rocket scientist to tell that your heart was clamoring to escape your chest. The terror you felt was very much real. Not a figment of your imagination or a feeling in your subconscious left over from a dream. The more you seemed to struggle against the knowledge that if V got a hold of you, you’d be his breakfast, lunch, and dinner, the more your panic made your movements frantic. And in their frenzy it made you increasingly clumsy.

You were almost to the edge of the bed. The anxiety that had begun to blossom left a sickening thought in your mind that you weren’t going to make it. When you quickly glanced behind you it all but dissipated. You’d somehow made it. You were just a few inches to freedom. You were going to make this! And suddenly, V’s hand appeared like magic on your arm. It snuffed out what hope you’d felt. His fingers tightened against the skin of your forearm and, without giving you a second to recover, began to pull you towards him.

The scream that’d been building in your chest finally tore free when he tugged you towards him. Your hand clamored uselessly at his fingers in a weak attempt to make them release his hold, and when that wasn’t working, you swung your feet around. You were ready to strike; to kick out at him in panic induced spurts when V suddenly let you go. A more level headed you would’ve considered why he’d done it. But you weren’t levelheaded. You weren’t fucking calm. You were stuck in flight mode, instead of fighting, and with your brain stuck on autopilot you could only consider one thing: running.

Those eyes that swore they would tear you apart were no longer looking at you, but were focused on someone behind you. Instead of being careful and glancing to see what it was - who it was - you scrambled back and ended up colliding into someone else’s chest.

You didn’t need to look to know who it was. You’d experienced this chest for what felt like an eternity in your dreams. Your tongue traced sinful outlines across his chest like a paintbrush and committed every single stroke to memory. No, you didn’t need to look to know Jungkook was at the end of this bed. And yet…

Your head tilted back until the top of it rested comfortably in his stomach. Your eyes gazed up to find he was already looking at you. That infamous smirk dancing on his lips as his eyes took you in. You couldn’t help but wonder what he saw. Did you look frightened? Or did he see blown out pupils exposing your desire for him. Did your body give you away when your next breath came out ragged with need or was it like that from fear? Were your eyes already swimming with desire for him to touch you, for real this time?

He brought a hand to the side of your neck and it took what little willpower you had left to keep from nuzzling your cheek into him. If Jungkook knew this he wouldn't have shown it. Instead, he continued to draw his index finger across your jawline until it came up to connect with your lips. The soft smile that he’d worn now turned into something dangerous. His eyes bleeding the deep crimson that signified his teeth weren’t far behind and there, exactly when that knowledge hit you, is when your lust burst into overdrive.

You were shot back to hazy memories of your bodies intertwined in sheets just like the ones on this bed. His mouth, teeth, all over your body. His hands positioned on your hips to keep you trapped. Just so he could keep you close and feel every new thrust as he tore fresh pleasure from your lips.

The flashback of your dream only seemed to escalate your hunger for him. The images played out fresh in your mind until you knew if either of them placed a hand between your thighs, it would come away soaked and slick with your desire. The overwhelming need for him to touch you felt like a current of fire along your skin. It screamed and ached for him to come and soothe you.

You felt V’s hands back on your body. Their roughness gone now replaced to tease up your calves until his fingers were edging wickedly up your thighs. Past the fabric of your skirt and closer to your core. Each touch left a trial of goosebumps along your skin that were only spreading with each touch between him and Jungkook. You dared for a moment to take your eyes off of Jungkook. Just enough to be able to see that V’s own eyes were now matching the man above you. A wicked smirk showcasing pointed canines that he used to nip at the top of your knee.

“Oh, Jungkook, she must really like you.”

“Fuck you,” you snapped.

You wanted to sound defiant. You wanted your voice to shake the room with it. Instead, it sounded weak and wanton and only caused V to flash his fangs and a chuckle to ripple through Jungkook.

“If that’s what you would prefer, Witch. We would be more than happy to oblige.”

V’s eyes swam with heat as his voice teased along your skin. The sane part of you, or what was left of it, was screaming at you to remove yourself from the bed. That letting your legs inch wider for V to trail his hands closer to your core was wrong. That you shouldn’t be Focusing on Jungkook’s hands that were trailing inside your shirt until it cupped a breast. And you most definitely should not be moaning in approval as his other free hand laced itself inside your hair and pulled back, hard, for you to look up at him. But your body was full of sensations - full of a deep seeded need - and only Jungkook promised to deliver.

Jungkook’s hand began to massage your breast as simultaneously the hand in your hair pulled tighter. The motion exposing your neck fully to the room. Your scalp was flaring to life in pain, but Jungkook’s deft fingers teased across your nipple causing your pain and pleasure to blur. Your body responded in earnest. Your hips shamelessly began to gyrate into the sheets, into V’s wandering hands, as Jungkook’s pulled tighter. You knew he was trying to break a moan from your lips and you refused to give him the satisfaction. But your eyes were still helplessly glued to him. Eagerly scanning his face for when he would expose his canines and when he finally did, lips torn back in all their wickedness, the gasp he’d been waiting for finally escaped free.

Your arousal was instant and shameless. Your back already arching to give him a better view of any area he wanted while your hips moved against V’s touch. Another moan was building - hot and molten - on your lips. Just as you opened up to release it, Jungkook bent down to crash his mouth down on yours.

The kiss silenced you until you felt V’s fingers at the tops of your thighs. His earlier teasing completely gone as they edged inside your panties, making your body shiver against Jungkook and a moan sound deep against his lips.

“Jungkook. She’s soaked.”

V groaned the words into the room. His own desire makes you shiver as his lips, his teeth, kissed hungrily on the inside of your thigh. Your body gave a jolt at the contact. Another moan crushing down on you as your tongue moved to stroke against Jungkook’s.

In the middle of the kiss, your tongue accidentally nicked a canine. The pain was instantaneous and sharp with the taste of blood quickly swimming between you and the softness that Jungkook had shown when his lips had originally taken yours was gone. In a blur of movement, his hand in your hair pulled back brutally hard, tearing a scream from your throat. Jungkook responded with a growl vibrating along your lips, as he started to try and eat you from the mouth down. Scream and all.

You were so enraptured in the moment you were willing to give in. To let them both have you because, honestly, what was the worst that could happen? The answer: a lot. The struggle to come back to yourself and to not be consumed by them was like trying to swim out of quicksand. It felt impossible. It was impossible. Until your mind flashed with the image of Jimin.

The way he sat in the corner chair of the room. The way he’d watched Jungkook, and you, move in a tangle of sheets. How he’d watched you allow Jungkook to mark you over and over in every intimate spot he could taste. To own your body and almost your mind. There had been hunger in his eyes as he watched, but there was no denying the sadness that lurked below the surface. That image of Jimin sitting so stoically in the chair, fingers on his lips, and chin resting in his palm was what you needed.

Immediately, you lurched forward. Your body flying sideways off the bed and rolling until you fell, not so gracefully, onto the floor below. There was no doubt in your mind that the two vampires in the room had let you. You knew that if they wanted to keep you there, there you’d have stayed. Held hostage by their embrace and hunger.

You were clamoring off of the floor and facing them. Your hands moved around you to try and make sure your skirt was back in place and you looked as modest as you could. It was somewhere in your hurried attempt to make sure your clothes were intact that you realized the cut on your leg that Namjoon had given you from the window was gone. The area was perfectly healed with not a mark to show the trauma that had broken the skin hours before.

“I was ordered to give you blood by Namjoon.” Jungkook’s voice ripped your attention away from examining your leg. Commanding all of your focus to him. “You’d lost quite a bit of blood and he was…worried.”

“And did he ask you to -'' you couldn’t bring yourself to speak out loud what had gone on in your head.

Jungkook didn’t share the same sentiment. On the contrary, that wickedness spread across his face showcasing the ends of his fangs. His arm was now wrapped around one of the posts on the four post bed. His body swung around the corner of the bed in a way that oddly mimicked a child.

“To fuck you, taste you, and leave you begging for me to continue? Oh no, he didn’t ask me to do any of that. That was all my choice, Pet.”

Your cheeks flush from his words and you struggled not to turn away from him. But wasn’t it all supposed to just be a dream? It couldn’t be real. Could it? Out of your peripheral’s you noticed V was moving himself off the bed. His body exiting the bed as seductively as he’d entered it. His own teasing smile drowned out the hunger that was still spread across the heat in his eyes.

“And here I thought witches only rode broomsticks.”

“They ride more than that,” Jungkook quipped.

The two of them equally seemed to enjoy your growing embarrassment, and you hated the fact your body was white hot with it. They were already honing in on your position. One coming from your left and the other the right. That reckless part of you was curious what would happen if they got to you, but another part reminded you this wasn’t a game. You wouldn’t respawn and the price of losing was your life or freedom.

So you found your feet edging you closer and closer to the corner of the room. You were fully aware that it was a dead end and knew that if Jungkook and V wanted to, they would’ve already taken you. The thrill of the hunt was what they were after. You, unfortunately, just happened to be the prey.

They were only a few feet from you when the door to the room suddenly opened and Alice stepped in. Or at least it looked like Alice. This woman didn’t resemble the girl you shared classes or an apartment with. She looked ethereal. Her corn yellow hair in soft waves with a braid for a crown and her dress delicately embroidered in a design you saw more in the 1920’s. For all the memories of friendship you held, the beauty she showed, the only thing your heart felt looking at her was contempt.

Jungkook and V turned to see who entered and both seemed unimpressed with their new visitor. Alice shared in their open distaste for one another. She finished coming through the doorway and walked to the bed placing what you assumed were clothes for you to change into.

“What exactly do you think the two of you are doing?” Alice’s voice was scolding. Her distaste only seemed to rise as she took in a scent of the air. “Someone has been Dream Touched in here. Recently. Jungkook, I’m pretty sure Namjoon told you watch over her not fuck her.”

There it was again. It was just a dream! Why did they talk like it actually happened? The blush that was beginning to leave your cheeks came flaring back. It took everything in you not to look down at the floor in shame.

“What can I say? I got bored waiting for her to wake up.”

“If Namjoon finds out you touched her-“

“Who is going to tell him, hmm?” In a blur of speed Jungkook had Alice pressed up against the wall. His hand wrapped around her neck as her feet dangled at his legs. “Are you going to tell him? You think being a snitch is going to put you back in his good graces? In his bed? He’s already discarded you like the trash you are. So don’t forget how easily you could be replaced.”

If looks could kill the two of them would’ve exploded. The hatred that came off the pair felt like it could suffocate with every inch of air being sucked from the room. Your blood was now coursing with adrenaline as you watched their exchange. If you needed any reminding that they could kill you without you even blinking, this was all you needed.

Alice lifted up a weak hand and you noticed the blue flame inside her palm, her lips moving wordlessly, and pure rage in her eyes. She went to swing her hand down at him and Jungkook easily caught it with his remaining free hand. Easily pinning her wrist against the wall next to her head and smoke now coming rising where the flame once was.

V walked over casually, his hands deep in his pockets before he dug a hand out. He grabbed Jungkook by his shoulder and gently tugged as if to pull him away.

“Come on, Jungkook. She’ll have her day, but it's not now. We don’t need any more trouble.”

You watched Jungkook reluctantly let her go. The way he stepped away from her in disgust. His hands wiping down his clothes as if just being around her was enough to stain them entirely. He didn’t spare a passing look her way as he moved with V to exit the room. V’s exit came without giving a passing look, but Jungkook, somehow you knew, before he turned and waved at you, that he couldn’t leave without saying goodbye. The hatred in his eyes quickly dissolved back to his earlier hunger as he told you a promise: “See you later, Pet,” and closed the door behind him.

You were now left alone in the room with your ex-best friend who was still trying to regain her composure in a heap on the floor. You felt bad. You couldn’t deny that. The ethereal beauty she’d come in with - a princess out of a fairytale - had completely dissolved. Now, she looked angry with a smidgen of terror. Her tear stained cheeks were rubbed red from her hands as she slowly started to stand.

At first, she wasn’t acknowledging you at all. When she moved to stand up, however, and smoothed out the front of her dress she gave you her full attention. That hatred Alice shared, that contempt, that’d come alive in her eyes at the sight of Jungkook and V in the room, was now placed heavily on you.

“What are you looking at,” she spat. “You need to hurry up and get dressed. Namjoon has been waiting long enough for you to wake up.”

You glanced at the pile of clothes that had been left on the bed and back at Alice. None of her attention was on you. She was too busy running her hands furiously down the front of her dress. You weren’t sure if it was embarrassment that kept her head turned away from you or if she just wanted to pretend like you weren’t there. If it was the latter, you were more than happy to do the same.

You moved to look at what she’d brought for you to change into, and your nose crinkled up in disgust. It wasn’t as fancy as what Alice was wearing, but it was a dress, and nothing you wanted any part in. How the hell were you supposed to try to escape in something like this? The fabric of the dress was soft to the touch and you knew once you put it on it would feel good against your skin. The way expensive and fancy things usually did. It appeared floor length, its color a deep garnet, and the complete opposite of the pure white of Alice’s.

It felt comical that Alice deemed herself worthy to be the one to wear white.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” you chided.

Your hands grabbed at the dress's top and lifted it up. It was pretty. Very pretty, but a dress? Really? Alice stopped her pacing and turned her attention back to you. The annoyance creased her brows so harshly she resembled a basset hound.

“Just put the damn thing on, Y/N. Namjoon wants you to wear it so - end of discussion.”

“And does everyone always do what Namjoon wants them to do?”

Her eyes narrowed on you and you could’ve sworn it felt like insects were crawling on your skin. It took every last bit of self-control you had not to start tapping wildly at your skin.

“Let me help you understand something sooner rather than later, Y/N.You are in the King’s sanctuary. Whatever Namjoon wants, he gets and right now you happen to be a very high priority on his list.”

“If I could be unprioritized on his list that would be great,” you quipped.

Your humor seemed to make Alice’s irritation rise as she walked slowly towards the bed. Her eyes roamed over the sheets you’d just struggled out of seconds before she’d walked in. A part of you as secretly glad she hadn’t walked in during that particular time.

“Namjoon is - will be - your King. He wants to bring the coven, the oldest there is, back together. For centuries, our coven lived among the vampires. A deal struck between our Headmistress and King of the vampires. A deal that offered limitless power for the coven. It remained this way until the day your great-great grandmother and Jimin tried to change it.”

“My great-great grandmother and Jimin?”

Alice gave a quick nod as her arm wrapped around the post of the bed and leaned into it. Her eyes remained roaming the bed instead of giving you any of her attention as she spoke. You were okay with it. Your own attention fastened to every word. Each one painting a picture of information that you were eager to hear. Maybe in all of this nonsense you could find something that did make sense and use it to save yourself.

“If you don’t do as he says, if you don’t try to learn what I have to teach you, Namjoon won’t let you go, Y/N. He’ll kill you.”

She looked at you then and a large part of you wished Alice had kept her eyes on the bed. She wasn’t trying to spook you or send you screaming for the hills. They’d all done enough before now to do that already. Alice was making sure that you understood. You either submit or you died. In this reality, where you currently lived, and Namjoon reigned supreme, you didn’t have a second or third option.

In all of this, it wasn’t hard to notice the admiration that dripped in her voice at the mention of his name. The way her body sighed at the thought of him. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind that she was in love with Namjoon. Hopelessly, in fact. The thought of you being anywhere near him is what she probably hated and even more knowing that ever since he’d found you, he’d discarded her just like Jungkook mentioned. It no doubt stung. It no doubt made her hate you, but Alice would never tell you, but what she did tell you was true. Whatever Namjoon couldn’t own he would destroy and, unfortunately for you, you were currently on the receiving end of being his latest thing to own.

You weren’t sure what to say. If being in denial was even worth trying to mask the cold lump of dread that was forming in your chest. What were you supposed to do now? You couldn’t wait around for Jimin to save you this time, but how were you supposed to begin to help yourself? While you waited for the universe to bring a solid plan to you, you began to undress.

You didn’t mind getting rid of the clothes from the day before. It had given you a false sense of security. As if leaving them haphazardly on the floor around you was enough to save you from your current reality. It wasn’t until you were stepping into the dress Alice brought that you were reminded that this was all too real.

You struggled to close the back of the gown and hated that with every passing second you knew you were going to have to ask her for help. Clearing your throat, you glanced in her direction. You found Alice sitting on the bed. Her hands draped loosely in her lap with her gaze in a land - somewhere far far away. Her thoughts took her somewhere that wasn’t you or this room. The sound of your voice finally uprooting her gaze to land on you.

“Could you - do you - do you think you could help me with this?”

You half expected her to break out into a lopsided grin. To start teasing you about your lack of coordination or make one of the worst jokes you’d ever heard as she moved towards you. Alice, the Alice you remembered, loved dad jokes. They were her terribly timed thing. But the Alice you knew was gone, and replaced with one you didn’t want to know. Was this really who she was, and not who she pretended to be?

She didn’t answer you right away. Well, she didn’t really answer you at all. The only way you knew that she’d agreed was when she calmly moved towards you. Her expression remained blank, but her eyes were searching for something and acted as if you held the map to every explanation she needed.

You brushed your hair to the side so she could get a clear view of the last couple hitches that need to be fastened. You turned your back to her and waited to feel her hands closing what was left. While the dress was floor length and beautiful, it sure was leaving a large part of your chest exposed. A tsk of displeasure escaped your lips.

“What was the price the coven paid?”

You weren’t sure why you felt brave enough to ask Alice so close. If you thought it would be enough to get her to answer you at all. Your short burst question faded to the background of her continued silence.

“The price we paid?”

When her words cut through it practically had you jumping on the spot. Your tongue quickly darted between your lips to wet them before you replied, “For the power upgrade. Everything comes at a cost when it comes to magic, no?”

You swore it felt like she was smiling behind you. Or maybe you just needed to imagine she was smiling with softness like your imaginary friend used to.

“Namjoon offered us blood. His blood, and the blood of his people. In exchange, the coven bowed under his rule with the promise of serving him for all eternity.”

“That seems like a mighty steep price to pay.”

“And one we will continue to pay until the debt is paid in full. Your great-great-great grandmother believed she could fight this pact. She believed she was above the coven, and it’s order.”

“It sounds to me like she was the only one with her head on straight” you mentioned.

With the last clasp finished on the dress you took a step away from Alice. Your feet guided you in a wide circle until you stood to face her, shoulders squared, and eyes narrowed in challenge.

“She fled believing she could save her future generations from their duty to our king, but there is no hiding from your destiny. Elyssa should’ve remembered that.”

You hadn’t heard her name in years. Your own mother hardly ever spoke of your grandmother or your great grandmother. Avoided them at all costs like a plague that could cause an infection from just the slightest mention. You grew up normal enough. You’d had your small family. Never any grandparents or aunts or uncles. You were too young to question it, but your parents made you feel like you weren’t missing anything. There were family vacations and Saturday’s mapped out with storybook adventures in the woods. You never imagined you were lacking anything until the day your father mysteriously disappeared after going to work one day. After he left, mom was never the same.

You never cared to dwell on sad facts. Maybe he’d just run away. Maybe his heart had found a family capable of building the life he’d wanted instead of the quiet one your mother desired in her handmade cottage in the woods. Now, staring back at Alice, you couldn’t help but wonder about something much darker.

“Let me give you some friendly advice.” You weren’t sure why her voice caused you to jump. “When a vampire shares his blood with you and you share yours with him, they form a connection with the soul of that person. It’s what makes us more vulnerable to being Dream Touched. The sex is phenomenal, but the bite is the real kicker. It’s easy for them to turn you into a junkie for it.”

Your head was still spinning out memories of a childhood you’d mostly tried to keep hidden. Her words echoed in the hollow chamber in your mind where you were only able to catch a few of them. Confusion edged your brow closer together as you tried shaking out bad memories to focus on the current one being made.

“Why are you telling me all this? I’ve never had sex with any of them.”

Looking at her you were able to see she wasn’t telling you this out of the kindness of her heart. The emptiness of her face had been replaced by what you could only assume was hatred.

“Because when you’re Dream Touched it forms an unmistakable connection with the vampire who gave it to you. It’s why you most likely still feel Jimin, even if it's dull. And what you think is a ‘dream’ is very much real. Dream Touched encounters are the real thing. The feelings. The tastes. The bites. You reek of Jungkook. Namjoon will know and it will be my ass for picking Jungkook to be the one to watch you. Now come on, we need to go. He’s waiting.”

You were still trying to process what she was telling you, but Alice wasn’t interested in giving you time to digest her words. All the time she had in coming to the room had apparently evaporated. The only thing left was the sense of urgency her pace created. Her long legs were already at the door and swinging it open.

While you weren’t a hundred percent sure about following her anywhere, an open door piqued your interest. Wherever they were holding you it was obviously a home of some kind and every home and two things: doors and windows. The thought of escaping before this shit show went from bad to astronomically worse sent your heart racing. A melding of fear and excitement swirled in your chest that maybe, just maybe, you could get out of this and save yourself.

All the best laid plans were made on the fly, anyway.

With a breath of indecision heavy in your chest you took your first step towards the door. What you found waiting for you on the other side wasn’t what you’d envisioned. You’d imagined that wherever Namjoon kept you it’d be somewhere desolate. A run-down mansion. Maybe an abandoned factory to add up the spook factor. If the bedroom you’d exited was any indication, Namjoon’s home was far from run-down or factory-esque.

The hallway you found yourself in carried with the same deep wood that had been in the bedroom. The wood was polished white and went the entirety of the hallway. The intricate inlays of gold designs on the wood and crown molding only seemed to add to the opulence of the house. You were sure if a home designer from HGTV found their way in here, they’d probably explode with their love for everything they saw. You did notice the windows the heavy curtains covered and, from the view you were getting, your brain deduced trying to escape through one of them this high would be a bad idea.

Without waiting for you further, Alice began to make her way down the hallway. She didn’t seem worried that you would try to run or that you wouldn’t follow. Alice appeared confident that you would just follow behind her without giving her any problems. Sure, the windows were a definite no-go, but the doors?? There seemed to be plenty of them that you could see. What made her so certain you wouldn’t try and escape through any? It didn’t matter if you didn’t know where they would lead. Anywhere would be better than where Alice was no doubt leading you. So why didn’t you run?

Realistically, you didn’t know what was more terrifying. The unknown of what could possibly be behind those doors or Namjoon waiting for you somewhere in the house.

Alice made a right at the end of the hall and ended your inner monologue of indecision. She was no longer sending backwards glances to make sure you were there. Her confidence at your submission was a heavy annoyance in your chest and the questions that still weighed there demanded that you return the favor.

“If you have more you want to ask, Y/N, just ask it. I know you want to.”

You wanted to be childish and tell her you didn’t want to ask her shit. In the end, the lie didn’t seem worth the trouble and getting a little more information wouldn’t seem to hurt.

“Alright. Where are we?”

“Really?” she snorted. “Out of everything you could ask, that's what you came up with?”

“You said I could ask anything. It’s reasonable to ask where your kidnappers have taken you. If I’m still in Seoul or if you’ve moved me miles from the city to somewhere else.”

The silence after your words departed your lips crushed in around you. As if every ounce of air had been taken from your lungs. Were you holding your breath without realizing it? You continued to walk behind Alice not knowing when she would answer or even if she would. She said you could ask questions, but hadn’t specified if she would reply.

“We are in the original home of the Coven. The home that was made between our headmistress and Namjoon to house us centuries ago.”

“You keep saying ‘we’, like I’m somehow part of a secret club.”

“We are a coven - not a club.”

“There’s that word, 'we’ again.”

You expected Alice to turn on you at any second. Your patronizing was obviously beginning to get to her by the tightness that formed in her shoulders with every smart remark you shot back in response. You expected her next words to be biting, and ready to scratch their annoyance across your skin. The both of you came to stand before a pair of ornate double doors. The wood had been intricately carved to show a woman surrounded by cherubs and flowers surrounding them. It was a beautiful crafted work of art and one that screamed it wasn’t made this century.

Her hand was poised on its handle, waiting to turn it to expose what lay ahead, and her attention was fully on you. An upturned smile of amusement did little to keep the icy glare off her face. That same coldness ready to send a cruel joke your way, and you were the butt of it.

“I say, ‘we,’ because you are part of the coven. Your great-great-great grandmother, along with the headmistress, founded our pact with The Blood King. He offered us the chance of gaining our own power. Our own immortality.”

“All power comes with a cost.”

Even without knowing diddly squat about magic this much you knew to be true. Your mind remembering in a nightmarish haze the sickly voices that pierced inside your head. Each one promises to give you the power to hurt Alice, and those who wished to do you harm. All they demanded was blood. A life in return for a life. You did not want to be a slave to darkness nor did you want to be a slave of any immortal man.

Alice confirmed your earlier statement with a nod of her head. Her hand finally pushed open the door to expose the landing of a grand double-sided staircase. The room below was as embellished as the halls you’d just walked and the great doors you came through. It screamed old world money. A home that was as timeless as the inhabitants that currently resided inside its walls. Before you moved to stand near the railing you noticed that this floor held another set of long hallways on either side. The doors beyond them created a labyrinth of rooms that hummed with a promise of getting lost if you chose to run.

“Yes it does. The coven knew this and we accepted that cost. The blood of vampires was everything that we had hoped it would be, and more. Their blood heightened our natural abilities. It connected us deeper to the earth and the death underneath. We were able to control living and dead creatures - to speak love into existence and ruin it. We controlled elements and contorted the bodies of Namjoon’s enemies into pretty bows of flesh. We stay in this house to share in giving blood, as well as taking.”

“This sounds like every single one of you pledged your soul to the devil.”

Her words still fresh in your ear you followed her to stand at the edge of the banister. What you saw waiting for you on the ballroom size floor below caused your hands to latch against the wood. Your fingers dug in tight and tighter as you struggled to get your racing heart under control. Panicking now wouldn’t save you. Would anything?

“We are all willing to sell our soul in exchange for something, Y/N. I’m sure you’d sell your soul for your freedom again and, because of that, we choose our own devil to serve.”

The devil Alice meant in particular was seated alone on a long plum velvet couch. His long arms draped coolly across the top and his lean frame draped in a silken shirt that ran like water along his skin. His long legs in black slacks and dress shoes that ticked in time with the impatience the rest of his body didn’t seem to show. Everything about him screamed of power and sex. A dangerous energy and the eyes of this devil were solely on you.

In one last weak attempt, you turned to your ex-best friend and prayed that she could see the terror that raged inside your veins. That pried your eyes wide with fright and left a desert inside your mouth as you struggled to swallow.

“Please, Alice. I don’t belong here. I’m just me. Plan old Y/N, Y/L/N who has midterms, finals, and an apartment I shared with my best friend. Whoever you’re looking for, it's not me.”

But Alice remained unforgivingly brutal. Your words might as well have been said to the wall behind you, with as much emotion as she showed.

“You are here, Y/N, because the blood that flows in your veins belongs here. Your entire life is meant to serve our King the way you great-great-great grandmother did. To speak a curse like a prayer into homes and bend the air in someone’s lungs until not an ounce is left. I’ve been tasked to show you how to do as she did, because Namjoon demanded it. He wants the old ways back, and it is my duty, your duty, to do as he commands.”

She stated each word like it was gospel. Her voice never wavering in its calm determination like it all made absolute sense to her. Maybe it did. Alice believed her life was meant to submit. As for you, you had a hard time submitting to the rules of showing up on time for class so...good luck with that. You realized then no amount of screaming, panicking, or attempt to run would save you. No childish acts of stomping your feet and demanding your one phone call like a prisoner would garner you anything but pain. What Namjoon wanted - he got. What he wanted was plain for all to see as he watched you begin your descent down the staircase.

It felt like it had taken forever for your fingers to pry off the warmth of the wood. For you to be able to feel your feet again just to get them to move you forward. The room was scattered with what you could only assume were other vampires. Their eyes roamed over Alice and you with curiosity, and others with hunger. You realized if Namjoon gave the word, you could be torn to pieces so they could feed. Alice too. The fear that came after that thought was bitter, and the acidic taste of bile in the back of your throat threatened to coat the stairs. You were struggling too hard to control the rush of blood in your ears.

You needed an anchor. A thought. An object. Anything to keep your mind from racing to a thousand and one ways your life couldn’t suck any harder than this moment. Your eyes finally landed on an all too familiar face.

Jungkook stood off to Namjoon’s left. His arms casually at his sides and the curtain of loose waves covered his eyes. Through that curtain of hair you could barely make out that his attention was focused on your every step. When those same eyes roamed the expanse of your body, taking in its new outfit that adorned it, you swore you could feel each flick like a soft brush against your skin. As if his fingers were reaching out to melt into your skin and caress it into submission at his touch.

The fear that held you prisoner since you’d woken up here was replaced by the insatiable sensation to touch him. To be touched by him. The craving felt demanding and it forced you to concentrate hard on not sprinting to his side. Jungkook must have felt it too, because when he looked back into your eyes, that unapologetic smirk was on his face. Eagerly waiting for you to lose your self-control and come running to his arms.

Alice’s abrupt hand cautioning you to stop jerked your eyes away from him and back to the present. With your eyes diverted from Jungkook, you were free to notice you were standing inches away from Namjoon. You’d been so focused on Jungkook you hadn’t realized Alice herded you before him. You hated yourself for not paying attention when it mattered. Looking at Namjoon now, as his arms drew back to his body, his feet moving to push him off the couch, made you wish you could have a do over.

The previous times that you’d seen Namjoon the dim-light from your apartment’s kitchen or the streetlights had cascaded around his features. It’d projected his face in part shadow never allowing it to be fully seen. Now, with him only a few feet from you, and the room perfectly lit, you were able to see how strikingly handsome he was.

The crescent of his eyes reminded you of a predator. Their calculating gaze took in more than just whatever he saw in front of him; saw past what you were desperately trying to hide. He was all high cheekbones and lips that were pink and pouty like he’d been feverishly kissed. And god, was he always this tall?

You couldn’t stop yourself from swallowing the rising dread in your chest as he stood before you. Namjoon moved towards you with the narcissistic grace of a king and the power of something more deadly. That power radiated along your skin with a sickening promise to consume you. Everything you could give he would take even the things you weren’t willing to part with. Namjoon’s power was demanding. Forceful. It was everything to be feared.

It took every last ounce of strength you had not to backpedal away from him. Or to listen to the small voice of fear that’d begun to rage a war inside your chest bringing your panic back to life. The voice, no matter how small, told you it was now or never. As if your chance of running and surviving in a room full of vampires was greater than one percent. Somehow, you found the courage to stifle the blind panic and stand before him without budging, but all bets were off when his face clouded over in rage.

You heard a stifled scream and realized it was you. Your feet no longer held their ground as you went to take that step back from him, but Namjoon was just there. A controlling hand on the back of your neck, his jaw clenched tight, and pulling you to him forcing a plea of, “Please don’t,” to fall from your lips before you could stop it.

Namjoon’s eyes had already bled to crimson and were darting wildly in anger around your face. As if he could see some unseen string that would lead him to whatever unspoken transgression had occurred. Your hands were pushing at his chest trying desperately to put space between you, but it only made him pull you tighter to him.

When his neck bent down to bring his nose across your cheek you hated the squeak of terror your body made. He took in a long scent from your neck with his nose trailing up until he was back to your cheek. His blackened pupils dilating as recognition replaced the question of who, or what, had caused his earlier confusion.

“I’m not a candle. Quit sniffing me so hard.”

Palm. Face. What in the actual hell were you thinking?

His eyes floated down to give you his full attention and you realized you didn’t want it. You seriously didn’t want it. Luckily for you, Namjoon seemed to have something bigger to take care of. With his hand securely around your neck he used it to pull you with him. All the unforgiveness of his rage finally turned to direct itself behind him to none other than Jungkook.

Jungkook had balls. Big balls. Instead of cowering at the power that was emanating from his King, Jungkook replied simply by wearing a smirk. His eyes were full of challenge as it finally dawned on you that what Namjoon had smelt on your skin was Jungkook.

“She reeks of being dream touched and I know damn well this time it wasn’t Jimin! You just couldn’t help yourself, could you.”

It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. Namjoon knew as much as the two of you did that while he’d been patiently waiting for you to wake up, Jungkook had been fucking you into satin blue sheets and marking every part of your body for his own. Now, Namjoon probably didn’t know how extensive all of it was. You, however, did know and at the thought every single person in that room knew what happened between the two of you sent an embarrassment so hot through your body you were sure you matched Namjoon’s eyes.

Jungkook was somehow able to stay smug. His shrug came off unbothered, reckless, and god you couldn’t keep your eyes off of him. Even now with a part of you hating him and wishing you could cuss him out for turning you into this wanton thing - you still wanted him.

Namjoon must have realized it too or maybe it was the way you were currently making googly eyes in Jungkook’s direction. Like the sun shined out of his ass. Whatever it was, it only made his eyes blaze brighter with hatred. Namjoon looked over your face one last time before looking back at the other man. With his eyes trained on Jungkook’s face he made sure he watched as Namjoon brought his right hand into view. You watched as Namjoon’s thumb nail began to extend out - forming into a sharp stiletto. While you watched this it finally brought you back to your senses. Back to the reality that he held you pressed tightly against his chest.

The hold on your neck he’d used to control you in place was now forcing you to arch back until your chest was exposed to the room. The mounds of your breasts peaked out from the top of the dresses fabric and it was there that Namjoon’s nail found a home in its soft skin. When Namjoon drew it down across the skin you sucked in a sharp hiss of air. The burning sensation of blood meeting the air being more of a nuisance than actual pain.

“Forgive me,” he spoke. The baritone of his voice caressed across your skin and cascaded in a shiver down your spine. “Jungkook is still young. He is quick to make bold decisions while forgetting whom it is he serves and who it is you belong to.”

You were ready to spit out you belonged to no one. The burning of your cut quick to remind you how much shit you were in. Before you could even open your mouth to send an insult, his eyes dropped down to meet yours. His hand on your neck flexing as those same eyes roamed the expanse of your neck until he came to the open wound he’d created.

In a blur of speed he whipped you around to make sure Jungkook had a clear view before an ungodly scream left from between Namjoon’s full lips. Your own rose up to match him as your arms lashed out in one final attempt to push him back. Namjoon knocked your arms back down before crushing you further to his chest and, with his eyes turned up to Jungkook, sank his teeth into your breast.

The pain was explosive and immediate. There was a split second, however brief it was, where your mouth was trapped open. A scream caught deep in your throat and all you wanted was to release it, but your body was wrapped up in agony. Namjoon could’ve made this experience more pleasurable. You weren’t sure how you knew, but you had to believe anything was better than being treated like a bone for a ravenous dog. But this…this was meant to be a punishment. A punishment meant more for Jungkook than for yourself and, unfortunately, you were forced along on this ride.

The pain made it hard to focus on anything else. You were aware of Namjoon’s mouth kneading into the soft skin of your breast. The way he made sure his teeth scraped at the tissue inside causing a sharp pain that resembled a bee sting to hit at every nerve. Your vision began to blur with unshed tears as they held their position looking up at the opulent ceiling. Your mind struggled to imagine yourself somewhere else; anywhere but here. Somewhere safe back in your apartment watching reruns of your latest Netflix obsession or drinking an endless supply of poorly made coffee to cram for exams, because you always procrastinate everything. Trying out the latest cafes or finding comfort in getting lost in the shelves of the latest hole-in-the-wall bookstore you could find.

You were ready to make your home in your latest scenario when another voice rose up around you. A scream that turned into a roar of pure rage filled the room and forced you out of your haze. This second voice was equally as terrifying and when Namjoon lifted his mouth off of your breast, you found yourself terrified to find the home that housed that voice. You didn’t have to look far.

Directly in front of you with his body trapped behind the couch was Jungkook, but not the Jungkook you’d meet under fluorescent street lights and full of giddiness for the hunt. It wasn’t the one you’d experienced in your dreams or greeted you the moment you woke up. No, this Jungkook lit goosebumps of fear along your skin and the breath to stop cold in your lungs.

This man - this creature - your eyes glanced over could only be described as a nightmare. All the fairytales and their monsters must have gotten their inspiration from him.

Jungkook’s jaw was horribly distended, fangs longer, as another scream racked through his body. His crimson eyes wide in all his building fury and kept darting back and forth between Namjoon’s lips hovering over the fresh bite on your breast and back to you. He looked ready to strike. His hands grasping on the back of the couch like he was seconds from hauling himself over.

“She’s mine! I claimed her and she chose me!”

The bass of his words reverberated off the walls and came crashing against your chest crushing the breath you’d been holding in your lungs. You were struggling to get any air, but the terror you felt looking between him and the man who still held you hostage by your neck, pressed against his body, kept you paralyzed.

“She was never yours to claim!” Namjoon’s reply brought your eyes back to him and you instantly regretted it. “You forget your place, Jungkook, but I will be more than happy to remind you. Alice.”

Like a dog called by its master, Alice wove her way through the people to stand a few inches in front of Namjoon. It was comical the way she acted like his bodyguard and the way she used her body as a barrier. How did she expect to stand a chance against something like Jungkook?

You didn’t have a chance to try and understand how she could be so cocky. So sure of herself. The curiosity you felt was quickly shifted into a rage so potent it turned your vision black. It filled your mouth with bile and evicted a scream from deep in your belly. Your own roar that sounded reminiscent of Jungkook’s.

“You call your bitch to do your dirty work, my king?”

Jungkook’s voice dripped with acid. His hatred of the woman standing a few inches in front of you evident in the heavy mockery of his tone. It wasn’t lost on Namjoon. His own hand tightening on your neck until you weren’t sure if he was going to snap it, but the rage in your belly wouldn’t allow you to care. It came with an unforgiveness and wanted one simple thing: to make them bleed.

Your eyes began to snap back and forth between Namjoon and Alice. The movement flickering like a movie reel where the frame never changed, but with each passing new image of their face a snarl raised further up your lips. Your chest heaving in ragged breaths where you were sure at any minute you’d start foaming at the mouth.

These people! No, these fucking witches! I hate them. Every last single fucking one of them. If I ever get the chance, they’ll all die screaming with my teeth ripping their throat open. See how quick their hocus pocus saves them, then.

The toxicity of your thoughts felt like they were yours, but they couldn’t be. Weren’t you, yourself, a witch? You didn’t have any intention of offing yourself anytime soon. The craziness of how extreme the thoughts were was enough to clear your head. Your eyes blinking past the blackening dots of your anger to turn your head and look at Jungkook. His chest heaving as hard as yours and that rage that had contorted his face, the hatred in his eyes, seemed to be the perfect mirror of your own.

And just before his anger took over again - yes, his anger - it dawned on you these emotions weren’t your own. Your body now housed the feelings of this man and a million other questions began to spread through your mind. All those questions would have to wait, because as soon as you had a moment of clarity it was gone once more in a fit of rage. A strength you didn’t think you could possess tore you free from Namjoon. His brows lifted in surprise just before your fist connected with a plop against his jaw. You weren’t strong enough to actually hurt him, but stun him was all you were after.

That rage that was brewing in the pits of your stomach released in another scream. The sound of Jungkook’s own resonated with yours until Namjoon answered. His jaw cracking open further to show further razor sharp teeth. You knew he was pissed and was done playing nice, but you couldn’t see past Jungkook’s rage.

Jungkook made a move to hurl himself over the couch, snapping Namjoon’s attention back to him. The look on his eyes spoke plainly that there would be no mercy.

“Alice!”

The demand in Namjoon’s voice was grave and Alice responded immediately.

“With pleasure,” she purred.

Her full attention brought to the rushing vampire before her. There was a moment, where everything felt like it stopped in slow motion. The beat of your heart skips as you realize Namjoon had set her up to fail. Alice was going to die, ripped apart, and screaming by the one who hated her the most and yet, she was unafraid of death. She stood her ground; body powerful and stoic. A single hand rose up just a few inches before Jungkook would’ve collided with her and she spoke: “Flecte concrescentes putrescunt*.”

One second, Jungkook was inches from tearing her throat out and the next he was a twisted mess on the floor. Whatever Alice had done caused Jungkook’s legs to snap at angles that weren’t normal. His back cracking and reshaping as if the spine itself had been split on the inside. It was a grotesque image. An image that would haunt your dreams in its darkest corners; the imagery of Jungkook’s screams of agony only adding to it as his body continued to crack and rotting the flesh away to expose dying organs underneath.

You tried to run to him - to turn away - but Namjoon was back to holding you in place and forcing you to watch. Jungkook continued to scream until his throat caved in from rot and still his mouth stayed open. A silent one filling the air as his eyes full of fire watched with hunger on Alice’s position.

You couldn’t believe what’d just taken place. How words forced this powerful being to crumble at her feet like sand, but Alice had her own power. You’d felt it in the way the air shifted in the room and felt the oppression of it before she’d given, whatever it was, a place to call home.

Namjoon brought you back to his side. His face no longer showing its truth and back to being the well-hidden mask of beauty he’d always worn. He gave you a cautionary smile before his eyes drifted over Jungkook’s contorted figure on the floor and nodded to some men.

“Take him back to his room and seal the door. Let him stay locked inside for a few days so his hunger can build.” Namjoon forced you to move forward with him, his long legs purposely stepping over his underling as he gave him one last fleeting glance. “You are forbidden to eat for two weeks, Jungkook. Let’s see if your anger and pride can keep you from going mad, hmm.”

With his words hanging in the air as if they were law, Namjoon continued to hold him close to his body. You weren’t sure where he was taking you and you couldn’t seem to care. The lingering sensations of Jungkook’s anger were still boiling beneath the surface and it took every ounce of control you had not to turn back and look at him one last time.

Namjoon draped his arm across your shoulders to pull you in tight. His lips landed in your hair as he spoke, “You two will be staying away from each other from now on.”

You wanted to tell him you agreed, but you knew it would be a lie. He - nor anyone else - would ever be able to keep Jungkook from you now, and you weren’t a hundred percent sure if you were worried or excited at the prospect. You should’ve been focused on where Namjoon was taking you with Alice close at his heels. Your mind, however, had unfortunately found a home inside insidious doe eyes and a soft bunny smile.

to be cont’d

* bend and rot

112 notes · View notes

thegryffindorprincess · 4 years

Text

Worthy//Draco Malfoy x Reader

A/N: Okay first, holy shit like two of my fics have like four hundred notes also there’s nearly two hundred of you here??? Cool. This is a super sad piece about Draco after the war struggling with his identity. It’s heart breaking really, but it needs to be written that this is how I see Draco’s character 80% of the time x

Set: Golden Trio Era & Post War

Word Count: 3,050

Warnings: loads- swearing, abuse, death, injuries, violence, self harm

Y/N walked down the halls of Hogwarts, brushing her bleeding fingers along the stone walls, tears bubbling in her eyes. The war was won. She knew really inside she should be feeling elated, happy- celebrating that her life would no longer be controlled by fear or hate. But images of her friends lifeless faces where already beginning to fill her head when she closed her eyes, she’d lost everything- her parents dying at the Dark Lord’s hands before the battle had even commenced, her heart was oh so heavy. Her feet dragged up the stairs of the astronomy tower as she used the back of her hand to wipe the torrents of tears that where beginning to spill from her eyes, running down her face, painting it with sadness. Y/N sobbed as she grabbed her bruised side that had been injured when she attempted to jump in front of the spell that had been aimed at Lavender Brown, before Greyback had brutally murdered her. She climbed the stairs as below her, hundreds of Hogwarts students mourned and celebrated together in bittersweet happiness. When she emerged onto the tower, she sprinted to the edge, hanging her head over the side, letting the screams that had been threatening to come out before, erupt. She yelled out into the darkness in despair, gripping onto the railings until her knuckles began to pale. When there was nothing else left to come out, bent over into herself, breathing heavily, letting her body feel what it needed to. Her sudden silence was broken by the sound of sobbing from the other side of the tower- somebody else was here. Y/N awkwardly walked towards the source of the noise, hobbling slightly because of the shooting pain coming from her ribs. There was a curtain hanging towards the right of the room, that usually hid the equipment that students used in astronomy. Y/N quietly moved the curtain to the side, shedding light into the enclosed space. Huddled in a ball, shaking violently and uttering heart-shattering sobs was Draco Malfoy. He looked up at her as she disrupted him, his eyes flittering over where she stood. His eyes where usually a piercing blue, but they had faded to grey, black rings circling them. His face was essentially white, he was usually pale, but in his current state it was if the boy had never seen the sun. And most importantly, he looked terrified to have been found. Y/N entered the small cupboard space, letting the curtain fall back behind her and she slid down onto the floor so that they were face to face, bringing her knees to her chin. They didn’t speak, Y/N simply sat near to him as he continued to sob into his jacket. When his cries began to come out weaker and more fragile, she leant into him, attempting to give him a side hug. She felt him tense beneath her touch.

“Don’t touch me.” The boy sobbed, barely meeting her eyes. Y/N pulled away immediately, shuffling away from him too.

“I’m sorry.” Y/N whispered weakly, looking down at the floor. Draco simply huffed at her, playing nervously with his sleeves, ignoring her attempts to catch his eye. They sat together for a while, feeling the time pass, but neither spoke, the silence surprisingly comfortable. They’d never really spoken before, they were from very different families and walks of life. They shared their broken hearts however and Y/N could feel his breaking in front of her, just as hers had moments before. Struggling to think of anything to say, Y/N rummaged in her cardigan pocket for a moment before producing a small piece of scrap parchment. She removed her wand from her other pocket too, noting how Draco flinched when she moved for it. Then muttering a spell underneath her breath she wrote on the parchment, Draco watching her silently, unable to see what she was doing. When Y/N was satisfied with her work, she folded the parchment carefully before passing it to him. He took it apprehensively, watching her closely as she stood up to leave.

“Read it. I mean it.” She whispered, before walking away, letting the curtain close the gap between them as he heard her descend the stairs. Draco looked down at the scruffy piece of parchment and almost, almost tossed it to the side. Instead he unfolded it carefully, revealing her neat handwriting. He read:

This is my address. If you need to talk, send me an owl. You are not alone, Draco and there is nothing you can ever tell me that is too much. People care, don’t shut them out. YOU ARE WORTHY OF LOVE.

Y/N x

And as he read and re read her words, more tears began to fall. But this time, they were not of despair but of hope.

XXX

Draco paced his room in Malfoy Manor, breathing shallowly, tears slipping down his face. He wanted to howl in despair as he made a bolt to the bathroom. Once inside, he locked the door with his wand, making sure nobody could interrupt him. He took his shirt off in a hurry, fumbling over the buttons as he threw it to the floor. Draco looked down at his forearm, wanting to scream at the sight of the mark that was etched into his skin. He took his wand in his hand, breathing deeply, attempting to steady himself. He’d left the house today, for the first time since the trials against him and his family, going to Diagon Alley just for a change of scenery, a chance to reminisce on his innocence- not that he’d gotten a chance. Draco had been jumped by a band of particularly angry wizards, muggleborn’s whose families had been murdered by his aunt. He didn’t blame them for their insults or their attempts to tempt into a duel, no, he blamed himself. His wand hand began to shake vigorously as it lay against the mark, his dull eyes watching how it writhed underneath his skin. Draco took another deep breath before pressing the wand closer to the mark, letting it dig into his skin, making his eyes water.

“Sectumsempra.” He whispered quietly, letting the spell shoot from the tip of his wand, burning the skin on his arm. Blood began to appear as his flesh began to tear right in front of his eyes. He let it.

“Deserved.” Draco said to himself as he whispered the spell again, this time harsher leading to the skin physically bubbling. His head began to spin as it hit him how much blood was beginning to come from the wound. Shit. He attempted to fix it with his towel that was folded on top of the sink basin, but the blood soon seeped through and onto his other hand. Draco racked his brains trying to think of a spell that would make it all go back to normal, but he couldn’t, it was all too much. He held onto the edge of the bath as he staggered back, the pain over whelming, each and every one of his senses becoming blurred. As the world began to fade, he heard a screaming Narcissa blow the door apart with her wand before rushing to his side, holding onto his arm, kissing his forehead. And as Draco felt the two of them apperating away into the darkness, he suddenly heard a voice: “you are worthy of love.”

He awoke in a bed that certainly wasn’t his own. Draco stretched out his limbs and scanned the room. noticing it almost immeditely as Saint Mungo’s. His eyes shot straight away to his forearm, noticing it was still tightly wrapped in bandages.

“They couldn’t get rid of it.” Draco’s eyes shot up to meet his mothers. She was standing, pale faced and nervous at the foot of his bed, clutching her right arm with her left hand. “I’m so sorry Dray, it’s the dark magic... I-it can only fade naturally overtime.” She walked towards him resting her hand on top of his, his fingers flinching at her touch. She withdrew them straight away.

“Please, let me be.” Draco croaked, watching his mother frown at his words but comply, sending him a sympathetic smile and apparating away. Draco watched her go and pushed himself up out of his bed slowly, walking to the door of his room. He checked that the reception of his ward was empty, pulling the door closed towards him as he recoiled back into the room. Standing in the middle of the room, he closed his eyes, thinking of the address that Y/N had scribbled on the piece of parchment months before, memorizing it. He felt the room slip away and when he opened his eyes, he was in Hogsmeade, standing in front of a small bungalow. Just as Draco began to realise how truly rash his actions had been, the green door opened to reveal Y/N in her pyjama’s, slightly open mouthed. She sent Draco a weak smile, beckoning him in, moving aside so he could enter her home without their bodies touching. He felt like a fool as he wandered into her home, collapsing into one of the well-loved sofa’s in her living room, right infront of a roaring fireplace. She observed his appearance quietly, taking in his messy hair, the bags beneath his eyes that only seemed to deepen, the hospital gown that hung from his skinny frame and the bloody bandage that was wrapped around his forearm. Y/N didn’t say anything, instead got up and bustled over to the kitchen that was open to the small living room.

“Tea?” She asked gently, motioning to a kettle that sat upon the counter top. Draco nodded and Y/N placed her wand to the kettle, it instantly spouting steam and whistling slightly. He watched as she carefully placed two large, yet chipped mugs onto a small tray, followed by a pot of sugar and a jug of milk. She popped a tea bag into each of the mugs, before pouring water into them, making sure not to spill any as she did so. Then, she picked up the tray and placed it onto the coffee table that sat in the middle of the two sofa’s. Y/N sat down onto the other one, motioning at the tray. “I like to let people do their own milk and sugar, it’s always easier that way.” Draco nodded again, leaning forward to add milk and a sugar into his mug. The two sat in comfortable silence, similar to the first time they spoke on the tower in May. They drank their tea. Once finished, Y/N gave a satisfied sigh and placed her mug back onto the table. Draco followed suit a few moments later, too before pulling himself from the comfort of the sofa.

“Th-thankyou.” He whispered to her as she walked him to her door, opening it for him. He flashed what looked almost like a proper smile for a few seconds, letting her return one.

“Anytime.” Y/N said frankly. “Really.” And with that she stood back, watching Draco leave her house in a flash.

XXX

Draco began to turn up at Y/N’s at least three times a week since the first time he’d arrived- not that she complained, the company was always welcomed. It had been six months since they’d first met on the tower and she could tell that Draco was starting to understand that she wanted to help, slowly trusting her piece by piece. They were sat in her living room as always, two mugs of tea set out on the table in front of them, a splash of milk and a spoon of sugar for Draco- something she’d learnt very quickly. They’d both just set their mugs down with a satisfied sigh when Y/N turned to face him, their eyes meeting suddenly.

“Is there anything you want to talk about?” She asked softly. Draco watched how her eyes burnt with care, glancing at his arm that was still wrapped with the same bandage. He hesitated for a minute and then all at once, pulled the bandage from his forearm, revealing his now very bruised and contorted dark mark. He looked up to her eyes, tensing at the idea of them filling with shame and hatred, but to his surprise found them to be full of sympathy. And then everything began to spill out of Draco’s mouth. He told her everything. He told her all about his painfully innocent childhood, how his fathers abuse had gone from verbal to physical, the circumstances in which he was forced to take the mark that now cursed his skin, about his parents plans for him filled with arranged marriage and forced birth had Voldermort won, but as he spoke Y/N didn’t interrupt or judge or scorn, she listened. And that’s all Draco wanted. When he finished, Y/N shuffled closer to him, ensuring they didn’t touch, but so she was close enough that he could feel her presence.

“You are so brave.” She whispered. Draco shook his head furiously. “No you are. You are brave and good and kind and caring and strong and,” she paused leaning into him, “twice the man your father is.” At the last part of her sentence, Draco collapsed into her arms, something that neither of them were expecting, but a pleasant surprise none the less. Y/N pulled him into her as he clung to her neck, tears wetting her shoulder. She rubbed his shoulders gently as he heaved and sobbed. When he finished, he pulled back, shocked at his own vunerability. But he was met with her smile and that was enough. Draco left that night with a slight smile on his face and a heart that wasn’t as heavy as it once had been.

XXX

Narcissa noticed the positive changes to her son since he’d been going to see his new friend and she was determined to hide it from her husband. You see, the war changed many people positively, but not Lucius. He came home one night furious. He snapped at his wife about needing to speak to Draco before ascending the stairs and storming into his bedroom, robes billowing behind him. He pulled Draco up by his collar, pinning him roughly against the wall, his face just inches apart from his son’s, mouth twisted into a nastly snarl.

“When were you going to tell me about your relationship with that nasty little mudblood girl?” Lucius snapped, forcing Draco to look into his eyes. Draco didn’t reply, he’d learnt no to. He just tried to keep breathing as his dads grip moved to his neck, tightening. Lucius dropped him suddenly, causing him to hit his back hard on the wall, before falling to the ground. “Pathetic.” Lucius spat, using a large, booted foot to kick Draco in the stomach, before striding out of the room. Waiting for him to leave, Draco wasted no time in apparating back to Y/N’s house, this time arriving in her living room, grabbing at his stomach.

“Draco!” Y/N exclaimed, jumping at the wizards arrival but soon noticing his injury. Tears were streaming down his face, and he immediately fell into her open arms, letting her wrap him up in her scent and her warmth. “We need to get to the bathroom okay love?” She asked softly, running a hand through his hair carefully. He nodded. Y/N helped him hobble to the bathroom, sitting him down on the closed toilet seat. Draco wailed slightly as her cold hands began to remove his shirt. “Are you sure I can touch you?” She asked, hovering over the last button. Draco nodded again, but this time desperately. Y/N understood, removing his top. Her eyes were immediately drawn to the new bruise forming on his stomach and she opened the cabinet above his head, returning with an ointment. She rested on her knees as she began to smooth it over his stomach, she noticed that he hadn’t flinched this time. The bruise began to sink back into Draco’s skin, disappearing. It was then that Y/N began to notice the rest of his body. Their were deep scars from cuts all over his chest that she began to fix too, as well as deep cane marks in his back that angrily poked out slightly. She continued until his chest and back were clear. Their eyes met once more.

“Y/N...” Draco whispered, holding her arm in his hand carefully.

“I know.” She responded gently, “Don’t say it yet. You have to be sure.” Y/N packed the ointment up putting it back into the cupboard. He nodded at her words, understanding what she meant. Draco let her take him through to her room slowly. “You’re staying here tonight, I won’t let you go back there... I won’t.” She watched him clamber into bed, resting his head softly onto the pillow. Y/N turned to leave once he was comfortable, but was stopped.

“Stay with me.” Draco choked out, his face illuminated by the bedside table lamp. Y/N hesitated, not wanting to over step the mark. “Prove to me what you told me all those months ago.” She cocked her head then.

“What do you mean?” She questioned. Draco pulled the empty half of the beds duvet over towards him.

“That I’m worthy of love.” Y/N smiled then, catching his eye, before gently undressing, squishing into bed with him. “Can I say it now?” He asked, resting his chin on top of her head and their bodies tangled together. She nodded.

“I love you.” Draco said sighing. “I love you. And before you say it, I mean it, I promise. I didn’t think it was an emotion I would ever feel, but you, you taught me love, Y/N” He pulled her closer to him then, placing a kiss to her forehead. “And I don’t know what this means for our future, but I know what it means for right now.”

“What does it mean?” Draco laughed, for the first time ever since the war, and leant down so that his and Y/N’s lips were ghosting over each other.

“This.” He said gently, before their lips met, joining in a careful yet powerful kiss.

“I love you too.” Whispered Y/N, letting Draco cling to her once more. “So, so much.”

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hrina · 4 years

Text

1923, Pt. II - The Week

PAIRING: Harry x Reader RATING: M WORD COUNT: 8.4k REQUESTED: perhaps? idek anymore

hey yall, here’s PART 2 of the historical/groundskeeper!AU :) i really hope u guys like it, i spent the past two weeks trying to make it the best that i could. anywayyyy im sure everyone knows the drill by now: support content creators by reblogging their work and/or offering feedback! happy reading 💚💚💚

warning: parts of this fic will contain mature language and nsfw content. if it makes you uncomfortable, you absolutely do not have to read! take care of urselves <3

PART I: The Day

~*~

July 7th, 1923

It’s hot.

You set your glass of water back onto the little table to your left. Excess condensation coats your fingertips; you wipe them against your forehead, hoping that it will be enough to cool you down. No such luck—the droplets provide a momentarily chill before sinking into your skin, leaving you feeling just as scorched as before.

You recline against the cushy yellow lounger, closing your eyes and tilting your face up to the sky. The sun beats down against your cheeks. The thin, cottony material of your dress is pasted to your thighs; you flex your legs slightly, hoping that the fabric will unstick.

In the distance, Apollo and Artemis—no longer confined to their pens—roam around the small, girded pasture adjacent to the stables. The fountain in the middle of the back lawn is about one hundred feet away. Skinny streams of water shoot out from the stone hands of a carved angel, spilling picturesquely into the upwelling below.

You crack one eye open slowly, letting your focus drift over to where Harry is crouched on the cobbled staircase of the porch. Sweat glistens on the nape of his neck as he furiously scrubs the steps clean.

Your thoughts retreat to the night before, when he’d kissed the back of your hand whilst standing in that very same spot. As though triggered by the memory, your knuckles begin to tingle.

Harry sits back on his haunches and drags his forearm across his face, wiping away the excess perspiration on his skin. His white shirt is soaked through with moisture. When he lifts his attention from the ground, your gazes lock for a brief moment. Immediately, your open eye snaps shut.

And you can’t be entirely sure, but you think that he may have smiled.

You lay in silence for another five minutes or so, indulging in the occasional sip of water as the heat of the summer envelopes your body. You only sit up when someone clears their throat from behind you, pulling you from your tranquil daze.

“Good afternoon,” Martin says. He’s standing a bit too close for comfort, casting a looming shadow over your torso.

“Hello,” you reply. You try to mask the disappointment that threatens to seep into your tone. A small part of you—a tiny, microscopic part—had been hoping that he was someone else.

“Thought you could use something to drink,” he says, plopping onto the recliner to your right. Your attention falls lower—two glasses are nestled comfortably in his hands. The caramel-coloured liquid inside each cup glints alluringly, sloshing over a trio of ice cubes that have already begun to melt.

“Is that…scotch?” you say, narrowing your eyes slightly.

“Yes,” he says. He extends an arm, offering you one of the glasses. “Fancy a taste?”

“I’ve had it before,” you say smoothly, shaking your head. “Truthfully, it’s not my favourite. Besides—” You gesture to the little table on your left. There’s still a bit of water residing in your cup. “—I already have a drink.”

Martin’s face falls.

“Thank you, though,” you add, not wanting to sound rude. “I appreciate your thoughtfulness.”

That seems to bolster him a bit, you think, because his shoulders straighten as he shoots you a satisfied smile.

You clear your throat, gazing pointedly up at the sky. “Where’s Andrew?”

“Hmm? Oh.” Martin taps one foot against the floor. He’s wearing a pair of shiny black loafers—they’re new, you guess, and extremely expensive. “He’s in the middle of a call. Private business pertaining to Markham Motors, I believe. It doesn’t concern me—not yet, anyway.”

“Not yet,” you echo.

He chuckles, nodding proudly. “Your brother is remarkably ambitious. Once our two companies merge, I reckon that we’ll be unstoppable.”

“How exciting,” you murmur, reaching over for your water. You raise the cup to your mouth, expelling a soft sigh. “You must be thrilled, I’d imagine.”

“All in a day’s work,” he grunts, setting one glass of scotch down onto the ground. He lifts the other to his lips, taking a delicate sip.

You sit there awkwardly, unsure of how to respond. Martin’s eyes roam the wide expanse of your backyard, jumping from the stables to the fountain and back again. He pauses, then, humming pensively when he spots Harry polishing the stairs less than fifteen feet away.

“It’s a bit…unconventional to be dining with the help, is it not?” he asks, cocking one eyebrow nonchalantly.

You stiffen and glance over your shoulder—Harry is on all fours, scowling as he scrubs a particularly stubborn stain from the bottom step. His chestnut hair tumbles onto his forehead, twisted into pretty ringlets. A spark of heat blazes up your spine.

You turn your attention back to Martin, only to find that he’s also watching the other man work. It’s different, however—his look is judgmental, austere. His thin upper lip curls in disdain and his eyebrows cinch together, radiating condescension.

“We are…” You choose your words carefully. “…a rather unconventional family. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“I suppose so,” he acquiesces, tilting his head to the side. “But does it not distress you, somewhat? Inviting them into your home, making yourself and your possessions vulnerable?”

Something gross festers in the pit of your stomach. You bite back the sound of disgust that threatens to spill from your mouth.

“No,” you state curtly. “Not at all.”

Silence falls over the two of you, thick and poignant and tremendously uncomfortable. After a long, tense moment, you sit up, dusting off the skirt of your dress and releasing a faint groan. “I think I’ll be heading in, now.”

“As will I,” Martin replies, jumping to pursue you.

You stand, clutching your glass of water in one hand. He quickly reaches out with extended fingers, trying to take it from you. Though chivalrous, the action is weak, and you both know it.

“Here, let me—”

“No, it’s quite alright—,” you start, but he cuts you off.

“I insist—”

“Mister Russell, really, it’s fine—”

The cup, slick with condensation, slips from your grasp and shatters loudly against the floor. You gasp when a jagged shard slices against your ankle. Pain flares up your shin; abruptly, you fall back onto the lounger. You angle your leg to the side, surveying the damage with wide eyes. The cut is about an inch long; blood drips from the injury, seeping down toward the sole of your bare foot. Bile gathers on your tongue.

“Good God!” Martin exclaims unhelpfully. “You’re bleeding!”

“I can see that,” you snap, bending down and pressing your fingertips against the laceration.

Heavy footsteps approach. When you cast a glance over your shoulder, you find Harry stalking toward you, his eyebrows furrowed in bewilderment.

“What happened?” he asks, but when you hold up one hand, he freezes in his tracks.

“Be careful!” you warn, your voice strained. “There’s glass everywhere.”

“What happened?” he repeats. His gaze lands on Martin, and his nostrils flare unnervingly. “What did you do?”

“Nothing!” the other man protests, retreating a few steps away. “It just fell!”

“Go back inside,” Harry commands. “Check all the lavatories—there may be spare bandages in one of the cupboards.”

Martin frowns—you get the feeling that he’s not exactly used to being ordered around. “Now, you listen here—”

“Mister Russell!” you interrupt shrilly, fixing him with a stern glare. “Do as he says. Please.”

Martin closes his mouth and purses his lips, nodding tersely. He nearly trips over himself as he stumbles back into the house.

“He’s useless,” you mutter, bloody fingers slipping against your skin.

Harry doesn’t reply; instead, he situates himself on the opposite edge of the recliner, beckoning you closer with a quick flick of his hand.

“Face this way,” he instructs. “There’s no glass on this side.”

You obey him wordlessly. He gets you settled back into the chair, guiding your right leg over his thigh so that your foot lays comfortably in his lap. With no hesitation whatsoever, he grasps the white fabric covering the jut of his shoulder and gives a mighty tug. The sleeve rips cleanly at the seam. Your eyes nearly bulge out of your head.

“We’ll use this,” Harry says, pulling the material down to his wrist. “Just until he returns with proper bindings.”

“Alright,” you whisper. It takes every ounce of willpower in your body to avoid staring at his naked arm—golden, sweat-slicked skin stretched over smooth, corded muscle. A frighteningly large part of you wants to lean forward and sink your teeth into his bicep. You swiftly curb the urge, swallowing heavily and trying to focus your attention on something—anything—else.

“How did this happen?” Harry asks.

He balls the fabric up and dabs cautiously at the blood dripping from your wound.

“He was—well, I don’t even know, really,” you scoff, rolling your eyes. “He was trying to be gallant, I suppose.”

“‘Gallant’?” he parrots, gazing down at your leg. “He fancies you, then?”

“Yes.” You pause, rethinking your answer. “No.” You sigh. “Perhaps; I’m not sure.”

He smirks. Despite the pain pulsating up your leg, you wiggle your toes and nudge him with your knee.

“What’s so amusing?” you ask, puzzled.

He simply chuckles, shaking his head. “It’s just that…you’re a bit oblivious, that’s all.”

And for the second time in less than twenty-four hours, you balk and say, “I beg your pardon?”

Harry laughs. Gingerly, he wraps his torn sleeve around your ankle, applying a gentle pressure to your skin. You wince, curling your fingers into fists. His hands—though rough and calloused—are surprisingly tender with their movements. He’s slow and practiced, treating you as though you’re made of porcelain. Your heartbeat quickens; you hope that he can’t hear the way it thunders beneath your ribs.

“You’re rather clueless when it comes to gauging a man’s affections for you,” he explains. He makes it sound as though it’s a phenomenon of which you should already be aware.

You narrow your eyes and purse your lips.

“Tread carefully,” you tell him, though you can’t hide the sardonic undertone in your voice. “You’re wading through dangerous waters, here.”

“What I mean to say is—” Harry clears his throat, shrugging coolly. “—since yesterday’s arrival, that fool’s chattering hasn’t ceased. Building oneself up with words…that’s the sign of a boy aiming to impress a girl.”

“You don’t sound too keen on that method,” you note.

He rakes his fingers through his hair. “Excellent observation. I am not.”

“And why is that?” you ask, cocking one eyebrow challengingly. “How exactly would you attempt to make your affections known?”

Harry places one of his palms on the skin just below your knee. You jump at the contact, shocked by his brazen move. Having his hands on your ankle is one thing—but your knee? It’s risky, bold, nearly scandalous…and with the way he’s looking at you, it’s clear that he knows it, too.

“Building oneself up with words is a boy’s game,” he tells you. “But building oneself up with actions…that’s the sign of a man aiming to impress a woman. It may be a bit unconventional, but—” He pins you with a deliberate stare. “I work for a rather unconventional family. Wouldn’t you agree?”

You say nothing. Harry’s green eyes pierce your face, peeling you open layer by layer. You’ve stopped breathing, your chest completely still. Goosebumps erupt across your arms. Instinctively, your concentration falls to his lips: twin pink petals, sinful and alluring and so incredibly—

“I’ve got the bandages!”

And just like that, the spell is broken. You drag your gaze away from the man in front of you, turning to the side and watching as Martin jogs back over with a thick spool of gauze clutched tightly to his chest.

“Here,” he pants. He passes the roll to Harry, who clears his throat loudly and begins to unwind the bindings with swift, proficient fingers.

Martin then fixes his attention on you, raising his eyebrows quizzically.

“Are you alright?” he asks, shooting you an expectant look.

“Fine,” you croak out, though the blood roaring in your ears sincerely begs to differ.

You blink yourself out of your stupor, running your tongue over the roof of your mouth and exhaling shakily. Harry has turned back to your ankle, replacing the makeshift bandages with proper ones. You glance up at Martin and nod your head, praying that he can’t see the flustered agitation brewing in your eyes.

“Yes, Mister Russell, I’m fine. Thank you.”

July 9th, 1923

The library is your favourite room in the house.

It’s quiet, peaceful, and is accompanied only by the rarest of disturbances. Lydia’s never really enjoyed reading—she can’t sit still long enough to do so. Andrew hasn’t stepped past the threshold in years—he’s been too busy running Markham Motors. So, that just leaves you, along with the freedom to choose from the hundreds of books lining the shelves. You’ve dabbled in fiction and non-fiction alike, soaking up the words from the page just as the ground soaks up rain from a storm.

The library has become your safe haven. You wouldn’t have it any other way.

You trod over to your favourite spot to read: a small alcove in the wall, decked out with fluffy cushions and tucked right up against a wide window. It gives you a perfect view of the driveway and the front lawn down below. You’ve spent hours in this little nook, absorbed in novels and poems and biographies. You’ve passed entire nights curled up next to the windowpane, having dozed off in the middle of a story. It’s become a tradition of sorts, despite the dull ache in your neck that always ensues when you stir the next morning.

The book in your hands is heavy as you sink into the mess of pillows. Bright, natural light streams in from the window to your left. You release a soft sigh as your fingers flip to where you’d last left off during your previous visit.

She is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me—

You scoff and roll your eyes. You’ve read this story a dozen times; you already know how it ends.

For the next twenty minutes, nothing matters save for the adventures of Miss Elizabeth Bennet. You allow yourself to get lost in the world of Pride and Prejudice, eyes hungrily raking over every printed detail. You’re only pulled out of your reverie when a shrill, jubilant cry pierces through the silence.

Instinctively, your head snaps toward the direction of the noise. Through the spotless windowpane, you spy Harry and Lydia standing on the lawn. Harry is holding a brown hose, angling it downward and watering the grass beneath his feet. Your sister is next to him, babbling and gesturing animatedly with her hands. You smile at the sight.

You slip your thumb between the pages of the book to mark your place. The novel is forgotten as you study the scene playing out below.

Harry is wearing an ashen blue button-up and a pair of black trousers. A thin white undershirt peeks out from beneath his collar. He smirks at something that Lydia says, ducking his head and trying to conceal the fond expression on his face. She throws her hands up in the air and twirls around—when she staggers slightly, Harry holds out his arm. Her fingers dig into his elbow to regain balance, and the two of them dissolve into giggles. Warmth unfurls in your chest.

Harry tilts his head back, surveying the cloudless sky with squinted eyes and a wrinkled nose. His attention turns to the house, then, sweeping absentmindedly over the fair bricks and stone accents.

Suddenly, his gaze darts forward. You freeze when his green irises lock squarely on you.

Hot humiliation creeps up your neck, because of course. Staring at him and remaining undetected is a luxury that few can afford.

Your lips part with a soft gasp, and your shoulders stiffen. The corners of Harry’s mouth curl up slightly—so faint, you think it may just be a figment of your imagination. The gilded copy of Pride and Prejudice rests in your lap, abandoned. It mocks you and your preoccupation—your fascination—with the man on the ground.

Harry shoots you a small, mysterious smile, and lifts his chin. You sit up straight, processing his request.

“I shouldn’t—,” you start to say before remembering that he can’t actually hear you. You clench your jaw and shake your head, hoping that he’ll be able to register the movement through the glass.

But his teasing expression only deepens as he beckons you again. A ragged exhale falls from your lips, and a tepid swell of adrenaline floods your veins. You snap your book shut, tucking it against your chest and pushing yourself away from the window. You swear that your heart skips a beat when your feet hit the floor.

Don’t rush, don’t rush, don’t rush.

It’s hard to maintain a measured pace, especially when such a big part of you just wants to take off and sprint down the spiral staircase. You force yourself to dawdle, to smooth your fingers over the bannister and descend slowly. Your palms are clammy as you make your way across the foyer, eyes glued to the large double doors on the opposite wall.

And then you’re outside, the sun beating down against your face and the breeze blowing gently through your hair. You saunter toward the edge of the large portico, leaning against the stone railing with your novel still clutched tightly to your sternum.

“Dee!”

Lydia whips around, taken aback by the call of her name. Upon recognising you, her features morph into a mask of quizzical mockery.

“Where have you been?” she asks, jogging over.

“I was reading,” you say, shrugging indifferently. After a short moment, you add, “Beth’s looking for you.”

“Me? What for?”

In the periphery of your vision, you spy Harry approaching. Water leaks from the nozzle of the hose; he gathers a few droplets onto his knuckles before smearing them across his sweaty forehead. You bite your tongue to suppress a snort.

“Dinner, I believe,” you lie, turning back to your sister. “It’s your turn to choose, is it not?”

Lydia’s eyes light up. “You’re right! It’s Monday, isn’t it?”

Her feet smack loudly against the cobbled steps as she races toward the door. Before disappearing inside, however, she skids to a stop, spinning around and raising one arm high above her head. “Goodbye, Harry!”

Harry smiles, lifting two fingers to his temple in a lazy salute. “Goodbye, little bug.”

A moment later, she’s gone.

And a moment after that, you find yourself sincerely regretting your decision to send her away. Harry observes you with raised brows and a knowing smirk on his face. You gnaw anxiously on your bottom lip, avoiding his eyes. A long beat of silence ensues.

“Hello,” he finally says.

You exhale quietly, relieved. “Hello.”

“Beautiful day, isn’t it?”

“It is,” you agree.

You lean against the stone bannister, peering down at him. The breeze picks up, gusting through your thin skirt and blouse. A small part of you notes the theatrical romanticism of it all: his being on the ground, the butterflies flapping around in your stomach—

“Do you always spend the majority of a nice day locked away in the library?” Harry asks. His pretty irises twinkle alluringly when your gazes meet.

“I—no,” you stammer. “I was just…reading.”

“As one does in a room full of books, I’d expect.”

Embarrassment blooms in your chest.

“Yes,” you say softly. “Precisely.”

He grins.

“How is your ankle?” he asks, motioning toward the bottom of your leg.

“Oh.” You look down, flexing your foot. “It’s healing. I should be fully rehabilitated in a few days.”

Harry chuckles, nodding. You purse your lips and try for a smile, but you’re afraid that it resembles more of a grimace.

“What’ve you got, there?” He lifts his chin, gesturing to the novel tucked between your forearm and your chest. You’re grasping it so tightly that you’re surprised the skin of your knuckles hasn’t split.

You clear your throat, revealing the embroidered inscription on the front cover. “Er—Pride and Prejudice. It’s my favourite.”

Harry hums. “Mine, too.”

And though it is extremely impolite, you can’t stop the look of shock that makes its way onto your face.

“You’ve read it?”

He chuckles sheepishly, dropping his chin. “You have bewitched me, body and soul,” he suddenly says, lifting his eyes from the ground and fixing his unwavering gaze on you, “and I love, I love, I love you. I never wish to be parted from you—”

“—from this day on,” you finish, breathless.

He smiles. Zaps of electricity surge down your spine. The two of you are silent, tripping over unspoken murmurs of indulgence. You scrape your tongue over your teeth, clueless.

Harry is the first one to break.

“I should get back to work,” he announces gently. He gestures to the hose hanging limply from his hand and gives a perfunctory shrug.

“Of course.” You nod, inhaling deeply. “I should get back to…”

He smirks when you trail off. “Reading?” he supplies.

“Yes,” you blurt. “Yes. Exactly.” You hesitate, drumming your fingers against the auburn cover of your book. “Good day, Harry.”

“Good day, miss!” he calls as you begin to walk away. You pause and cast a glance over your shoulder, an admonishment dancing on the tip of your tongue.

For the hundredth time, Harry, you mustn’t feel obligated to address me in such a formal—

But then you register the mischief on his face, and the realisation sinks in.

“You did that on purpose, didn’t you?” you ask.

Crinkles dig into the corners of his eyes.

“I’m afraid that I don’t understand,” he says, tilting his head to the side in faux-confusion. You wipe a clammy palm against the waistband of your skirt and bite back a small smile. Harry’s playful expression deepens, poking a cavernous dimple into his left cheek.

“Have a little compassion on my nerves,” you say, pulling another quote from the novel clasped against your body. “You tear them to pieces.”

His lips twitch, impressed and amused.

“What a shame,” he counters, snickering quietly, “for I dearly love to laugh.”

July 13th, 1923

The past hour of your life has been spent rolling around in bed and resenting your glaring inability to fall asleep. You’re not really sure why you’re still awake after midnight, but you’ve long since given up on trying to solve the mystery that is your body’s biological clock. Smooth satin sheets tickle your bare legs. You groan into your pillow and push yourself up from the mattress, tossing your feet over the edge and shivering softly when they land on the cold hardwood floor.

You wrap yourself up in a thin silk robe; the hem falls only an inch or two above your knees. The rest of the house is silent as you quietly exit your room and pad across the hall. You tiptoe down the spiral staircase; a brief moment later (during which you slip on some comfortable footwear), you’re stepping out into the backyard, greeted by gentle zephyrs and temperate summer air.

As you hop down the porch steps and begin the familiar trek toward the stables, you note the blanket of stars dotting the clear night sky. They twinkle happily, winking at you as though they know something that you don’t.

You shake your head at the thought. They’re stars. Big, flaming balls of gas floating in space, stationed millions of miles away. They know nothing.

Your ears perk up as you approach your destination, struck by the low stream of words carried by the breeze.

“…lilies, and dahlias, too. They tend to bloom during the summer…”

You freeze, feet stalling in the dirt. Leaning in closer, you catch deep murmurs of a faceless voice. The stranger continues to list off different types of flowers; when a soft chuckle laces through the air, your eyes widen in disbelief.

Is that…?

Sure enough, when you creep into the stables, you find Harry standing in front of Artemis’ pen, running his fingers through her shiny mane. His back is to you, shoulder blades flexing beneath the dark button-up adorning his torso. The sleeves reach his biceps, stretching slightly whenever he lifts his arms.

“I’m sorry,” he’s saying as you inch closer, hopelessly engrossed in the pseudo-conversation. “Sugar cubes are a bit of a rarity in my home. I haven’t any others.”

A twig snaps beneath your foot. You wince.

Harry whips around, startled. Upon recognising you, he blows out a heavy breath. Tension leaks from his body, and twin pink spots form on his cheeks. You stare at the blush colouring his face, mesmerized—you’ve never seen him look so dumbfounded.

“Er—,” you say. You raise your hand in an awkward, half-hearted wave. “Hello.”

“Hello,” he replies.

A beat of silence ensues.

“What are you…?” you trail off, trying to keep your voice level. “Were you just—?”

“Yes,” he says quickly. A sheepish chuckle tumbles off his tongue. “I....I understand it, now. Talking to one’s horse is rather soothing.”

“She’s not yours, though.” Your response is blunt, unfeeling.

Harry’s nostrils flare, and his feet scuff against the ground. Now that he’s facing you, you’re able to get a better look at him. A white undershirt peeks out from beneath his button-up, leaving his collarbones exposed. A gold chain glints around his neck, illuminated under the dim light. He’s wearing brown trousers and those same black boots, but you think that he may have polished them, finally, because they’re considerably tidier than before.

“She’s not,” Harry agrees, swallowing nervously. “My sincerest apologies. I can see that I’ve crossed a line—”

You can’t stifle the giggle that bubbles up in your throat. Harry hesitates, fixing you with a bewildered expression. At last, you shoot him a small smile, shaking your head and waving away his regrets.

“I’m only teasing,” you say, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “Breathe, Harry.”

He exhales raggedly, ruffling the curls at the back of his head. “Jesus. You frightened me.”

“Good. Perhaps you’ve finally learned your lesson, then.”

“My lesson?” he echoes, cocking his head to the side. “And what exactly would that be?”

“To avoid sneaking up on others at night,” you say. “Especially if they’re in the midst of conversing with their horse. It’s a very private exchange, you know—endless confessions have been made under this roof.”

Harry laughs.

“I think I’ve supplied my fair share of confessions, tonight,” he says, shrugging nonchalantly. “I can leave you to do the same.”

“No,” you blurt out. “Wait.”

He pauses, shocked by your immediate refutation. You purse your lips as hot shame unfurls in your chest.

“I just meant,” you start, hastening to make amends, “you can stay, if you’d like. Besides—” You shrug. “It’s far more pleasant talking to someone who can actually talk back.”

~*~

“Harry. No.”

“Yes.”

“No. I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. And I’ll be right next to you. I won’t leave your side.”

You gnaw apprehensively on your bottom lip as he frees Artemis from her pen. She trots out and whinnies softly, tossing her head to the side. He shushes her, dragging a comforting palm over her back. You step closer, mirroring his movements and glaring at him with terse, squinted eyes.

“We’ll go slowly,” he says, fixing you with an earnest look. “A few steps at a time. That doesn’t sound too daunting, does it?”

After a long, overwrought moment, you surrender.

“Very well,” you say. You point at him accusatorily, extending your arm over Artemis’ body. “But as soon as I want to stop, we stop. Promise me.”

“I promise.”

Harry leans forward, bumping the pad of your finger with the tip of his nose. The contact makes you gasp. He pauses as well, having realised the implications of the thoughtless action. You swallow heavily; he clears his throat and averts his gaze.

“I’ll get the saddle,” he says.

His heel scrapes loudly against the dry dirt when he turns; you watch as he marches toward the pair of brown saddles hanging on the wooden wall. With a mighty groan, he heaves one from its rusted, metal hook, gathering the leather in his arms before making his way back over to you.

“Thank you,” you murmur shyly.

“You’re very welcome.”

You migrate to the side, petting Artemis’ mane as Harry slips the saddle onto her back. She huffs; you coo at her, holding her face in your hands to keep her calm. Harry spends the next several seconds strapping everything in place. After he’s finished, he gives a gentle tug, ensuring that you won’t slide and fall to the ground once you’re ready to mount.

“All set,” he says, squaring his shoulders.

You glance over at him with wide, frightened eyes. When he meets your gaze, his stoic expression melts into a pool of concern.

“Don’t be afraid,” he says, stepping closer to you.

“I—” Your throat burns. “I haven’t ridden in three years, Harry.”

“I know,” he says solemnly. He offers you his left hand. “Do you trust me?”

Your response is immediate. “I do.”

“Good.” The corners of his lips curl upward. His tone is unreservedly honest when he speaks again. “I won’t let anything happen to you, miss; I swear it.”

You slide your palm against his. A sharp tingle races up your arm, sending your heartbeat into a frenzy. You fight to keep your breathing even as Harry pulls you closer, positioning you in front of him and placing his fingers on your waist.

“Ready?” he murmurs. His breath is hot against the shell of your ear.

You nod.

He grunts as he lifts you. You kick out one leg, slinging it over Artemis’ back and pulling yourself up. Once you’ve settled into a comfortable position, you peer down at him, shoulders taut and ankles locked.

“Breathe,” Harry reminds you. He leads by example, inhaling deeply; you imitate him, trying to ignore the thin sheen of sweat gathered at the nape of your neck.

“What do I do, now?” you ask after a thin stretch of silence.

He chuckles good-naturedly, cocking one eyebrow. “You’ve forgotten?”

“No,” you say indignantly, frowning. “I just—”

You break off when he takes your hands and guides them forward. Your fingers wrap around the reins dangling from Artemis’ neck. You fist the leather firmly, swallowing down the hard lump in your throat. Harry’s nostrils flare as he retracts his arms. You’re fascinated by the way his tongue darts out of his mouth, swiping over his sunburnt lips.

“A few steps at a time,” he says, repeating his former words.

You nod, blowing out a shaky exhale. Gently, you dig your heels into Artemis’ belly and click your teeth. She snorts and takes a step forward; the air is swiftly knocked from your lungs.

“I’m right here,” Harry pipes up. He lays one palm against the back of the saddle, keeping pace. “I won’t let you fall.”

Gradually, you make it out of the stables. The distance can’t be more than fifteen or twenty feet, but it’s a start. You tug softly on the reins, and Artemis stops abruptly. The sudden pause has you lurching forward in your seat. You squeak; quicker than a lightning strike, Harry is there. His hand settles on the small of your back, keeping you steady.

You look down at him, and your gazes lock. Jade eyes gleam beneath the lustrous night sky. His attention falls lower, and only then do you realise that the hem of your robe has ridden up your leg. Most of your thigh is exposed—smooth skin on total display, mere inches from his face. You release an inaudible gasp, shifting your hips to the side so that the silk slips back down.

A muscle in Harry’s jaw twitches enticingly. He removes his touch from your back and turns away.

“Beautiful evening,” he says stiffly, peering up at the stars. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yes,” you whisper. You clear your throat. “I’d like to dismount, now. Would you mind?”

He shakes his head and hums. “Not at all. Hold onto me.”

You place your hands on his shoulders, and he curls his fingertips into your waist. Wordlessly, he lifts you from Artemis’ back. You yelp when your ankle snags on one of the saddle’s leather straps. He stumbles backward, wrapping his arms tightly around your midsection and grunting in surprise. When you eventually regain your footing, your eyes widen at the compromising nature of your position.

Harry is clutching you against his torso, his face buried in your neck. Warm puffs of air leave his lips and coat the column of your throat; the sensation sends shivers down your spine. Your nails dig into his shoulder blades, chest heaving with difficult, onerous breaths.

It’s a stance that should only be shared between lovers, you think. Between a husband and his wife.

Harry is not your husband.

And you are not his wife.

The two of you break apart almost immediately, choking on hasty, half-formed sentences.

“My apologies, miss—”

“No, you needn’t—I should have been more cautious—”

“It’s late; you must be spent—”

“I’m not ready to leave.”

Harry freezes, his jaw agape. Several seconds elapse before he can find it in himself to muster a reply.

“I beg your pardon?” He’s breathless, swept away by your confession.

You shift awkwardly.

“I’m not ready to leave,” you repeat. You clasp your hands behind your back and fix him with an even stare. You hope that he can’t hear the slight quiver at the base of your declaration. “I—I wish to spend more time with you.”

He blinks. “With me?”

You nod. “With you.”

“What…?” He hesitates. “What would you like to do?”

You shrug. “Anything.”

Harry puckers his lips, lost in thought. After a prolonged moment of deliberation, his features light up. “I know a place.”

“‘A place’?” you parrot, brows knitting together.

“A place,” he confirms. “You trust me, do you not?”

“You already know the answer to that question,” you say, scoffing quietly. “I believe I’ve made myself abundantly clear.”

He chuckles. You tug on the sleeves of your robe and grate your slippers into the dirt. Harry watches you with careful eyes.

“Do it now, then,” he says, nodding encouragingly. He holds out his hand once more, beckoning you closer. “Trust me, now.”

You chew on your bottom lip, gracing him with a curt bob of your head. Artemis huffs as you wrap her reins around your wrist and slide your fingers against Harry’s palm. He pats your knuckles gently, guiding them to the crook of his elbow.

“Shall we?” he asks. It’s impossible to read the emotion in his voice.

Your response of endorsement is meek. Gone is the confident woman from a minute ago: the one who stated what she wanted without a second thought. She slips through your grasp easily, disintegrating into a pile of dust and leaving nothing behind.

“We shall,” you choke out.

Harry’s lips twitch with the ghost of a smile, and Artemis’ hooves clunk against the ground as he leads you off into the night.

~*~

“This is so…”

“Nice, isn’t it?”

“‘Nice’?” You spin on your heel slowly, taking in your surroundings. “It’s incredible.”

The water trickling through the creek is crystal clear. A few shiny rocks peek out from the shallow stream, gleaming in the moonlight. You peer up at the stars—hundreds of diamonds, perfectly visible thanks to the large gap of the clearing. Crickets chirp along the edges of the bushes, and yellow-green fireflies ride the breeze.

“How did you find this place?” you breathe.

“It may sound foolish—,” Harry begins. He holds one hand out; you transfer Artemis’ reins into his palm. “—but I can’t remember.”

“Really?” you ask, stunned. You trail after him as he leads your horse to a nearby tree. He loops her leather harnesses around a thick branch, tying a proficient knot and giving it a few experimental tugs. Your gaze remains glued to his hands: the way his fingers work deftly, the way his knuckles flex with each pull—

“Really,” he says. A soft sigh tumbles from his mouth as he steps back. “Come with me.”

You follow him to the middle of the clearing, trying to anticipate his next move. What you don’t expect, however, is for him to drop to his knees. He falls backward, spine meeting the grass with a faint thump. You gasp, staring down at him with wide eyes and parted lips.

“Don’t be afraid,” Harry hums, shooting you a playful smirk. He crosses his arms behind his head—you try to avoid staring at the prominent bulge of his biceps. “The weeds won’t bite.”

“O—Oh,” you stammer, nodding quickly. “Alright, then.”

Daintily, you lower yourself to the ground. He watches you with an amused expression on his face.

“What?” you say, pouting.

“Nothing.” He snickers quietly. You tuck your ankles beneath your thighs as he turns to the side, propping his head up with one hand. “Correct me if I’m wrong, miss, but…I presume that you don’t often make it a point to lay in the grass.”

“That would be an accurate presumption,” you say, laughing softly. Harry smiles.

“You should spend more time outside,” he says absentmindedly. “You’re always cooped up in the house.”

You cock one eyebrow teasingly. “Do you wish to see more of me, Harry?”

“Absolutely not,” he replies, humour evident in his tone. “I am simply trying to instill some sense of adventure into your life.”

The corners of your lips kink upward. In a matter of seconds, however, your delight melts away, replaced by a somberness that you can’t seem to shake.

“I was far more adventurous before the accident,” you murmur, dropping your gaze. You reach out, fiddling with a few blades of grass in an attempt to avoid Harry’s doleful eyes. “Now, I…I’m afraid of everything, it seems.”

Silence hangs in the air between you, filled only by the steady symphony of chirping crickets.

“If I may ask—,” Harry starts, shifting closer. “—what happened?”

You swallow down the lump in your throat. “Artemis shoved me off.”

“She did?”

“It wasn’t her fault!” you say quickly, holding up one hand. “She got spooked, I suppose. And I wasn’t expecting it, so…I fell.”

“What frightened her?” he asks, anxious creases digging into his forehead.

You shrug. “I don’t know. But since then, I’ve been uneasy about riding. If I’m oblivious to what alarmed her the first time, who’s to say that it won’t happen again?”

He nods. “I understand.”

You sigh, plucking a piece of grass from the dirt and twirling it between your fingers. “I wish I could be more like Drew,” you hum distantly. “Someone who throws themselves into their trauma instead of shying away from it.”

Harry’s brows knit together in confusion. “What do you mean?”

You frown. “He—he never told you?”

He shakes his head. “I haven’t a clue. What is it exactly that you’re referring—?”

“Our parents,” you say softly.

Harry’s mouth clamps shut. He inhales deeply, gracing you with a curt nod. You take his silence as an invitation to elaborate.

“They perished in a car accident,” you murmur, looking away. “My father was head of Markham Motors, at the time. He had overlooked a flaw in the latest model, and when they finally took the vehicle out for a drive, it—”

You break off, unable to continue.

Harry reaches forward, covering one of your hands with his. A puff of stale air catches in your throat. You glance down at him timidly, hoping that he can’t identify the flustered distress on your face.

“I’m so sorry,” he tells you, squeezing your fingers tenderly. “That must’ve been awful.”

You exhale shakily. “It was.”

For the next few minutes, the two of you say nothing else. Instead, you melt into your surroundings—the grass brushing your legs, the slow trickle of water in the creek, the dim buzz of fireflies drifting in the wind. At the edge of the clearing, Artemis snorts, lowers her head, and begins to graze.

At last, you decide to break through the stillness.

“Enough about my family,” you say. You recoil, subtly pulling your hand away. Harry is far too distracting. You’re afraid that if he touches you one more time, tonight, your poor heart will give out. “What about you?”

“What about me?” he replies. He settles back into his previous position: spine pressed flush against the ground, arms tucked coolly beneath his head.

“How are you?” you say. “How is your sister, in Paris?”

He peers up at you with raised eyebrows, impressed. “You remembered?”

“Is there a particular reason as to why I shouldn’t?”

Harry chuckles. “No, I suppose not.”

“Well, go on, then.” You rest your chin on your palm. “What is she like?”

“You’re a bossy little thing, aren’t you?”

You scowl. “Harry.”

“Right, right.” He sighs, smiling fondly up at the sky. “She’s…she’s lovely, really. She just got engaged, as a matter of fact. I haven’t met her fiancé, but he’s stellar, based on how she describes him in her letters.”

“That’s wonderful,” you say. Your gaze drifts longingly over the bridge of his nose. “Send her my blessings, will you?”

He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, mouth twisting in a roguish smirk. “I reckon she’d find that a bit odd—the two of you have never met.”

“Oh.” You purse your lips, bashful. “Perhaps you’re right.”

Harry laughs; you’re captivated by the dimples embossed into his cheeks.

“I’m only joking,” he tells you, waving away your concerns. “She’ll appreciate that very much. I’m sure of it.”

You don’t reply. Silence hangs in the air, thick and heavy, until his next words slice through the tension like a knife.

“She and I used to do this almost every night,” he murmurs.

“Do what?”

“Come outside,” he says, shrugging. “Lay on the ground. Stare up at the stars.” His irises glaze over with a forlorn look. “We always raced to see who could find the greatest number of constellations.”

“Really?” You don’t know why you’re so taken aback by his confession.

He nods. “Really.”

“Have you found any, tonight?”

He smiles. “Why don’t you come down here and see for yourself?”

The soil is surprisingly comfortable. You join him, resting your back against the grass and gazing up at the night sky. It’s an endless tapestry of diamonds—sparkling, infinite, beautiful. Your chest swells with a deep, relaxed breath as it all sinks in.

“Anything?” Harry asks expectantly.

You squint. After a long moment, a dejected sigh falls from your lips. “No. I’m not very good at this.”

He laughs. You watch, enthralled, as he lifts one hand and points to your left, singling out a curved cluster of stars.

“See these ones, over here? Shaped a bit like a hook? That’s Scorpius.”

“‘Scorpius’?”

“It means ‘scorpion’ in Latin,” Harry explains. “Scorpius was sent by the gods to kill Orion. He was then placed in the sky to advise mortals against the perils of vanity and pride.”

Vanity and pride.

You bite your lip and turn to the side, tucking a palm under your cheek. The action draws Harry’s attention; he does a double take, stunned by the sudden, close proximity of your bodies. His mouth quirks up into a coy smile as he mimics your position, brows furrowed in diluted mystification.

“What is it?” he asks.

You shift, swallowing heavily.

“I’m afraid that I’ve been unfair to you,” you say softly, gazing straight into his eyes. “I—I’ve misjudged you terribly, and for that, I must apologise. I was a fool.”

“You needn’t—,” he starts, but you press on.

“You are kind,” you say, voice thick with emotion. “You are intelligent, and clever, and you have more class in a single finger than most men have in their entire bodies.”

“Miss—”

“I was wrong about you, and I regret allowing my biases to blind me in such an atrocious manner. Can you ever forgive—oomph!”

Harry’s kiss is passionate, bruising. You stiffen, muscles locking in astonishment. One of his hands rests on the ground, providing balance; the other is on your arm, calloused thumb stroking your skin through the thin silk of your robe. You’re frozen, unable to react, because his lips are on yours, and he’s touching your body, and you’re nearly certain that you’ve died and entered the afterlife.

When Harry pulls away after a few short seconds, he’s stupidly sheepish. His eyelashes flutter open, and his stare immediately floods with remorse.

“I—forgive me,” he stammers, tripping over the words. “That was deplorable. I should have asked—”

Roughly, you grab his face between your palms. His cheeks are soft and smooth, jawline dotted with the faintest hint of stubble. The two of you exchange a look—electric, charged, thrilling. A single, critical moment ensues, during which a distinct quote emerges from the deep recesses of your mind.

A girl likes to be crossed a little in love now and then. It is something to think of.

The words echo in your head as you abandon all semblance of common sense, yanking Harry in by the collar of his shirt and kissing him again.

July 14th, 1923

“Quickly! We haven’t got all day!”

“Patience!” you call from the top of the stairs. You guide one last strand of hair into place before hurrying down the flight.

Lydia is waiting for you on the main floor. You set your hands on your hips and fix her with a stern glare, huffing at her eagerness. She sticks her tongue out at you. When you open your mouth to admonish her, she whips around and scurries through the large double doors, disappearing into the backyard.

Upon stepping outside, you find Martin and Andrew already sat on the patio. Lydia settles into one of the chairs around the table, smiling brightly and beckoning you over.

“There you are,” Drew says as you approach. “Beth should be out with dinner any minute now.”

“Do you know what she’s prepared?” you ask, tucking yourself into your seat.

Andrew shrugs and emits a noncommittal sound, clueless.

“Very well,” you sigh, casting a shallow glance across the table. “Good evening, Mister Russell,” you say, tipping your chin in Martin’s direction.

“Good evening.” He beams, tugging on the lapels of his yellow blazer. “Haven’t seen you all day—where have you been hiding?”

You cluck your tongue, tugging nervously at the hem of your dress. “I hardly think it fair for a woman to disclose her spaces of refuge.”

“Stop being so cryptic!” Lydia laughs. She turns to Martin, declaring matter-of-factly, “She was locked up in the library. It’s her favourite room in the entire house.”

Martin hums, diverting his gaze back to you. The expression on his face is indecipherable. “You read?”

You nod. “I do.”

A subtle movement in the periphery of your vision catches your attention. You turn your head to the side, and your heart nearly stops when you spot Harry making his way across the lawn. It appears as though he’s done for the evening, hands caked in grime and shirt speckled with dirt. He steps onto the dusty trail leading into the woods, beginning his journey home.

You haven’t spoken to him since last night—since he kissed you, and then you kissed him, and then the two of you kissed each other until you ran out of air to breathe. He led Artemis to the stables and walked you back to the house just as dawn broke, lighting up the sky with faint hues of pink and blue. You remember sharing a final embrace at the base of the steps before bidding him goodbye, flashing a smile and disappearing inside without another word.

“Would you excuse me?” you say, pushing away from the table and scrambling up out of your seat. “I just—I need to ask Harry about the lilies that he planted yesterday—I’ll only be a moment.”

You scamper off without waiting for a response.

“Harry? Harry!”

He pauses at the call of his name, turning around gingerly. When he spies you hurrying over, his eyes immediately drop to the ground.

You stop in front of him, tilting your head to the side. “Hello.”

“Hello, miss.” He doesn’t lift his gaze. The realisation makes you frown.

“How—how are you?” you ask, licking your lips and clasping your hands behind your back.

“I’m well, thank you. And yourself?”

“I—” Your nostrils flare. “I’m alright. I saw you walking home, and I just wanted to—”

“Forgive me.” Harry cuts you off swiftly. He refuses to look at you, still. “I’m weary. It’s been a long day.”

You recoil slightly, stunned by his candour.

“Of course,” you splutter, nodding. “We were both up quite late last night; time evaded us, I suppose—”

“So, you understand,” he says, stepping back. “I appreciate it. Thank you.”

You open your mouth to stop him, but your voice betrays you. Your chest grows tight when he lifts two fingers to his temple, offering up a half-hearted salute.

“Harry—”

He finally meets your gaze, and something inside of you breaks. His eyes are dull and gloomy, revealing nothing. You want to rush forward, to take his face in your hands and hold him close. To run your nails through his hair and smother him in a flurry of hard, worried kisses. To ask him why he’s acting this way. He had been so happy last night—what changed?

But the others are watching from the patio, and you’re a goddamned coward, and you can’t, you can’t, you can’t.

“Enjoy your dinner, miss,” Harry says. His tone is emotionless—it makes you want to cry. “Take care.”

~*~

PART III: The Month

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