#and yeah u can get some good photos on your phone with point and shoot

[quaranmine]

seeing people use photography as a defense in favor of ai art (photography is easy/photography didn't replace drawn art/they're both just machines humans put input into to create things) makes me sort of violent as an amateur photographer

i am not hiking out to places, literally laying on the ground to get angles, memorizing aperature and iso and shutter speed and white balance information to compensate for constantly changing real-world conditions, paying attention to specific compositions, etc just for u to say it's the same as feeding some prompts into a computer. respect the technical expertise that goes into it or die by my sword

[horny-p0et]

incelbur blurb part three

another one. don't need an intro at this point you know what this is. although i saw lovejoy live recently and am pretty happy about it. you have probably seen the photos i took shared around already by my friends lol but you'll never know its me ;)

things are getting weird and gross in this series now, heads up.

part one + part two

warnings: masturbation, nonconsensual phone sex and filming, sexist language and attitudes, alcohol abuse.

wordcount: 1567

dont like, dni. please just block me and move on.

────୨ৎ────

INCELBUR who's hands were shaking when he sent the first message to your discord. typing the word 'hey' had never been so hard before. he keeps checking to see if you've responded, its the weekend- you shouldn't be that busy... he finds himself filled with regret and disgust, why did he start talking to you again? you're just some girl, nothing worthwhile anyway. you were probably busy sucking some guys cock-

"heyy! sorry i was studying so i didn't have notifications on. did u wanna game sometime today?"

"yeah that would be cool. what did you wanna play?"

INCELBUR who was caught off guard when you suggest to play fortnite duos, he didn't think girls liked games with guns. he's even more surprised when you drop into the game and he finds out you've been playing for years and are honestly better than him at the game. it pisses him off, he wanted to impress you with his skills and now you're having to revive him every round. it's emasculating, he hates feeling like he's useless.

INCELBUR who almost ended the call because of how frustrated the game was making him until you cheer when he gets a kill, and praise him when he does well. your soft voice in his ear is like the best sort of asmr, it sends shivers up his spine when you say 'you're doing so good', he can imagine you whining that while he pounds your pussy.

INCELBUR who couldn't believe three hours had gone by and you're suddenly telling him you're ready to hop off for the night. he wants to beg for you to stay, just one more game, but he doesn't want to sound needy. he isn't a simp, after all. you tell him you'll be on tomorrow and he tells you he'll be there. of course he would, he's always on his computer.

INCELBUR who has to jerk off after the call is over, he'd been hard for most of the conversation already and it was aching by that point. he didn't tell you he'd been recording while you gamed together, he will go back through the video later and clip every time you groan in frustration or squeal in excitement into an audio just for him. the thought of his depravity has him shooting ropes onto his hand within minutes, he didn't even have time to open the photos of you on his phone.

INCELBUR who feels like he's drifting aimlessly until you guys talk again, the sporadic text conversations aren't cutting it. he needs more, he needs your touch, to smell you again. when you see him at school you greet him with a smile, even when your friends give him weird looks you look at him like he's human. it makes him feel alive, important, like he only exists under your gaze.

INCELBUR who has been talking to you for about two weeks, he's never talked to a girl this long before without her running away. it's not his fault, he asks them for nudes and suddenly he's a 'creep' and a 'pervert'. if they didn't want him that way why did they bother talking to him anyway? but you're different. he can't mess this up, even if talking to you is blissful torture because all he wants to do is shove his tongue in your pretty mouth.

INCELBUR who can't help himself but touch his cock while you're on voice call together, it started with him just rubbing himself through his pants and before long he'd have his hand wrapped around himself as you ramble about something. he knows it's wrong, its some fucked up exhibitionist shit, but you are too good to resist. he can't help himself- if your voice wasn't so hot. it's your fault not his.

"god, my course work is killing me recently. i feel like i get no free time anymore, i know it's important but sometimes i just wanna dropout and forget about university. do you know what i mean?"

"... what? oh, yeah... it's.. really hard.."

INCELBUR who gets angrier when he see's you hanging out with guys now that you guys are friends. he's possessive, he wants your attention on him and no one else. seeing you out at clubs on social media is brutal, he wants to demand you stay home and game with him instead. or better yet, come to his place and ride his cock while he bites your neck. he loves the idea of covering you with marks, then everyone would know you belong to him and him alone.

INCELBUR who cringes when you talk about boys on your voice chats. you guys were just playing minecraft and suddenly you're complaining about some chad you're seeing. you sound so stupid in his eyes, of course guys like that are going to treat you badly. they aren't nice guys like him. he's bitter and spiteful, you would be happy if you weren't so blind to the ideal male specimen right in front of you.

INCELBUR who calls you at an obscene time in the middle of the night while he's wanking. he's so close, he just needs your help getting over that edge. you mumble his name in a groggy voice, he'd woken you up and he doesn't care, that single word sends him spiralling and he's stained his sheets with his seed. you ask him if he needs anything and he apologises and tells you its a buttdial and abruptly hangs up.

INCELBUR who should feel guilty about using your kindness to his benefit, but he wouldn't have to if you'd notice how much he wanted you. he showers for you, he buys you skins in game, he walks you to classes he doesn't share with you just to get an extra few minutes around you. he knows your friends don't like him, they think he's a loser. but you defend him every time, he knows you love him- you must just be too shy to tell him.

INCELBUR who sees you at a bar one night and decides to 'accidently' run into you there. maybe if you're drunk you will let loose and dance with him. or even better, drag him into the bathroom for a quickie. the idea has him hard as a rock as he struggles to put on his skinny jeans. he sprays too much deodorant and cologne on, sprays some product he doesn't know how to use into his curls and splashes water on his face until his acne has flared up noticeably.

INCLEBUR who hates being in public. he feels like everyone is staring at him and thinking about how ugly he is, this bar feels like it's been turned up to eleven. he sticks out like a sore thumb because of his height and skinny build, he almost turns around and goes home until he sees you at the bar. alone. perfect.

"oh, y/n... didn't expect to run into you here. what are the chances?"

"oh my god, wilbur! what the fuck are you doing out of the house?"

"buying you a drink, hopefully."

INCELBUR who can smell the alcohol on your breath and see the way your lipstick is smudged, who the fuck have you been kissing? he considered asking so he could deck the guy but decides against it. you're smiling at him and it makes him docile, you could get him to do anything if you asked. it makes him feel pathetic, a love sick fool, but he can't ignore those feelings.

INCELBUR who buys you a drink just like he said he would, even when you protest and tell him he doesn't need to. you need to see him as a gentleman, a man who can provide for you. a good man, a great boyfriend too. your arm keeps touching his as you lean against the bar, it sends shockwaves straight to his dick and he's confident if you looked down you could see the outline of his boner through the denim.

INCELBUR who leans in you kiss you and you turn away, his lips finding your cheek instead. you tell him you aren't interested in him like that, he's sweet, but he's just a friend. you tell him to take it slow, that you like having him around and he means a lot to you. just not in the way he likes you, he thinks bitterly. he feels like crying, he's humiliated. he considered grabbing you by the back of the head and making you kiss him anyway, maybe if you felt his lips on yours you'd realise how amazing he was. but he decides against hit, the last thing he wants is to make you hate him. he hates himself enough already.

INCELBUR who leaves a few minutes after that, he can't stand the shame he feels because of his transgression. of course you don't love him, who could love a freak like him? he's ugly, he has no future, he's never even kissed anyone before. he shouts at a random couple he passes on the way home, telling the man his girl is a whore who will just break his heart. he punches a tree on a quiet street until his knuckles bleed and he stumbles into a bottle shop to grab some vodka. he's finished half the bottle before he's made it home, stumbling and crying.

[bumblesimagines]

Double Trouble

Request: Yes or No

Couldn't think of a better title lmao. This is gonna be real shitty but the intro to series are either amazing or pure shit. Gonna give (Y/N)'s mom and fam a name cause I don't wanna keep writing (M/N) or (L/N). (Y/N) isn't related to any of the characters fyi. Spot the very obvious accidental reference

~

"Why California? Out of all the places in America, California was choice you went with? Not Washington, Oregon, or fuck, I don't know, North Dakota?" (Y/N) rested his head against the window, watching the houses pass by. His mother, Tanya, glanced at him with a small frown.

"Baby, aren't you tired of Alaska? Same old cold weather?" Tanya asked, staring forward at the empty road. (Y/N) scoffed, sitting up and looking at her with a raised brow.

"You can escape the cold. You can't escape the heat." (Y/N) pointed out, leaning back and picking up his phone with a frown. He looked at the texts from his friend, sighing softly.

Yaya

U already in cali??

(Y/N)

Ya

(Y/N)

It sucks

Yaya

New school new u bby

Daniel

Whats the time difference?

(Y/N)

It's 4 here

(Y/N)

Wbu?

Yaya

3

"Baby, could you look at me?" Tanya asked, pulling into the school parking lot and parking the car. (Y/N) turned his head to look at her.

"I'm sorry I suddenly dragged us out of Alaska. I just felt like we could use a change. Alaska feels suffocating as an adult. I want you to have new experiences." Tanya explained softly. (Y/N) nodded, glancing at the students walking into school.

"Listen, if you get anxious or feel sick, text me, okay?" Tanya gave him a comforting smile, running a hand through his hair. (Y/N) nodded, opening the car door. He unbuckled his seatbelt and got out of the car.

"Have a good day, sweetie!"

"You too." (Y/N) closed the door, walking towards the school. He had lived in Seward his whole life. He was used to the cold, the sound of boats, the cold immediately hitting his face the moment he stepped outside. (Y/N) knew it wasn't about experiences. His mom just didn't want him to have the same boring life she did. (Y/N) looked at his phone, opening the group chat again. He looked through the texts, smiling at the pictures his friend sent him. (Y/N) looked at his email, sighing as he searched for his locker. He found it, opening it and glancing at the guy beside him.

"Uh, hey, I'm Ethan. You're new, right?" Ethan gave an awkward smile, clearing his throat. (Y/N) licked his lips, nodding. Ethan seemed like the typical nerdy loner.

"Yeah, I'm (Y/N)."

"Cool, cool. Where are you coming from?" Ethan tilted his head, closing his locker and leaning against it. (Y/N) didn't feel like making friends but Ethan could probably help him get familiar with everyone and everything.

"Alaska." (Y/N) replied, closing his locker and giving him a tight smile. Ethan's brows raised, letting out a small chuckle.

"Really? That's cool, I've never really left California. What's it like?"

"Cold." (Y/N) chuckled softly. Ethan laughed and nodded, licking his lips as he stuck his hands in his pockets. (Y/N) looked him over. He was small, skinny, seemed nervous and awkward. Probably a good guy.

"So, are you a junior?" Ethan asked. (Y/N) nodded, going into his phone gallery and pressing on the saved picture of his schedule. He showed him the screen, watching him lean in and smile.

"We have 1st, 3rd, and 6th together." Ethan said, motioning down the hall. "Come on, I'll show you around."

"Thanks." (Y/N) gave him a small smile, following him. His gaze flickered from student to student. Some glanced at him, knowing he was new. (Y/N) didn't like attention. He didn't like the spotlight. He hated when people stared or payed too much attention to him. He hated the way a pit formed in his stomach and he became nauseous when he was called on and people stared at him in class. (Y/N) entered the class, taking a seat beside Ethan and sighing softly.

"Thanks, by the way. I didn't expect to make a friend until like my second week here."

"No problem. I know it can feel shitty to be the new kid." (Y/N) gave Ethan a small smile, looking forward.

(Y/N) set down his lunch tray, sitting down across from Ethan. He glanced around the courtyard, picking up a french fry. Ethan finished drinking his water, humming softly.

"By the way, whatever you do, don't mess with Maddy Perez." Ethan said, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. (Y/N) furrowed his brows.

"Right, you don't know them." Ethan chuckled, turning his head. He looked around, searching for the girls.

"There, the girl with black hair besides the blonde and the girl in a jeresy." Ethan motioned towards them. Maddy seemed like your typical popular. Makeup done perfectly, perfect body, her hair was done perfectly.

"She's a cheerleader and probably the most popular girl in school. She's been with Nate Jacobs for a while. Nate is a football player and his dad has a lot of power. He's.. Terrifying. The girls beside her are her best friends. Cassie and Barbara." Ethan picked up his burger. "There's Kat too and Kat is.."

"Your crush?" (Y/N) cocked a brow, chuckling. Ethan's tone had changed the moment this 'Kat' girl had been mentioned. His eyes had softened and a smile had appeared on his face.

"U-Uhm, n-no. She's a friend, like, just a friend." Ethan gave a nervous fake smile. (Y/N) hummed, shaking his head as he chuckled softly. He looked down at his tray, poking at the wrapped burger.

"Anyways, Cassie's nudes and some videos of her got leaked by her exes. It was real shitty." Ethan told him, finishing his burger. "There's Rue and Jules. Rue overdosed over the summer and Jules is new here."

"What?" (Y/N) furrowed his brows, staring at Ethan. The biggest thing that ever happened at his school was two teachers fighting. Drugs were an issue everywhere. He just didn't expect a teenger to OD and everyone to know. Ethan looked back at him.

"Do you wanna.. Hang out?"

"I have to unpack." (Y/N) replied, picking up his phone and scrolling through his instagram.

"Oh, shit, that's the new kid." Barbara pointed out, pulling her hair back into a ponytail. Cassie and Maddy turned to look.

"Oh.. Where's he from?" Cassie asked as she twirled a strand of her blonde hair around her finger. She wanted to forget all about McKay after their argument and breakup. The new boy seemed like a good distraction.

"He seems sweet." Cassie said with a small smile. Maddy scoffed, rolling her eyes as she looked at her.

"That's what you say about every guy, Cassie." Maddy opened her backpack, taking out her makeup bag. She took out some gloss, turning when she spotted Nate. She scowled when Nate very obviously flirted with some girl. Maddy took in a deep breath, turning toward her friends.

"Is there a party tonight? I need to fuck with Nate. He's such a dick." Maddy tapped her nails against her phone case. Cassie gave her a comforting smile, shaking her head.

"You can come over and we'll have a photo shoot. You can post it and make him regret everything." Cassie grinned as Maddy's eyes lit up, nodding.

"This is why I love you, Cass." The two giggled as Maddy wrapped her arms around her.

"But, back to that new guy.. If he hangs with Ethan, he's probably a loser." Barbara said, watching the two boys. Cassie gasped softly, shooting her a look.

"BB! Ethan's actually a really sweet guy. We did a project together last year." Cassie said. Maddy nodded, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear.

"Yeah, BB, don't be a bitch. You do got a point though. He gives major school shooter vibes." Maddy said, leaning forward to look around Cassie. She watched as the two stood and threw away their trash.

"Hey, they're staring at you." Ethan said, nudging (Y/N). (Y/N) turned towards the girls, catching their eyes before he shrugged and turned away.

"Let's go to History."

[sunflowervolvimp3]

you’re someone i just want around: X

I will not ask you where you came from,

I will not ask and neither should you.

Honey, just put your sweet lips on my lips,

We should just kiss like real people do.

Like Real People Do, Hozier

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

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

word count: 37.9k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Florida is just as lovely—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, um, that’s very kind of you—”

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

“Niall?  Are you there?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, the thing is…” He pictures Y/N chewing on her thumb some more, timid uncertainty pouring into her usually clear irises. “Verbatim Books is in San Diego.”

“San Diego.” Harry repeats back to her, his free hand settling against the cold marble of the island behind him as he quirks an eyebrow in mild shock. “As in the San Diego that’s a two hour drive away?  That San Diego?”

Y/N’s anxious laugh tinkles through the receiver. “Yeah, that San Diego.  But if you have plans with your friends, I completely understand.  We can go a different day.”

Worrying his bottom lip between his teeth wearingly, Harry glances at the digital clock blinking above his stovetop, reflecting back the time 12:53 P.M. “When do they close?”

“Five, I think?”

The vampire calculates the route to San Diego in his head, his sculpted brows creasing as the time frame appears in his mind. “If we left now, we’d probably get there between three and three-thirty.  Would an hour and a half be enough time for you to explore and find what you need?”

“Jesus fucking Christ, you are unbelievable,” Xander mutters from across the condo, but Harry pays him no attention other than raising a blue-lacquered middle finger to flip him off. 

“I mean, yeah, I think so, but—”

“Alright, darling, then just give me a few minutes to grab my things and kick everyone out.” Harry says firmly, pushing himself away from the counter to begin searching for his car keys. 

“No, Harry, it’s not so important that we have to go today, and I don’t want you to kick your friends out.  In fact…” Y/N’s voice becomes thoughtful as a new idea pops into her head, and she hesitates for a moment before suggesting it on the grounds of not wanting to come off as pushy. But in the end, her curiosity bests her. “Why don’t we save Verbatim for another day, and I could just come over and hang out with you and your friends?  I bought all the ingredients for this really yummy guacamole recipe I saw on Tasty the other day— we could do, like, an impromptu movie night or something.  I’ve been craving one of your margaritas all week.”

“Yeah, Harry!” Niall chimes in as Harry re-enters the living room, obviously ignoring his friend’s earlier threat against eavesdropping. “I could go for some guac and a marg— not blended, though. Tastes like shit that way.”

Harry stares at him in disgust as he snatches his keys from the coffee table. “You’re a fucking twat.” 

“What?”

“Oh— not you, babe!” Harry hurries to reassure her as Niall cackles in taunting satisfaction. “Sorry, I was talking to Niall.  No, it’s… it’s alright.  You want to go to this bookstore, and the boys were on their way out anyways—”

“Were you on your way out?” Adam asks Xander sarcastically, and Xander raises his half-full Bloody Mary as a negative response, making a mockingly sour face in return. “Okay, I thought so.  Neither was I.”

“—so it’s all fine.  I’ll leave in a few minutes, yeah?  Probably be at your place within fifteen?” Harry checks the time on his Rolex as he estimates his arrival. “Does that sound good?”

“I— sure.  Yeah, that works.” Y/N says slowly, her voice a little softer than it was a moment before. “I’ll see you when you get here, then.”

“Alright, doll.  See you soon.” Harry hangs up his phone with a tap of his finger, sliding the device into his back pocket as he turns to face his friends. “So that was Y/N—”

“Oh, really? I had no clue!” Xander deadpans, rising from the lounge seat and setting his condensation-covered glass on the coffee table, deliberately avoiding the coaster Harry always insists should be used. “See you later, Harry.”

Adam matches the motion, a smirk jolting across his scruffy cheeks as he stands from his seat and claps Harry over the shoulder as he passes by. “Have a nice drive, man.  We’ll do a movie night with Y/N another time.”

The promise plants a seed of unease inside Harry’s stomach, but he doesn’t allow it to show on his face, choosing to smile easily at Adam’s innocent comment instead. “Yeah.  Another time.”

“Yeah, have a nice drive, H.” Niall mutters as he passes him, his face set in a petty surrendered frown. “A nice, long drive.  Preferably off a very short cliff.”

“I would, Ni, but you’d miss me too much.” Harry grins at him jokingly, bumping the vampire’s shoulder with his own until his irritated expression softens into a slightly less irritated smile. 

It’s Mitch, however, who makes Harry pause the most as he goes to leave. He halts in the doorway of Harry’s flat with a somber look in his eyes, appraising his younger friend with a curious gaze, which settles into trepidation as he sighs reluctantly. “You okay, H?” He prods gently, the question heavy as it falls from his mouth.

While Adam’s words were lighthearted and Mitch’s are anything but, they still leave the same feeling of uncertainty curling through Harry’s belly.  And, like Adam’s words, Harry plasters the same reassuring smile across his features, doing his best to dampen his best friend’s concern. “‘M peachy keen, Mitchell.  Don’t need to worry about me.”

“Are you sure?”

Harry only hesitates for a split second before urging himself to respond. “AB positive.” 

///

If Y/N doesn’t say something to him, Harry is going to go absolutely insane.

It’s not that they haven’t had silence fall between them before, because they have.  They’ve had comfortable silences as they lay in bed at night, Y/N wrapped within Harry’s inked arms as her breaths align with his.  They’ve had quiet lapses in conversation during their usual breakfasts as they watch reruns of Y/N’s favorite crime show, or as they’ve wandered up and down the Santa Monica pier, or walked to and from casual dinners on warmer nights. Despite the lack of words flowing between them, Harry would always know what Y/N was thinking as he slipped his light denim jacket over her bare shoulders, capturing her hand within his own once more as he pulled her to the inside of the sidewalk so he could walk closer to the traffic.  Silence is nothing new to them, and has even been the host of some of Harry’s favourite moments between the two, given that being able to hold a comfortable pause with someone is such a beautifully rare occurrence. Silence has typically been his friend.

But the silences that linger in their past have never felt quite like this.

From the moment Harry pulled out of Y/N’s apartment building parking lot and into the busy traffic of L.A., the mortal girl had grown quiet, and seemingly immune to Harry’s inquiries about how her day had been since he’d dropped her off at her apartment the night before.  Although she first answered him with short snippets— no more than a few words long— by the time he’d peeled them out of the hustle and bustle of the city and onto the highway towards San Diego, even those answers had come to a faltering halt.  Instead, Y/N had propped her chin up on her hand, rested her elbow on the ledge of the car door, and turned her pensive gaze at the scenery whizzing by the window, which she watched with a contemplative crease between her brows.

And the infuriating thing is that he’d asked if something was bothering Y/N the moment she’d begun to clam up, and his question had only received a small jerk of her head and a barely audible, “No, H.  I’m fine.” No gentle caress of Harry’s hand against her leg or soft squeeze of her palm had granted Harry any more clarity on the subject.  

She’s allowed to have secrets, of course. Everyone does.  Harry himself certainly has his own fair share locked away in his chest, free from prying eyes and curious minds.  But the thing is, she hasn’t held any from him.  Any question Harry’s asked, she’s always provided an open and honest answer, even if there’s been a beat of hesitation before the words fall from her pretty lips.  But her answer today, of being fine, is so clearly the opposite of that, and her insistence on hiding it means that she doesn’t want Harry to know that she’s upset.  Which means— Harry’s hands tighten around the steering wheel as he rounds the curve of the road— that Harry’s part of the reason she’s upset.  He’s not sure how, or why, or what he’s done, but he’s done something.  Otherwise, Y/N wouldn’t be refusing to give him even a fraction of the warmth she’s usually so willing to gift him. 

Another sigh heaves from Harry’s chest as he lets one hand fall from the leather wheel onto his thigh, tracing the pattern of his plaid trousers absently.  He wants to ask again, just to see if her stubbornness has dwindled by the slightest degree.  And it easily could dwindle with just a breath of suggestion from Harry, but he refuses to do that, no matter how badly he may want to.  If Y/N is really mad at him for something, how can he convince her that she should forgive him if he’s using supernatural powers to make her admit what’s wrong.  Even more, how can he convince himself that he’s justified in earning her forgiveness?

Harry casts another concerned glance at Y/N before shifting in his seat to extract his phone from his trouser pocket.  With a quick swipe of his thumb, he unlocks it with ease, his eyes flicking from the road to the phone and back again as he opens Spotify. 

“You’re not supposed to text and drive, y’know.”

The sweet cadence of Y/N’s voice, despite its quiet tone, uplifts the corner of Harry’s lips and mills a gentle chuckle in his chest. “I’m not texting.  And I’m an excellent driver, sweetheart.” He glimpses at her from the corner of his eye before returning to his search through his playlists. “Got good reflexes.”

The human girl gives a hum of acknowledgement rather than another retort to his comment, and Harry’s newborn grin quickly melts into a frown as Y/N’s attention returns to the window.  Harry finds comfort in another sigh as he selects an album from his library, clicking the shuffle icon in the corner and tucking his phone back in his pocket. 

“Ladies and gentlemen!” Music begins to roll out from the speakers that Harry installed in his car the year before, producing a hip-hop beat and the voice of Christopher Jackson as George Washington. “You could’ve been anywhere in the world tonight, but you’re here with us in New York City.  Are you ready for a cabinet meeting?”

Harry taps his fingers to the beat against the steering wheel as he steals a sly peek at Y/N.  Although she hasn’t turned to him again, he can see her eyebrows pricking up with curiosity as to what Harry’s doing. That’s all the encouragement Harry needs.

“The issue on the table: Secretary Hamilton’s plan to assume state debt and establish a national bank.  Secretary Jefferson, you have the floor, sir.”

The vampire bites back a triumphant smirk as he turns his gaze back towards the road, feigning a lack of interest in Y/N’s response as he begins to rap along to the Hamilton score. “‘Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness’.  We fought for these ideals; we shouldn’t settle for less.  These are wise words, enterprising men quote ‘em,” He cocks his head to the side, allowing his grin to fully light up his face as he captures Y/N’s attention within his. “Don’t act surprised, you guys, ‘cause I wrote ‘em. OWWW!”

Although Y/N’s expression stays neutral, he can see a twitch in her cheek at his loud exclamation, and Harry begins to exaggerate his actions even more as he gestures towards her with twinkling emerald eyes. “But Hamilton forgets!  His plan would have the government assume state’s debts.  Now, place your bets as to who that benefits.” Harry taps his chin symbolically, feigning thought, and then points towards Y/N with dramatized realization. “The very seat of government where Hamilton sits.”

Keeping her own eyes locked on the road ahead of them, Y/N gives a quick yet defiant shake of her head, the corner of her lip raised just a fraction more than it was a moment before. “Not true!”

“Ooh, if the shoe fits, wear it.” Harry’s simper continues to grow with the warming attitude Y/N’s beginning to display, and he shakes his head in return and raises his free hand in a questioning manner as he continues to rap along. “If New York’s in debt, why should Virginia bear it?  Uh, our debts are paid, I’m afraid.” He lifts his fingers into his curls, running them through his roots and pretending to fluff the ends poshly for a haughty effect. “Don’t tax the South ‘cause we got it made in the shade.” Tapping a jeweled finger against the dashboard, Harry emphasizes the beats of his next line. “In Virginia, we plant seeds in the ground.  We create; you just wanna move our money around.  This financial plan is an outrageous demand, and it’s too many pages for any man to understand!” He pretends to flip the endless pages of an imaginary novel, and then snaps his wrist dismissively with a cocky smirk, deftly guiding the car around the curve of the road with his other hand. 

“Stand with me in the land of the free, and pray to God we never see Hamilton’s candidacy.  Look, when Britain taxed our tea, we got frisky—” Harry rolls his chest to the rhythm of the song, his dimples deepening in his cheeks as he reaches over towards Y/N and pinches at her side playfully, warmth erupting across his veins when she squeals in surprise. “Imagine what gon’ happen when you try to tax our whiskeyyyy.”

“Thank you, Secretary Jefferson.” Washington says through the speaker as Y/N smacks his hand away and purses her lips, appraising Harry with a raised brow. “Secretary Hamilton, your response.”

For a moment, Harry waits with bated breath, thinking that Y/N won’t rise to his challenge.  She’s too angry with him, for some reason he can’t fathom, and when she opens her mouth, he assumes she’s just going to tell him off for—

“Thomas, that was a real nice declaration.  Welcome to the present, we’re running a real nation.  Would you like to join us?  Or stay mellow doin’ whatever the hell it is you do in Monticello?” Y/N rolls with the music just as Harry had, his rainbow cardigan slipping from her shoulder as she gestures towards him with ridicule. “If we assume the debts the union gets a new line of credit, a financial diuretic.” She lists off each subject on her fingers, making a sour face at Harry. “How do you not get it?  If we’re aggressive and competitive, the union gets a boost—” She slaps her hand down against her thigh passionately, as if his side of the imaginary argument appalls her. “You’d rather give it a sedative?”

Harry barks out a laugh as Y/N’s expression grows more incredulous, mocking him in character as if they were really on a Broadway stage, and not his ‘67 Cadillac driving down a highway in California. 

“A civics lesson from a slaver.” She snorts, reaching across the seat and tapping her knuckles against Harry’s head with a light touch. “Hey neighbour, your debts are paid ‘cause you don’t pay for labour.” She mimics his voice, right down to the slight British tinge that had made it into his Virginian twang, throwing up her hands and shaking them in an overexaggerated motion as she quotes him. “‘We plant seeds in the South.  We create’— Yeah, keep ranting.  We know who’s really doing the planting.” 

One of Harry’s hands shoots up towards his mouth and forms a fist, which he presses against his lips in fake astonishment at her dig, joining the background vocalists in howling. “Ooooh!”

The mortal gestures towards him with renewed fervor in her eyes that barely hides the amusement lingering in her irises. “And that’s another thing, Mr. Age of Enlightenment.  Don’t lecture me about the war; you didn’t fight in it!”

Harry bites back the jesting retort of “No, but Mitch did.” that nearly rolls from his tongue.

The minimal restraint goes unnoticed by Y/N, who continues her scathing attack on Harry’s alter ego as she points over her shoulder with her thumb. “You think I’m frightened of you, man?  We almost died in the trench,” She pinches together her index finger and thumb and brings them to her mouth, and the ease at which the mimicry of a joint comes to her makes Harry wonder if she’s ever actually smoked one. “While you were off getting high with the French!  Thomas Jefferson, always hesitant with the President.  Reticent— there isn’t a plan he doesn’t jettison.  Madison, you’re mad as a hatter, son, take your medicine.  Damn, you’re in worse shape than the national debt is in!” Gesturing theatrically, Y/N lowers her voice, keeping her intensity as she points to Harry. “Sitting there useless as two shits.  Hey, turn around,” she makes a small twirling motion in the air with her forefinger, and then juts two digits upwards as if to stuff them somewhere, “bend over, I’ll show you where my shoe fits!”

Harry bursts into laughter with reckless abandon, wrapping his free hand around his stomach as he bends over the steering wheel.  Reaching towards the stereo dials, he turns down the volume, letting the rest of the track fade to background noise before turning his gaze back to Y/N. 

Just like him, the mortal girl is bent over with fits of  belly laughter, and the sound echoes around the Cadillac in the sweetest way.  Harry would take that over the Grammy-winning soundtrack any day. 

“That was good, love.  You’re a proper Broadway starlette, aren’t you?” Harry says between giggles, rubbing at his dimpled cheeks before settling his hands back on the steering wheel. “Didn’t realize you’d been holding out on me so much.”

“I wouldn’t call that holding out.” The mortal girl counters, fixing the slouching shoulder of Harry’s cardigan as she rests back into the passenger seat with a satisfied air. “You’ve heard me sing all the parts to ‘Non-Stop’ at once.”

“Well, yes, but…” Poking the inside of his cheek with his tongue, Harry shoots a cheeky grin at Y/N as he drums his fingers against the leather wheel. “This time you were actually good.”

An indignant scoff falls from Y/N’s mouth as she reaches across the car and smacks his arm.  Harry can sense that she puts a lot of her force behind it, but the action feels as forceful as a fly landing on his shoulder, and he fakes a jostling of his body as he pouts. “You can’t hit the driver!”

“Then don’t insult my Broadway-worthy performances!” She remarks, crossing her rainbow-clad arms over her chest with a defiant air. “I think I’m quite talented— ready to take over the role of Hamilton himself, even.”

The creature rubs over his arm in an attempt to feign soreness, but the simper that’s still dimpled across his face gives him away. “I’m not sure if I’d go that far, peach.  I think I’d give you a chorus role, at best.” He snickers as Y/N’s mouth drops down into a disgruntled frown. “If anyone would be playing Alexander Hamilton, it would be me.”

“Uh, I don’t fucking think so.” She shakes her head adamantly, her brows drawing together in petty disbelief. “They wouldn’t cast a fucking Red Coat in an American Revolution play.”

Harry wedges his plump lip between his teeth at the tauntingly insulting nickname as his mind flickers to Mitch once more.  He’d be amused, Harry thinks, at how this girl seems to so easily mimic the attitude of those who have known Harry for decades. 

“I can do a flawless American accent, love.” Harry’s emphasis on the consonants in his response only highlights his native tone of voice. “But that’s not why I’d be picked to be Hamilton over you. It’s because I just fit the role of the main character better.”

Y/N sputters in her seat for a moment, jaw dropping open at the assured statement. “Are you kidding?” She demands, pressing her palms flat on her thighs as she narrows her eyes. “Like, are you actually fucking kidding?”

“Not one bit.” With his voice dropped to a serious tone, Harry keeps his eyes locked on the road as he replies.

“That is the biggest load of bullshit I’ve ever heard.  I can’t believe you really—” Y/N sucks in a deep breath through her nose, as if she needs to calm and center herself in order to form a coherent answer, and her playful eyes slowly drift shut. “I grew up in a small town, dated the same guy for five years, was left behind while he went to university, where he then cheated on me, and then I moved from the town I’d never left before all the way across the country to Los Angeles, California.” Opening her eyes once more, Y/N turns her determined gaze back to Harry, collapsing her hands in front of her for emphasis. “I literally followed the ‘smalltown girl moves to big city’ trope.  There are dozens of LifeTime movies that follow the exact same plot.  If that doesn’t say ‘main character,’ I don’t know what does.”

“Mm, I’ll tell you what does.” Harry counters, wagging a ringed finger at the human girl while keeping the rest wrapped securely around the steering wheel. “‘Following the life of a handsome, rich British bachelor with a mysterious past, a great fashion sense, and who happens to be very well endowed.’”

“Oh, please. That says ‘one of two love interests from a Hallmark Christmas movie,’ at best.”

The vampire gasps with faux offense, clutching a hand to his dormant chest as he flickers his eyes to the scoffing girl. “A love interest?  You think that’s all I’m entitled to?” He asks, brow furrowed as he clicks his tongue. “Did you miss the part where I said I had a mysterious past and a huge dick?  Girls would foam at the mouth for me.”

“No, believe me, I know all about those two things.” Y/N snorts, brushing back a loose strand from her eyes before she rolls them. “Unfortunately for you, those are all key characteristics of a protagonist’s love interest.”

A smug smirk overtakes Harry’s face as he flicks on his turn signal, glancing over his shoulder before passing a car that has been going a bit too slow for his liking. “Huh.  Well, I suppose as long as you know that I have those key characteristics— particularly that last one— then I guess I’ll settle. S’the most important of them all, I think.”

He expects his joke to receive a rolling laugh from the human girl, or a noise of acknowledgement at the very least, but all that echoes from her is an empty hum from the back of her throat.  When Harry glimpses her way again, he finds that she’s resumed her previous expression of quiet contemplation, brow creased in thought as she chews on her bottom lip. Concern begins to weigh heavy in Harry’s chest once more.

“Speaking of mysteries, though…” She fiddles with her fingers, twisting one of her rings around a digit the same way Harry does when he’s anxious, and if he were in a better frame of mind, he might take pleasure in the fact that she’s picked up one of his mannerisms. “There is something I’ve been wondering.  About you, I mean.”

From her closed off body language and sudden shift in mood, Harry knows that this has something to do with the guarded and upset expression she’d had when he’d first picked her up.  And, from her lead in, he knows that his assumptions were right: her unsettled demeanor has something to do with him.  Although the possibilities leave a feeling of unease in the pit of his belly, Harry’s curiosity and his need to satiate her wariness wins out, and he forces himself to nod and ask, “What is it, dove?”

Y/N opens her mouth, but no question falls out.  From the corner of his eye, Harry watches as she closes her mouth again, as if she’s decided against asking whatever it is that she wants to. Harry is just about to encourage her to make her inquiry when a surge of confidence suddenly overtakes her body, and she’s spitting it out in a quick and confused voice.

“Why haven’t you introduced me to your friends?”

Out of all the causes for her guarded demeanor, the topic of his friends had been the farthest from his mind.  The question catches Harry so off guard that he, for what feels like the first time, doesn’t have a quick response already formed on the tip of his tongue.  Instead, his own mouth falls open in surprise, and he casts a quick look at the girl from the edge of his emerald eyes before turning back to the road in front of him.

He knows the answer to her question, of course; it’s the same answer that he’s given to his friends every time they’ve asked him to invite Y/N to a bar trivia night, or a weekend barbecue, or a club outing.  And, truthfully, it’s a question that’s been floating more at the forefront of his mind for the last few weeks as he and Y/N have continued to spend time together, gradually becoming a constant in each other’s lives. However, he didn’t expect it to be at the forefront of her own, as well.  

And the answer, really, is quite simple: if Y/N were to spend time with Harry’s gang of friends, there would be a larger possibility of her realizing that there’s something off about all of them.  Like how they all have a specific jeweled accessory that they’re never without, or how none of them seem to ever grow weary, or how they all have the same cold skin and slight shadows around their eyes.  Surely her keen eyes would catch how, despite the copious amount of shots and number of pints they throw back, none of them seem to become inebriated as easily as normal people would, and they can walk out of a club with their heads held high, free of stumbling or exhaustion.  It’s with careful planning and—truthfully— sheer luck that Harry’s managed to present himself with a halfway-human appearance, and he has no doubt that it would be ten times harder to keep up that charade when the chances of her discovering what he is quintuple.

“Uh…” His brow furrows while searching for a valid response to give to the mortal beside him— one that would avoiding hurting her feelings, while still sounding believable. “I-I dunno, really.  I didn’t think it was that big of a deal.”

The quiet “oh,” that slips from Y/N’s downturned lips alerts Harry that, no matter what response she was expecting, that wasn’t the right one.  She tightens her cardigan-clad arms around her middle as she nods tightly, keeping her gaze fixed pointedly on the passenger window.

Harry rubs his bottom lip with his ringed index finger— another nervous tic of his— as he tries to remedy the tension that’s been brewing between them since she first stepped into the car. “I mean… this whole thing—” He gestures between the two of them, and although the urge to take her hand makes his fingers twitch, he returns his grasp to the steering wheel instead of allowing himself to try and extract her palm from the fabric it’s hidden beneath. “— has been between just the two of us, so I didn’t really think… it mattered.” He finishes lamely, knowing that his justification is just making things worse. “Does it need—?  I mean, did you want—?”

“Well, it’s just…” Y/N lifts and lowers her shoulder in one quick motion, the cardigan once again sliding down to reveal the strap of her tank top underneath and a path of smooth skin that Harry yearns to touch. “It’s kind of like a— I don’t know, a marker?  Like if something is going… well…” She spares him a quick glance before returning her gaze to the passing scenery. “You tell your friends.  I’ve, um, I’ve told mine about you— like, my friends back home, over the phone— and if they weren’t so far away, I know they’d want to meet you, so I guess I—”

“You’ve told your friends about me?” Harry cuts over her, the shock laden in his voice raising it from its usual low drawl. “What did you tell them?  What did they say?”

An anxious flush begins to creep up Y/N’s neck and onto her cheeks, and Harry suspects that it’s not from the warm wool of the cardigan. “I did, yeah.  A couple weeks ago.  They called and asked how I was doing, if I had made any interesting friends yet.  And, well— I’ve pretty much only got you right now, so I kind of had to say something.” She lets out a weak laugh, more air than anything substantial. “I just said that we, um, we were seeing each other, kind of.  Like, mostly we’re friends, and we hang out, and—”

“We do more than hang out.” A grimace tugs at Harry’s own lips at her simplified explanation of their complicated relationship, and he risks an elongated look at the girl beside him, trying desperately to read her expression with no success. 

“I know that, but— like, we’re not dating, right?  It’s not… that was the best explanation I could give.  I don’t think there’s a proper label for what we are— not that we need one.” Although Y/N’s laugh holds more substance this time, Harry can still detect an undercurrent of tension in the sound. “Either way, they said they wished they could meet you, so I was just wondering— your friends know about me, obviously.  We’ve met a few times quickly, but we’ve never, like, had a proper introduction, you know?  I met Xander and Niall in the hallway, and Mitch briefly when we were having a movie night at your place… you talk about Adam a lot, too, and I’ve never even seen him in person.” Turning her head towards Harry with slow hesitation, Y/N worries her bottom lip between her teeth, her expression so frighteningly open that it makes Harry’s stomach turn. “Do they not… do they not want to meet me?”

Despite the quiet and cautious cadence of Y/N’s voice, and the way it twists around Harry’s unbeating heart like a vice, the question draws a soft laugh from the vampire.  Shaking his head adamantly, Harry rakes a hand through his curls before it goes to tap against the steering wheel decisively. “No, sweetheart, that’s not it.  They’re actually quite eager to meet you. As of late, I haven’t been able get through five minutes without Niall asking about you.  He pries like a gossipy nan and s’been getting on my nerves, honestly.”

Relief spreads through Harry as the admission brings a gentle upturn to the corners of Y/N’s soft lips, but it’s short-lived as another thought pops into her mind, and her cautious tone returns at the realization that—

“So you don’t want to introduce me to them, then.” She states quietly, a clear degree of hurt present in both her tone and her eyes as she twists her body beneath her seatbelt to face him head on.  As certain as she is in her assumption, the cautious shadow that sweeps over Harry’s face serves as confirmation of her statement, and it creates a hollow pit in her belly that grows with each passing moment.

Y/N is aware that their relationship— or whatever it is, because they still haven’t put a title on it, and that’s a whole other complication that she can’t dive into right now— is about as far from normal dating as they can get.  She’d fucked Harry before she knew his last name, he’d told her to take him deeper before he’d even told her where he was from, and he’d asked her on a date two months after they’d met, mostly out of territorial jealousy; everything that they’ve done has been out of the traditional order.  But still, she thinks, picking at her nails as the strain between them becomes palpable in the worst way, there are certain things that you do when you’re interested in someone.  Certain milestones that indicate that a relationship is viable and can be sustained for an extended period of time.  Meeting someone’s friends usually comes around the two month mark, and by Y/N’s calculations, that means they’re nearly two months overdue.

Which is fine, Y/N tells herself, dropping her gaze from Harry’s stormy sea glass eyes as she chastises the self-pity coursing through her veins.  Everything about their relationship has been done out of order; why should meeting Harry’s friends be any different?

Except it is.  As much as she hates it, it just is, because it’s not even that she hasn’t met them.  It’s that Harry, with his guilt-ridden eyes and darkened demeanor, clearly doesn’t want her to.

“Y/N,” His gentle utterance of her name draws her from her thoughts more than his hand crawling across the leather seat does.  It’s not until his cool fingers weave through hers that her fidgeting stops, and she even notices that he’s moved. “It’s not that I don’t want you to meet them, I just—”

“It’s fine, Harry.” She insists softly, despite the tightness in her statement making it obvious that it’s very much not fine.  She pastes a thin smile onto her lips as she shakes her head, trying to appease him as best she can. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

Harry squirms in the driver’s seat, tightening his hand around the steering wheel as he heaves a sigh through his nose.  Y/N might be saying that, but the look in her eyes tells a different story.  Does she really think that she can look at Harry with such a wide, wounded expression, and he won’t bend over backwards to make things right?  The thought, although scathing, rings true in Harry’s mind as he worries his cheek between his teeth.  Does she not know the lengths he’s willing to go to just to make her feel better?  For fuck’s sake, he’s making a four hour round trip just to take her to a bookstore in San fucking Diego.  Somehow, without Harry noticing it, this human has managed to influence him in ways he couldn’t possibly imagine anyone ever would again.  Is he supposed to believe that she’s unaware of that?

Shaking his head tersely at her previous reply, Harry squeezes her fingers in his own, clearing the newly formed lump from his throat. “Yes, I do.” He says firmly, looking at the girl from the corner of his eye. “I can tell where your mind is going, love, and I promise you, it’s not as bad as you think.”

“Oh, yeah?” Despite the hurt still splashed across her irises, there’s an echo of a challenge in her tone. “So you just hide all of your… hook-ups from your friends, then?”

“You know I don’t have hook-ups, Y/N.  There’s no one else, there’s just— there’s you.  I only have you.” Harry makes his words as plain as can be, without any joke or teasing to downplay the sincerity of what he’s saying— or attempting to say, because his throat feels so tight that he can barely choke out a single syllable. “And that’s why I haven’t introduced you yet.  I… I like what we have.  This—” He raises their clasped hands, bringing the back of her knuckles to his lips so he can plant a chaste kiss over her soft skin. “I like it.  We’ve spent these last few months in a bubble, just you and me, and it’s been…” A smile tugs at the corner of Harry’s lips, nervous and shy, but tinged with hope. “S’been amazing.  And I’m just… not ready to give that up yet. I…I don’t know how to word it, really.  I’m not good with, um—” With emotions, he thinks to himself. He’s not good with expressing any of this, but he forces himself to try. “It just feels like what we have is something I want to keep private, because it’s special. It’s kind of like when you were a kid and you got a new toy, yeah? And you didn’t want anyone to touch it because you liked it so much, you wanted to keep it all to yourself. It was something so personal, you didn’t want to share it…” 

Harry trails off to look over at Y/N anxiously, and then comes to a sudden realization of the unintentional mistake he’d made by using such a materialistic analogy. His voice comes out rushed and apologetic. “And I’m not saying you’re an object or anything! I just wanted to explain it better and that’s the first thing that popped into my head. Did that...make sense? It probably sounded a bit dense. Or very dense. I’m sorry.” Harry knows he’s babbling aimlessly now, and with a surrendered sigh, he lowers their hands to the seat, still keeping Y/N’s fingers locked tightly with his. “I don’t want to share you, petal.  That’s what it comes down to, really— just me being selfish.  I like having your attention all to myself.”

Y/N listens attentively to Harry’s explanation as a new wave of blood boils to her cheeks, warming every inch of her body.  As much as she still has her doubts— about his reasoning, about their whole arrangement— she wants to believe him.  She wants to believe him more than anything in the world.  

So do it, she tells herself, grazing her lip between her teeth as her gaze remains glued on Harry’s (ridiculously attractive) side profile.  Believe him.  He’s never given you reason not to.

“Okay.” She finds herself saying, and she decides that it’s her turn to raise Harry’s knuckles to her lips for a kiss.  His skin is cool against her mouth, as always, and she lingers against him before lowering their intertwined hands to her lap. “I get it.  I like what we have, too; I don’t want it to change.  Plus,” She can’t resist tacking on a dig, glancing at Harry with a sly look. “From the brief interactions we’ve had, I think Niall and I are pretty compatible, so I don’t blame you for wanting to keep us apart.”

Although Harry barks out a laugh, he barely manages to hide the flash of crimson that streaks through his eyes at the suggestion. “Please,” He shakes his head as he strokes his thumb over the back of Y/N’s knuckles in a possessive manner. “I’m not worried about Niall.  If I was going to be concerned about you leaving me for any of my friends, it would be Adam.” Y/N shoots him a curious look, and his dimples pop out of his cheeks as he elaborates. “Good sense of humour, attractive, and arguably the most sane out of all of us, present company included.  But he can’t perform in bed like I can, so I think that’s a solid deterring factor.  And I doubt he’d drop everything to drive you to a bookstore you found out about through— where did you say you heard about this place again?”

“Uh,” Y/N drops her gaze from Harry, turning her head straight back to the road as she shifts in her seat. “I, um, I saw it on TikTok.”

The vampire snorts obnoxiously, pulling his hand from Y/N’s to rake his fingers through his rouge curls. “Jesus Christ, of course you did.”

Y/N matches his scoffing with ease, crossing her arms over her chest with a defensive air. “Don’t give me that tone!  This is exactly why I didn’t tell you! You know, you can actually find a lot of valuable information on there—”

“Yeah, because filming yourself doing the Renegade is a really great use of your time.”

“I didn’t say— wait—” The mortal girl quirks an eyebrow as she regards him with disbelieving eyes. “How do you know about the Renegade?”

“There’s a reason we blocked the app from Niall’s phone.”

///

Much to Harry’s relief, the drive back to Los Angeles begins a lot smoother than the drive to San Diego had.  

The bookshop had been extremely similar to the antique store they’d been to a while back— it had the same rustic, messy aesthetic that gives a cozy, homey vibe, and it had sprouted a seed of nostalgia in Harry’s chest. They’d wandered around for a bit with their fingers intertwined, rarely breaking away from each other for too long for the sake of maintaining their buddy system. The pair had filtered through the extensive array of titles and knickknacks, walking under archways built out of novels and winding through tall shelves full of vintage collectibles. Y/N had entertained herself with grazing over the spines of all the different books they’d passed, her eyes glazed with a form of childlike wonder he’d grown so fond of seeing. And while Y/N had been losing herself in all the old treasures the shop had to offer, Harry had found himself losing his thoughts to her dreamy smile instead. 

Satisfied with her purchases of Wuthering Heights and Romeo and Juliet, as well as a used copy of Jane Eyre (“Look, Harry, it has little notes in it from the previous owner!  Isn’t that neat?”), Y/N had settled into the passenger seat with ease, a light smile on her face as she buckled her seatbelt.  Harry’s own mood is considerably brighter than it had been on the previous drive, but his shift in energy had only partially been caused by his purchase of a new Simon and Garfunkel album.  Truthfully, Harry thinks, as he watches Y/N thumb through her new second-hand annotated book (the irony of her affinity for literature written from Harry’s original time period is not lost to him), his attitude is merely a mirror of the girl next to him.  It’s much more difficult to be in a good mood when she’s in a sour one, but on the flip side, it’s nearly impossible to be grumpy when she’s showing such a sunny disposition.

Her inquiries from their drive to the bookstore are worrying him, of course.  He knows that he’ll have to introduce her to his friends eventually, especially if he wants to keep this agreement between the two of them up.  He also knows that it’ll be ten times harder to do so with Niall running his mouth, Xander making sly digs, and Mitch and Adam watching him with parental-like concern.  Perhaps it would be easier to just call this all off right now, before things continue to progress.  It would certainly be better for Y/N, he’s sure of it.  Y/N, who gets excited over annotations in her books.  Y/N, who sings along off-key to the radio even when she doesn’t know all the words.  Y/N, who innocently presses tender kisses to his throat in a manner that draws an obsolete warmth from every limb of his undead body, and who smiles at his stupid inappropriate jokes and returns them with her own, and who fits into his arms like she was made for the sole purpose of filling them perfectly.

Y/N, who is reaching between the two of them, intertwining their fingers together with a practiced motion, and—

“Thank you for taking me to the bookstore.” The human girl murmurs, her lips grazing the back of Harry’s knuckles as she speaks. “I really do appreciate it, although I’m sorry I pulled you away from your friends.”

Harry’s woes melt away as she pecks across his icy skin, and a grin begins to jolt his lips as he brings her hand to his own mouth. “Don’t be sorry.” He smears a kiss to the back before dropping their tangled palms to the seat between them, his thumb caressing over her velvety flesh. “You’re much better company than the four of them.  And much prettier.”

“You’re such a flirt.” Y/N rolls her eyes at the comment, but leans further towards Harry in her seat. “And a liar.  We both know that Mitch is prettier.”

“Mitch?” Harry’s emerald eyes widen in appalled surprise, the corner of his lips twitching once more in amusement. “Out of all of my friends, you think Mitch is the prettiest?  What about Xander?  He’s quite the vain one, don’t you think?”

Y/N shrugs one shoulder in a light manner. “I like Mitch’s hair.  The long style works for him.”

“Ah, it’s the hair.  That makes sense; it’s always the hair.” Nodding sagely, Harry allows his lips to pull into a full grin. “So you like it long, hm?  Suppose I should keep growing mine out, then?”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Sherlock.” Y/N shoots him a smirk that’s much more mischievous than his own. “I said the long hair worked for him, not you.  Who’s the vain one now?”

Despite the jesting tone of her voice, jealousy twinges in the back of Harry’s mind as his eyes darken from emerald to forest green.  He forces his lips to stay upturned as he offers a response that’s only half a joke. “Ouch, Watson.  S’not very nice, especially considering how I’ve driven you to San Diego and back today.  I think I deserve a bit of praise, don’t you?  Instead of you mocking me—”

“I’m not mocking!” Y/N’s protest is muffled around the entertainment in her voice, the rainbow cardigan once again slipping from her shoulder as she shakes with suppressed laughter. “Making one little comment isn’t mocking!  It would be mocking you if I acted like you do when you get in front of a mirror— you make this one specific face, like you’re trying to pull a Blue Steel, and—”

“Alright, that’s enough.” Harry huffs as he yanks his hand away from Y/N’s, swiping it through his loose ringlet before clamping it back around the steering wheel. “Ungrateful little wench, aren’t you?  I have half a mind to pull over right now and—”

“A wench?  I’m a wench?” Y/N’s laughter grows louder, filling the entire Cadillac with the unabashed sound that, despite his act, warms the pit of Harry’s stomach. “Alright then, Merlin. What, are you going to put me to work in a labour house?  Is that what a wench does these days?”

“First of all,” Harry quips, giving her a flat glimpse, “I’d be Arthur, not Merlin. Main character complex, remember?”

Y/N rolls her eyes grandly, proceeding to lower her head in a dramatic bow. “My apologies, sire. How could I forget?” 

“And second of all,” the vampire states slightly louder, talking over her sarcasm, “no, because apparently, all wenches do nowadays is just make fun of the men who volunteer to spend four hours in a car with them without so much as a ‘thank you.’”

The mortal girl’s upturned mouth drops open in amused disbelief. “What—?  I said thank you!  Literally three minutes ago!” 

“Did you?  I don’t recall.” Harry sighs airily as he smoothly guides the car around a bend in the road. “All I remember is you saying you think Mitch is sexier than I am.”

Snorting loudly, Y/N crosses her arms over her middle as she gives a small shake of her head. “Alright, I think that’s a bit of a stretch.  I just said he has nice hair.  And, while we’re on the topic—”

“Watch it.”

“— his mustache is cool, too.  It suits him.”

“You know, I could grow a mustache if I wanted to.” Harry can’t help the pout that plumps his lips, nor can he help the whine that creeps into his voice when Y/N giggles at the sight. “It’s true!  I could!  I just choose not to.  And, really, you should be thanking me for it, because it saves you from getting a carpet burn between your thighs.”

“So I should be thanking you for driving me today, for not growing facial hair…” Y/N ticks off the items on her fingers with a ridiculing gleam dancing through her eyes. “Anything else we need to add to the list?”

Harry tuts as he thinks, pursing his lips in consideration before letting out a sharp exhale as a sly smile carves his dimples into place. “That cardigan you’re wearing.  You could thank me for letting you borrow it— although ‘stealing’ might be a more accurate term.”

A miffed expression rises to Y/N’s face just as a flush does. “I didn’t steal it!  I’ve just been borrowing it, like you said.”

“Mmm.  Alright.” Harry hums in the back of his throat as he glances at the girl beside him, kinking a brow expectantly. “And when can I expect it back?”

“Fairly soon, actually.  It—” Y/N’s cheeks boil with more heat as she drops her attention to her lap, clearing her throat gently before continuing. “It, um, it doesn’t really smell like you anymore, so…”

Silence falls between the two as Y/N’s voice drifts off, leaving behind only the sound of Fleetwood Mac gently drifting through Harry’s speakers to cut through the thickening tension that fills the vehicle.  It’s only the faint sound of Y/N’s own shallow breaths that reminds Harry that he needs to fake his own, and he sucks in a deep gasp of air, his throat burning as her thick honey and lavender scent settles on the back of his tongue.

“Well,” He begins cautiously, gauging her reaction from the corner of his eye while keeping most of his gaze glued to the road. “You can always steal it again after I get it back, yeah?  It’ll be good as new.”

Harry nearly heaves an audible sigh of relief when he sees the edge of Y/N’s mouth twitch. “Not steal.  Borrow.” She corrects, her voice as tentative as his.

The heavy atmosphere in the car begins to dissipate as Harry rolls his eyes with fondness. “Agree to disagree, dove.”

Y/N lets out a sound of dissent as she rubs her palms down her legs, drumming her fingertips against her knees with finality. “Thank you for letting me borrow it, H.  And thank you for not growing a mustache.” She giggles out, throwing a coy smile his way before her expression grows more gentle. “And thank you for driving me today, although I’ve already said it.  I’ll have to think of a way to repay you.”

“Oh, I could think of a few.” Harry says with a suggestive smirk, thrumming his ringed fingers against the steering wheel. “How do you feel about spending the night?  We could order dinner from that Thai place you like, take a nice bath, and I could spend a few hours between your thighs while you make those sweet little noises I like so much.  Sounds relaxing, doesn’t it?”

“It does.” Y/N agrees, keeping her voice as light as she possibly can at the mention of Harry’s skilled tongue working her over. “But that doesn’t seem like much of a thank you on my behalf.  Shouldn’t I be the one giving you something?”

Harry casts a look at the mortal girl with a raised brow. “Shouldn’t I get to choose my own reward?”

The fact that he sees the action of eating her out as a reward makes Y/N’s tummy froth. She really doesn’t know how she got so lucky, truly. “You should, but I can think of something better.”

The creature licks his lips once at the promise of something more enjoyable than her taste on his tongue. “Well, I wouldn’t say no to a blowie in the bath.”

“Actually…” Y/N tugs her bottom lip between her teeth as she casts Harry a sideways look through her lashes, twisting her body beneath her seatbelt to angle towards him. “I was thinking of something more immediate.”

The question of what she means by that dies before it can make its way out of Harry’s mouth, stopped in its tracks the moment Y/N’s fingers travel across the leather seat between them.  She rests her palm on his thigh for a moment before beginning to massage the muscle beneath his trousers, her delicate fingertips just brushing over his inseam as her hand works its way higher.

A choked groan is all Harry can manage when her touch travels over his suddenly-growing bulge, and it takes all of his focus not to veer the car off the road. “Y/N,” He says, his accent low and thick with warning. “‘M driving, sweetheart.”

“I know.” Her voice thrums darker than normal as her palm presses flat against him, moving in a slow circle over the plaid fabric with insistence. “I didn’t ask you to stop, did I?  You can keep driving.”

The laugh that rolls from Harry’s lips is breathless and strained. “Yeah, except I can’t when you’re— fuck—” Y/N squeezes along his hardening shaft, and Harry tightens his hands around the steering wheel with nearly enough force to bend it. “‘M gonna crash this bloody car if you keep doing that.”

“No, you won’t.” The mortal girl smiles sweetly at him as her nimble fingers pop the button of his tartan slacks, grasping his zipper and tugging it down so slowly that it’s almost painful. “You can multitask, can’t you?”

“Not like— God—” Clenching his jaw, Harry casts a pained glance at Y/N, only allowing himself a moment of looking before forcing his attention back to the road.  What he sees in that moment, however, is a mischievous glint in her eyes that’s hidden beneath set determination, and the combination would send a shiver down his spine even without her soft hand creeping beneath his trousers. “This doesn’t feel like a reward, pet.  Feels like torture.”

Y/N shrugs lightly, continuing to rock against Harry over his boxers as her free hand reaches for her seat belt and clicks the release button. “Maybe it is.  Maybe I want to see if you can stay just as focused as I did when you made me cum on that ladder. Remember?  Right in the middle of that antique mall?”

Harry watches as her seat belt retracts, a flash of worry striking through his body. Before he can voice his concern for her safety, her hand is dipping beneath the waistband of his boxers. “Y/N,” He strains to get her name past his lips, his abdomen tightening as she grips him snuggly, and her palm feels like agony and salvation all at once. “If you make me cum in my pants with an hour left in our drive, I’ll never forgive you.”

“Or maybe…” Shifting across the seat, Y/N leans into Harry’s ear, her breath hot against his cool skin as she pumps him slowly and ignores the comment he’d moaned. “Maybe I just feel the way you did that day.  Maybe I want to tease you a bit.” She uses the precum that’s begun to steadily leak from his tip as lubricant, twisting her hand around his length to elicit a hiss from Harry’s clenched jaw. She takes the shell of his ear between her teeth, nibbling at it just to feel him writhe in response. “What was it you said to me, H?  When you slid your fingers inside me in that little music room?”

Harry offers no response other than the short puff of air that leaves his nostrils as he clenches the wheel harder beneath his palms.  He keeps his eyes locked on the road, knowing that if he looks down and sees Y/N working him beneath his slacks, he won’t be able to restrain himself from yanking the car to the side of the road and throwing her into the backseat.  And however wonderful that sounds— because it does sound incredibly wonderful, especially when Y/N swipes her thumb teasingly over his bubbling tip— he can’t let himself give into her.

Y/N, however, doesn’t seem to accept defeat so easily, and begins to drift her lips down Harry’s jaw and neck.  While the area had previously been a sensitive spot for Harry in the worst way, he’s repeatedly come to find that the sensitivity he feels when Y/N caresses him there to be an entirely new and pleasant sensation. 

“You said you wanted to have fun, remember?” She licks over the curve of his throat, her own breathing growing heavy when she feels Harry’s Adam’s apple bob beneath her tongue. “Now it’s my turn, don’t you think?”

“Thought—” Harry swallows thickly again, his hips unconsciously thrusting up slightly into Y/N’s hot palm. “Thought this was about thanking me, wasn’t it?  Not getting even.”

Y/N pulls away from his skin with a coquettish look in her wide eyes, her brows raised and lips parted into a small pout. “Are you saying that my mouth isn’t enough of a thank you?”

“Your—?  Oh, fucking hell—” Harry nearly swerves the car into the other lane of traffic when Y/N frees his length from his trousers, the cool temperature of the air-conditioned car sending a shudder down his spine.  The sensation only increases when Y/N dips her head down and extends her tongue to tease his cherry tip with the textured surface. “Y/N.”

“That’s what I thought.” The human girl says smugly, a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips even when she wraps her mouth fully around his head and sucks gently, just enough to draw a breathless whimper from the man above her. 

With one hand still grasped tight around the steering wheel, Harry threads his other into Y/N’s hair, roughly tangling his fingers between her silky locks.  He doesn’t guide her head as he usually does, but the idea of being able to move her if he wants allows him to feel a semblance of control. 

Y/N clenches her thighs together as she bobs her head down further, heat pooling inside her belly as she feels Harry tug on her hair with the lightest pressure.  She trails the tip of her tongue down Harry’s expanse, following the prominent vein that pulses underneath her touch. “Do you still want me to stop, baby?” She asks softly, looking up at him through her lashes as she pumps him in a slow motion, batting her lashes sultrily. 

“No.” Harry whines the word as he presses his head back into the seat rest, his neck flexing as he forces his gaze to stay pinned on the road. “No, love, just— fuck, just keep going.” He grits his teeth when he feels her nose smudge along one of his fern tattoos, his next phrase coming out as a barely contained growl. “You’re down there already, so you might as well.”

Tucking her loose hair behind her ears, Y/N takes Harry back into her mouth, pushing herself further and further down his cock at a pace that’s nearly agonizing.  Harry twists his hand within her roots to create a makeshift ponytail, holding the locks out of her face so that she can focus better on the task at hand.  He feels the mortal girl smile around his length, her tender fingertips drawing a little heart along his exposed pelvis as a cheeky thank you. 

As the highway straightens out, Harry risks lifting his hand from the steering wheel for a quick moment, and his deft fingers quickly find the volume button of the stereo to lower it to a quiet lull.  He wants to hear every sound of Y/N’s throat opening up for him, and the muted noises she releases at the taste of him in her mouth.  

Of course, all of that is nearly overpowered by his own sounds of pleasure, and he struggles to keep himself quiet as he grips the wheel with renewed force. “Fuck, doll, look at you...I just…Christ.” The last word comes out as an elongated groan, his eyelids fluttering as her tongue massages down his extent in slow and even strokes. “Just like that, darling. God, you’re so good. Such a pretty mouth with such a filthy fucking tongue, hm?”

Harry throws a haphazard glance over his shoulder as another vehicle passes them, and a flash of territorial protection runs through him at the possibility of someone looking into the car and seeing Y/N touching him like this.  The sight of her acting like such a bold little minx is for his eyes only, and that thought combined with her slow, blissful motions pushes him to inch his foot towards the gas.  Harry wants to put a bit of distance between them and the other traffic on the highway, which will insert some much needed privacy into the situation. 

His acceleration, however, is interrupted by a particularly rough bump in the road, and his body jerks in his seat as they drive over it.  He hears the sound of Y/N gagging before he registers the searing sensation of his cock hitting the back of her throat, and he risks a peek downwards to see Y/N’s watery eyes blinking up at him in disorientation.

“Baby—” He tugs her head up from his lap, concern mingling with the pleasure in his voice as he evaluates her well-being.  Her expression is hazy from her ministrations, and she blinks tears from her irises, keeping one hand wrapped firmly around his length as the other wipes away the wetness at the corner of her eye. “‘M sorry.” Harry gulps thickly as he smooths his thumb over Y/N’s scalp, trying to soothe any discomfort he may have caused. “Are you alright?”

Y/N nods in a jerking motion as her mood darkens lustfully, and she swipes her thumb over the glistening tip of his cock before answering. “I’m fine, H.  Just caught off guard.  Don’t worry.” The rasp in her voice is evidence of her actions, and Harry hates how the sound goes straight to his throbbing length in her hand.  Undeterred by the harsh thrust that had choked her a few moments earlier, Y/N leans down once more to smear more sloppy kisses to the head of his prick, rubbing the slit against her bottom lip to elicit a cracked gasp from Harry’s lungs. “Just wanna make you feel good.”

“You—You are.  God, you fucking are.” The praise falls easily from Harry’s raspberry lips as her mouth returns to its previous distraction, fully suckling on the leaking head as her hand continues to work him in a practiced manner. “Feels like a dream, sweetheart, t-the way you take me down your throat like that.”

The mortal girl keens at the validation, and uses it as fuel to push herself further down his shaft again.  She makes sure that she’s mindful of how deep she’s taking him, keeping her hand wrapped firmly around the base as a buffer in case they hit any more rough patches of road.  With that worry eased, she allows herself to focus on massaging his pulsing prick with her tongue, alternating movements with strong sucks to his sensitive tip. She twists her wrist at a rising pace, matching it to the tempo she’s established with her mouth, working him over messily and swimming in the strangled noises that pour out above her.

Y/N sniffles lightly, talking over Harry’s thick cock to the best of her ability, her voice garbled and raw. “You’re so fucking big, Harry. And so pretty, too.” She moves her hand lower down his expanse, carefully cupping his heavy balls and fondling them between her fingers, preening at the fractured grunt that filters from her lover’s taut throat. “And so full.”

“Please, baby…” The immortal’s quiet plea sends electricity coursing through every cell in her body, his grip on her hair tightening to the point where blots of color speckle her foggy vision. “Don’t stop. Just please don’t fucking stop.” 

“I want it.” She whispers around him, the warm breath of her words puffing down his prickling skin and sending goosebumps across his clammy thighs. “I want you to fill my mouth, Daddy. Want every last drop.”

The creature sucks in a rattling breath through the cracks of his teeth, waves of pleasure erupting along his cheeks and down the knobs of his spine, all because of how erotic her delicate voice sounds as it expresses such explicit confessions. “You’re fucking ruining me, dove.” 

The girl tugs at Harry’s balls gently, rolling them around her palm again as she gives a particularly harsh suck. He can’t stop the loud whine that tumbles down his tongue in response, his hips bucking upwards a tad in unrestrained need. “I want you to give it to me, H. Please? Want you so bad.” 

Harry throws his head further back against the headrest of his seat, his jaw dropping open in a silent moan as his heavy eyelids lull over his rolling irises, tears blearing his vision until he can barely make out the road in front of him. “Gonna—Gonna give it to you, pet. Gonna give you every last bit, all for my sweet girl.” 

Y/N hones her blurred sight above her onto Harry’s face, more warmth flooding the area between her thighs. He looks gorgeous as ever, with his prominent features slack in ecstasy, his clavicle cutting into the sweaty skin visible along the collar of his fitted tee, and with his unusually dark eyes framed by his long lashes. His chest is heaving wildly as he tries to keep his composure, his cross necklace glimmering in the sun with every rapid rise of his defined muscles. His sharp jaw is wound taut, the tendon along the structure ticking as he gazes at her drunkenly from above his sculpted cheekbones. His chestnut curls as matted along his temple and over the nape of his neck due to the heat of the moment, his thick brows are knitted together in pleasurable gripe, and his teeth-swollen lips are parted in aroused wonder at how skillfully she’s taking every last inch of him without any hesitation whatsoever. 

Y/N watches him intensely, drinking up every twitch of his expression and every soft groan he tries to stifle, her tongue lapping at him with more excitement than before. Harry locks eyes with her through his foggy haze, the corners of his flushed lips jolting upwards into a cocky open-mouthed smirk when he sees just how fucked he’s got her, despite the fact that he’s barely lifted a finger through the entire process. He slowly tongues over his chapped lips, glimpsing back up towards the highway for a split second to make sure he’s avoiding any other oncoming cars. He then returns his attention to the human, giving her head a playful tug and feeling the tip of his cock nudge along the roof of his mouth, resulting in a low hiss streaming past his condescending simper. “Why don’t you take a picture, princess? It’ll last you longer.” 

Y/N gives a quick squeeze to his balls, sly satisfaction weaving its way into her chest when she feels him jerk in response, a whined curse of, “Fuck me.” slipping through his defenses. “Maybe you should watch your tone while I’m down here.”

Harry raises an eyebrow at her challengingly, his palm grasping the back of her head with more intent and forcing her down, her nose smearing over his tummy as he hits the back of her throat deeper than before. He holds her there for a second, reveling in the way she constricts around him as soft gagging sounds bounce off the walls of his Cadillac. 

After a few seconds, he pulls her back up his cock to a more reasonable length, humming smugly as she shudders and coughs dryly, her eyes twinkling submissively. His voice comes out strained, but its dark and accented tenor holds its usual unyielding authority, as well as arrogant chiding. “And maybe you should learn not to talk back to me. Guess I’ll have to pull the paddle back out sooner than expected, huh?” 

A shiver coils down Y/N’s spine at the reference to that night. It happened a few weeks ago, but the memory is fresh in her mind as if it’s only been hours. It’s nearly impossible to forget, given everything Harry had put her through, and she often finds herself thinking back on it whenever she needs some relief and doesn’t have his company as help. 

The human murmurs her next sentence shyly, her watery eyes regarding him with a certain type of wistfulness that makes his balls ache. “Maybe you should.”

Harry lets out an airy chuckle at her eagerness, which slowly molds into a gravelly moan when she returns to dipping her head with faster, sloppier strokes. A few strands of hair have escaped the ponytail in his palm, and he takes great care in tucking them back behind her ears with his index finger, which then trails across her cheek affectionately. “Maybe I will. But right now, you just worry about finishing me off. Then, we’ll see if I’m feeling up to it some other time— if I feel like you deserve it.” 

Y/N nods her head obediently. “Thank you, Daddy.”

“‘Course, darling. Anything for my proper little slut. Especially when she’s taking me down her throat like such a good fucking girl.” 

Y/N’s only reply is a broken mewl, and she allows herself to become immersed back into the action of giving Harry the orgasm she so desperately wants to deliver.   

She can taste precum as it dribbles onto her tongue, a precursor to Harry’s impending climax, and the flavour makes her center throb.  She has half a mind to remove him from her mouth and beg him to pull over so that she can properly ride him, but she doesn’t doubt that doing so would add hours onto their travel time.  There’ll be time for all that once they’re back at his place, she reminds herself, pulling off of him just enough to lick her lips before lowering herself again.  Right now, there’s just one thing she wants above all else, and if the sounds Harry is making are any indication, she’s fairly close to getting it.

“So fucking close, angel.” Harry pants, his abdomen contracting over and over again as he struggles to keep the car moving at a steady and consistent pace. “Gonna make me cum, aren’t you?  Want Daddy to pump that pretty mouth full?”

Y/N hums around Harry as he yanks on her hair again, more for the sensation than to actually guide her.  Still, she pulls up from his prick with a pop, looking up at him with doe-like eyes as she replies. “Mhmm.” She hums again, giving him a particularly hard pump and delighting in the groan that rolls from his tongue. “Wanna taste you.”

“You— fuck, darling, that’s fucking it.” Harry’s words echo from his throat in a ragged gasp as he twists his jeweled fingers around her locks once more, straining his head back against the seat to keep himself from looking down again as she retakes him down her throat. “I’m gonna fucking— Oh my God, baby, please—”

Y/N digs the nails of her free hand into Harry’s pelvis, scraping over his plant tattoos as she feels his toned tummy tighten beneath her touch.  It only takes one more squeeze of her hand around his balls and one last determined suckle to draw his orgasm from him, and she lifts herself until just the head of his cock is in her mouth as he spills onto her tongue.  Her own eyes flutter shut as she whines at the salty taste, swallowing it down without a second thought.  She keeps her lips locked around him, wanting to capture every aftershock that spurts into her mouth, feeling ropes of cum splatter across her taste buds as Harry squirms against his seat, whining in encouragement.

She continues to milk him for everything he’s worth, repeatedly prodding the twitching vein protruding along his prick and scraping his sputtering head against the inside of her cheek, wanting to urge every last drop out of him. She only pulls away when the young man whimpers from above, shakily tugging on her hair to alert her that he’s crossing into more sensitive territory.

“Fucking shit…” He murmurs weakly, his breathing erratic as he eases off the gas pedal to reduce the car to a slower pace, rather than keeping the accelerated speed he’d fallen into as he came.  He combs his fingers through Y/N’s mussed locks as a faint, exhausted chuckle rolls from his lips, his thumb ducking down to collect a bit of the mess that had seeped out of the corner of her mouth. He pushes the digit past her swollen, colored lips, his breath catching as he watches her clean it off without a single hitch. “God, minx, I’m gonna need a little warning the next time you decide to do that. Thought I was gonna crash the car a few times.”

“You wouldn’t have.” Y/N reassures him quietly, looking up at him with a fond smile before turning her attention to his softening prick.  She licks up one stray bead of cum from his tip, delighting in the strangled sound the action draws from Harry. She then proceeds to carefully tuck him back inside his trousers, buttoning and zipping them up with ease.  She even takes care to tuck his red and black striped shirt back inside the waistband, but only after she presses a gentle kiss to his still-tensed abdomen, nuzzling her nose across his happy trail and feeling butterflies flutter in her belly when he lets out an appreciative mewl.

Harry inhales deeply as he watches her sit up from the corner of his eye, his hand slipping from her hair to his own to fix the disheveled curls. “No, I suppose not.  I have precious cargo.  Speaking of—” He reaches over Y/N’s body, and with one hand still on the wheel, fumbles to fasten her seatbelt back across her chest and lap. “Y’gotta keep this on if you ever do that again, alright?  S’not safe to have it off for so long.”

A fond smile tugs at Y/N’s lips as Harry sews his fingers over her thigh, squeezing lightly over her jeans before massaging the muscle.  She’s noticed that he’s grown more and more touchy and protective each time they’re intimate with each other, and it would be a lie to say she doesn’t enjoy it. “Yes, sir.”

Harry’s fingertips stutter over Y/N’s leg for just a moment, and the twitch of his sensitive cock beneath his slacks nearly causes Harry to swerve the car again. “Fuck, don’t say that right now.” He mumbles brokenly, his voice much more raw than he’d like it to be. “Don’t think my poor dick can handle it.”

Laughter bursts from Y/N’s chests, and the contagious sound draws a giggle from Harry’s own body as she settles her fingers over his, twisting them together in an instinctive motion. “Too sensitive?” She teases, lulling her head back against her seat rest while keeping her eyes focused on him, sweetening her voice down into a babying drawl. “You poor thing.”

A bright pink blush sears itself onto Harry’s cheeks as he clears his throat, tightening his hand around the wheel again to ground himself. “Yeah.  I only really like overstimulation when I’m the one administering it, not the one receiving it.  And you—” He squeezes her thigh as punctuation. “—are much too stimulating, especially when you’re looking at me like that.”

Another honeyed giggle falls from Y/N’s strawberry lips, and the corners of her eyes crinkle as her smile continues to grow. “I like seeing you like this.” She says decisively, her eyes twinkling with amusement as she reaches over and affectionately twirls one of his loose ringlets around her finger. “All flustered.  It’s cute.”

“Are you seriously calling me cute after deep-throating me while I drive?” Harry asks incredulously, a snort echoing from his throat as he shifts around in his seat.  He’s already uncomfortable in his trousers again, both from the wetness she’d left on him and the way her words are making him stiffen again. 

“Mm.” Y/N thrums in agreement as her free hand reaches for the stereo, dialing up the volume again so the sounds of The Kinks can be heard without strain. “I think you’re cute— very cute, actually.  Even moreso when you get all blushy. Am I not allowed to say that?”

Another layer of warmth soaks itself across Harry’s small ears and stinging nose, and he tries to play off his childish reaction with a casual scoff. He can’t deny the way the compliment makes him feel, though. It’s different from the praise she usually gives him, which tends to be sexual and in the heat of the moment. But this is much more intimate in such a sweet and tender manner, and he hasn’t received that type of innocent attention from someone in much too long. He likes it, he decides. Especially when it comes from Y/N.

She makes him weak, and though he’d normally seethe at the idea of anyone ever making him weak again, he comes to find that the softness she coaxes from him is something so different from the mainstream definition of that dangerous word. She makes him weak, yes, but not in a destructive sense. This girl— this simple mortal girl with bones made of glass and skin of fine velvet— makes him weak in the knees, and in the pit of his stomach, and in the cement walls he’d built around his phantom heart. She makes him vulnerable in new places that have been entirely foreign to him for the last twenty decades, if the glowing warmth surging through him is any indication. And for the first time in a while, he’s beginning to think that maybe— just maybe— that’s not such a terrible thing.

The vampire comes to the sudden epiphany that being weak for someone is unorthodox to him because it’s a human trait. Allowing yourself to form a deeper connection with someone— with a person completely the opposite of what you are— requires compassion and understanding. It requires willingness and empathy, as well as trust and pure intentions. It requires humanity. And that’s what Y/N is doing, Harry realizes. She’s taking that last wilted shred of humanity he possesses and is urging him to use it. Even though it’s not intentional on her behalf, and even though she has no idea of just how small that fragment of humanity is, it’s somehow miraculously working; just her being the caring soul she’s always been seems to be enough to awaken that part of him. 

Despite the fact that the immortal would normally laugh at such a stupidly cringey and cliche concept, there’s no denying that at this point in their little LifeTime movie crossover, it’s true. That’s why it feels so utterly weird— she’s bringing out a side of himself he hasn’t shown in literal centuries. She makes him feel the one sensation he didn’t think was possible for him to ever experience again: She makes him feel alive. 

Oh.

…Oh. 

Harry snaps himself out of his inner turmoil, sucking in a shaky breath and exhaling slowly, releasing all his consuming thoughts. Relying on his supernatural impulses to focus on any oncoming hazards, the creature allows himself the indulgence of shifting his hunter eyes onto Y/N for a lingering glance.  The sun is just beginning to set outside the car window, ducking over the cityscape and washing the distant buildings in mellow shades of soothing pinks, cozy oranges, and buttery yellows. The colors cast a golden light through the glass of his car, and it settles onto Y/N’s soft features like stardust, highlighting her flyaway hairs, the gentle slope of her plush lips, and the dreamy tinge in her captivating eyes.  

If Harry didn’t know any better, about both what she is and about not believing in such ridiculous tales, he’d think she was an angel.  Not that an angel would ever be seen with the likes of him.

“Y’can say that, petal.” He murmurs after a lengthy pause, reluctantly returning his attention to the long stretch of road in front of him, his palm still secured over Y/N’s denim-covered thigh.  If he focuses enough, he can feel her pulse through the fabric, and the steady thumping sends a strange prickling through his hand and into the rest of his body. “You can say whatever you’d like, and I’d listen.”

“Oh, is that so?” She pokes at him with a cheeky grin, using her nail to absentmindedly trace the blood red daylight crystals embedded into the eyes of his lionhead ring. “So you’re actually offering to listen for once, instead of making your cocky little comments?”

The edges of the vampire’s lips jolt with endearment. “Just this once, yeah.” 

Except it’s not just this once, Harry thinks to himself, adding on the words he will most likely never have the courage to speak aloud. I’d listen to anything and everything you have to say. No matter how small and insignificant it may be, or however random and useless you might think it is. I’d listen. For you, always.

Harry doesn’t express his private thoughts, but he pretends that he has, and he pretends that the smile Y/N is gifting him at the moment is her heartfelt response to his silent confessions. 

He adores it more than he should, and how could he not? It’s so blinding, he thinks it could very well burn him.

///

It’s not that Harry is nervous for tonight, because he’s not.  

Spending his Friday nights with Y/N has become as regular as clockwork, and Harry knows that it’s overdue in their routine for him to cook a dinner for her, given that she’d had the courtesy of doing it for him. He’s already picked up her favourite red wine to accompany the gnocchi recipe he’d sweet-talked Vincenzo into sharing with him (Gnocchi al Vostro Gusto— the one she’d enjoyed on their date at Bella Vita), as well as snagged all the ingredients for the lavender lemonade cocktail he planned to make her when she first arrived.  He’d even gone so far as to freeze a few petals from edible flowers into his cubed trays earlier in the day, just to up the ante on his already stunning presentation.  

He’s already set out shining dinner plates along his kitchen island, tidied and dusted his entire condo, and made each of his friends promise to leave him alone for the night.  He’s prepared everything that’s been within his power into sheer perfection; nothing could possibly go wrong.  So he’s not nervous, because everything is fine and because he never gets nervous. Being nervous is for morons, and he’s far from being one, so he just isn’t. It’s that simple. There’s absolutely no reason to be nervous. 

Except that he can’t manage to get his mahogany belt to lie properly against his waist (he’d searched in vain for his black Gucci belt with the logo buckle, but hadn’t been able to find it), the woven leather tail twisting repeatedly whenever Harry tries to tuck it beneath the rest of the belt.  And while the rational part of his mind knows that this doesn’t matter, and that he can just guide the tail into a loop along his olive trousers, the irrational part of his mind— which, unfortunately, just happens to be in control at this very moment— knows that tucking it in won’t look nearly as chic as folding it just right to lay the excess along the length of his thigh.

He’s already crafted the rest of his outfit so carefully, spending almost an hour deciding on the red and black patterned vest to pair with the trousers, and an additional forty-five minutes choosing which short-sleeved button up to layer beneath it.  He’d ended up picking a yellow top with indigo swatches along the collar, proceeding to tuck the shirt sleeves up along the sleeves of the knitted vest to give the fit a stylish flare. Harry thinks he looks good (although, to be fair, he always does), but he knows that if he turns his attention back to it for too long, he’d end up tearing it off and starting all over again.  However, judging by the clock that’s ticking from his bedside table, Harry knows that isn’t an option.  It’s 5:42 PM, and Y/N had said she’d be here by 6:00, and if Harry isn’t ready by the time her delicate knuckles rap against his front door, then she might just decide to turn on her heel and leave, and Harry won’t ever get the chance to ask her—

The creature stops short in his tracks, his fingers freezing over the leather of his belt that he’d just managed to settle into place.  He’s not asking her that, he reminds himself, loosening his limbs just enough to nervously twist his mother’s ring around his pinky.  He’s already decided that— and undecided it, and decided it again— after his road trip epiphany the previous weekend.  It doesn’t matter just how weak, or warm, or alive, or just plain human Y/N makes him feel.  He knows what this is, and has known since the beginning, and there’s just no way that he can bring himself to ask Y/N to be his—

Harry can’t even force himself to think of the word. 

He makes long strides towards his dresser, picking up the string of pearls lying on top of the varnished wood and fastening them around his icy neck.  What meaning could that word even hold for him, anyways?  He’s a vampire, and though Y/N makes him feel the complete opposite, there’s no way he could ever feel so human as to give into the notion of having a girlfriend.  A girlfriend leads to a fiancée, which leads to a wife, which leads to the expectation of a family, and Harry knows that none of those things are compatible with the immortal afterlife he lives now.  If Mitch, who is— by any accounts— ten times the man Harry could ever be, hasn’t even managed to lock Sarah— another vampire— into a solid relationship after three years, how could Harry delude himself into thinking that he could do that with a human?

And even if he, with all his commitment, abandonment, and trust issues aside, could have a relationship with a mortal— not any mortal, he reminds himself, but the only mortal that’s ever managed to capture a sliver of his genuine attention— that doesn’t mean he actually wants one.  Why would Harry ever want to be tied to one place, or one person?  Why would he ever want to have to phone someone before going somewhere, or have to check in on them when they’re doing the same?  Why would he want to deal with having to manage someone’s emotions, problems, and life?  He’s traveled the circumference of the world and back again, and seen more changes to society than any human could ever comprehend. He loves being reckless, and untethered, and not responsible for anyone other than himself. He enjoys being impulsive and not having to worry about his actions falling back on anyone else’s shoulders other than his own. It’s who he is— it’s who he’s been for a while now— and it’s who he had imagined he’d continue to be for another two centuries. 

It’s like that one country song that tormented his radio in the early 2000s— the one about life being like an endless road and about how people should enjoy it while it lasts. He believes the exact words are, “Life is a highway, I want to ride it all night long” or something of the sort. Horrendous song, but it held a pretty decent message. 

So with all of this taken into precise consideration, why would he, in his right mind, ever chain himself to one geographical location, and one single fleeting soul?

The answer floats to the forefront of Harry’s mind as he casts a glance towards his half-opened dresser drawer, where a pair of Y/N’s pastel blue sweatpants are folded neatly on top of his own pairs.  She’d left them there a few weeks ago, and while Harry had washed and dried them for her with the intention of giving them back, he’d decided it would be a better idea to keep them here in case Y/N ever ended up staying the night without planning to.  Just so she’d have something comfortable of her own to put on before falling asleep in Harry’s bed, on the side that he now keeps made up just for her.  

Why would Harry ever tie himself to one person?  Because that person is Y/N, and she’s not just a person.  She is— in every way except officially— Harry’s girl.

Harry can’t even bring himself to deny that fact as he fixes the collar of his shirt and strides out of his bedroom, dimming down the lights before making his way to the glass staircase.  Every issue he’d brought up, every fact that he’s tried to use to convince himself that he doesn’t want a relationship, can’t even be considered an issue when it comes to Y/N.  He already does all of those things— checking in on her to make sure she’s alright, letting her vent about her stress, listening to her problems with an attentive ear, holding her hand whenever they’re together, kissing her forehead while she lays against his chest, switching her to the inside of the sidewalk to ensure her safety, moving strands of hair out of her face so they don’t become a bother— and he does it all gladly.  He’s come to adore the soothing comfort he receives when he walks Y/N to her door after a date, or double checks the locks after she’s inevitably invited him inside.  He delights in calling her during her lunch breaks to inquire about how her day is going, and to remind her that “iced coffee isn’t a substitute for water, peach.  You’ll feel a lot better on your shift if you drink a glass, alright?”  And even when her voice is strained and laden with anxiety as she curls into his side after a particularly rough day, it still sounds like the most beautiful melody he’s ever heard, and the weight and warmth of her body against his own acts like a relaxant to Harry’s cold limbs.  

He rolls his shoulders now as he skips the last two stairs and lands squarely on his leather Gucci boots (they’re one of his favorites, and though they’re a simple black, they have a rainbow impression along the lip that he thinks is quite chic). He releases a long breath as he absentmindedly studies over his art wall, his eyes landing on the painting of a deconstructed sunflower. The abstract piece reminds him of the night Y/N had come over to his condo for the first time, and he begins to feel that annoying yet familiar knot between his shoulder blades that always seems to form when he’s away from her.  It’s something he hadn’t even noticed until a few days ago; how his body grows rigid and stiff whenever they’re separated, like he can’t allow himself to exhale until she’s beside him again.  He supposes it’s a strange vampire tendency— something carnal and territorial inside of him that thinks it’s his job to protect Y/N, the decadent and intoxicating center of his strange obsession, and when she’s not around, unease threads into his muscles until he can be sure his primary source of blood is alright. 

Or maybe it’s not. Maybe it’s something deeper inside him— some other reason to keep her out of any harm and an arm’s length away. However, he refuses to indulge that unsettling mystery right now. It’s too fucking complicated to dwell on.

Ambling into the kitchen, Harry begins to dig through his lower cupboards for the apron he hadn’t bothered to slip on when he was cooking earlier.  Pushing aside the white cover with the words “World’s Best (pancake) Tosser” stamped onto the front (it had been a gift from Niall, delivered with a sly grin and a cheeky comment about how the apron was too accurate to pass up), Harry selects the butcher’s apron printed with the phrase “Mr. Good Lookin’ is cookin’!” He slips the loop over his head and ties the straps behind his toned back with a quick motion, the edges of his lips quirking at the pompous joke. He knows Y/N will make a comment about it. 

He hadn’t bothered with the apron before when he’d been preparing the gnocchi simply because his loungewear isn’t necessarily that important, but now that he’s changed into something much nicer than the t-shirt and sweatpants he’d previously worn— and after he’d struggled with deciding on the outfit for so long— the last thing he wants to do is splash sauce onto himself as he navigates his kitchen.

Harry’s mind continues to race with nearly incomprehensible thoughts as he gathers the last of the ingredients needed to finish the meal, his nimble fingers easily peeling the skin from a clove of garlic before he begins to mince it with practiced skill.  Maybe that’s the cause of all his confusing feelings, he muses as he tosses a knob of butter into his preheated pan, scooping the garlic onto his knife and adding that to the mix as well.  Maybe that instinctual feeling to protect is the root of all his fantasies of a relationship.  He can’t possibly want— can’t actually believe that he’d...

Except he does.  

Sighing grimly as he snags a wooden spoon from a kitchen drawer, Harry nudges the cabinet shut with his hip before beginning to stir the sizzling concoction in his pan.  Somehow, against all odds— against all reason— he’s become attached to Y/N.  So attached that he’d spent an hour begging Vincenzo for this specific recipe when he could’ve so easily googled a different one and recreated it to near perfection.  So attached that he’d driven to three different liquor stores to find her favourite brand of red wine, which he’d set to chill in his fridge hours ago, because even though a cabernet sauvignon is supposed to be chilled for forty-five minutes at most, Y/N likes it icy cold.  So attached that he’d taken care to freeze individual flower petals into ice cubes, just so he could make her a cocktail flavoured with honey and lavender, the exact same way she is.  So attached that, for the first time in twenty decades, the concept of a relationship doesn’t draw a disgusted gag from his throat and doesn’t send a ghostly spike of pain to his neck.

“Doesn’t matter.” He mutters the words out loud to himself, as if speaking them audibly will reinforce their meaning.  Opening the fridge with a rough tug, Harry nabs the quart of cream he’d purchased earlier that day, bending the mouth of it open and pouring it smoothly into the saucepan and giving it a stir.  It doesn’t matter if he wants a relationship, because there’s no way that Y/N does.

A bitter laugh tears its way through his chest as he reaches for the bowl of gorgonzola cheese he’d shredded earlier, scattering the ingredient into the saucepan and slowly mixing it in.  He’s arrived at the same point he has all week when he’s had this argument with himself. The same fact that’s stopped him in his tracks each time he’s dared to think that— if he should ask— Y/N would say yes to him becoming a more permanent fixture in her life.  She’d say yes, he thinks.  Or he hopes, at least.  She’d say yes, until she wakes up in the middle of the night to Harry caged over her with crimson irises, terrifying shadows below his waterline, black veins webbing out from his eyes, and a blood-soaked mouth bared to reveal his dagger-like fangs. Then, she’d be gone.

Not gone, he amends in his head, the thought somber and acrid in his mind as he reduces the sauce to a simmer.  He’d have to go after her, of course, but not in the way a man usually goes after a woman.  Despite how they’d joked about it casually, Harry most definitely doesn’t belong in a LifeTime movie.  No, he’s from a much darker genre— less leading man, more malicious creature that lurks in the night— and the only thing he could do when he chases Y/N down would be to wipe all traces of himself from her mind entirely.  That’s the ending they’d be destined for if he let himself buy into his romantic delusions.  It’s better not to put a label on anything.  No labels keep a degree of separation between their two lives— at least, that’s what Harry tells himself.  And as much as it pains him, a degree of separation might be exactly what they need.

And yet, when Y/N knocks on his door two minutes later, just as he’s sprinkling various ground herbs into the sauce and setting it onto the back of the stovetop to wait until they’re ready to eat, Harry can’t help the giddy grin that immediately decorates his dimples. He hurries to untie his apron and tosses it onto the back of one of the chairs lined against his kitchen island, dragging a ringed hand through his purposefully tousled curls as he nearly super-speeds to the front door of his condo. He trips on his way there, spewing curses as he barely saves himself from face-planting the ground like an imbecile. He straightens himself out with a petty huff, slowing down slightly and being more mindful of every step he takes. His smile has already returned before he even yanks the door open.

Y/N— his Y/N, he allows himself to think affectionately— is dressed from head to toe in his own clothes.  Well, almost head to toe, he corrects, casting a sly glance at the way her black jeans hug the curve of her hips too perfectly to be his own pair.  But he recognizes the black and white speckled short-sleeve button up that’s french-tucked into the high-waisted denim, and shrewdly notes the addition of a Gucci belt looped around her waist— the very one he’d been searching for earlier.  She’s even styled the shirt the same way he does, with half the top buttons undone.  However— Harry licks his lips unconsciously as his eyes hover over her exposed chest— she’s paired the top with a delicate looking black lace bralette that catches his hungry gaze the moment he spots it.  Even the black ankle boots she’s wearing are reminiscent of his own fashion choices.

“Y’know,” Y/N’s amused voice cuts through his stupor, drawing his attention back from the obvious canvas of her body and up to her glittering eyes. “It’s not very gentlemanly of you to check out my tits before even saying hello.”

Harry’s mouth crooks sheepishly in response as he reaches out to her, looping his muscled arms around her waist and pulling her inside the condo and against his body with ease. “Hello.” He murmurs obediently, thumbing at her waist over the silky fabric as a teasing yet fond cadence sews its way into his voice. “So this is where my clothes keep disappearing to, hm?  I searched for that belt for an hour today.”

“Shouldn’t have left it at my apartment, then.” Y/N counters easily, curling her hands against Harry’s chest.  He can already feel her heat beginning to web through his entire being, warming him in a manner nothing has in the last two hundred years. “And you said tonight’s dress code was casual formal— which makes zero fucking sense, by the way— so I figured the best way to conform to that would be would be by wearing your own clothes.” A drop of hesitance begins to colour Y/N’s tone as she casts her gaze towards his own, chewing on the inside of her cheek as she tries to read between his teasing words for any hint of actual annoyance. “Is that… okay?”

“Perfectly okay, angel.” Harry soothes the worry lines that have formed between her eyes by stamping a kiss onto her forehead, allowing himself to linger for a moment to inhale her familiar scent of sugar and flowers.  It seems more powerful today than it usually is, almost bowling him over right there in the foyer, and he takes a step back to regain control of himself under the pretense of closing the door. “Honestly, I’m a little miffed that you look better in my clothes than I do.”

“‘Miffed’?” The mortal girl laughs as she reaches down to retrieve something from the ground, and it’s only then that Harry realizes that she’d had an overnight bag in her hand before he’d tugged her into his grasp and caused her to drop it.  “Who says ‘miffed’?  Are you a sixty-seven year old woman named Betty?” 

Although he allows a chuckle at her incredulous question, Harry’s attention has focused in on the bag inches away from her outstretched hand.  Cursing himself for being too wrapped up in her appearance to notice the item she’d been toting, Harry quickly fetches it from the ground before she can, carrying it further into his apartment before setting it down on one of the island chairs, as if the small distance could make up for the initial lack of manners he’d displayed. 

“No, I’m not.  I’m just British.” He should bring the bag up to his bedroom, he thinks, just so Y/N doesn’t have to wonder where her clothes are when she’s fraught with exhaustion later. But that would mean having to leave her side, and the grip her fragrance has on his senses right now won’t allow him to do so. 

“Oh, yeah! I almost forgot.” Y/N lilts with an exaggerated air, another giggle rising from her petal-like lips as she leans against the marble countertop on her elbow, propping her chin up in one hand and resting the other on top of the stone.  She regards him with all the affection that he doesn’t deserve, and yet always seems to crave, and it takes all of Harry’s willpower to not grasp her chin in his hand and sift their lips together just to taste her laughter. “Along with ‘pip pip’ and ‘cheerio,’ right?”

“Yes, those phrases are definitely at the top of my vocab list.  You’ve heard me say them a million times.” Harry rolls his eyes playfully, shaking himself from his distracted thoughts as he steps back behind the counter to effectively put a little bit of much needed space between him and the mortal girl.  His restless hands are already outstretched to his bar shelves before he even asks, “D’you want a drink, darling?”

Y/N watches with innocent curiosity as Harry sets two lowball glasses down on the counter before reaching into his cupboard for a jar of honey, which he spoons onto an awaiting plate.  He rims the glasses in the syrup before dipping them into sugar, sparking confusion in Y/N as she tries to decipher what cocktail Harry is making her.  Her befuddlement only grows as he extracts a bottle of clear liquid that she assumes is vodka and a purple concoction that she can’t identify. “What are you making?”

“Lavender lemonade.” Harry answers swiftly, reaching into a drawer for the small double-ended measuring cup tool that Y/N still can’t remember the name of, as well as his crystal cocktail shaker.  Y/N observes with wide eyes as he fills the shaker with ice and vodka before picking up the mysterious liquid. “This is lavender syrup.  Not homemade, unfortunately, but I do buy it from a little organic grocer I know at the farmer’s market.  Adds a nice floral note to the drink, and mixes well with the lemonade.” He caps the container and shakes it expertly (the way his muscled arms ripple with effort doesn’t go unnoticed by her, as it never does) before setting it down on the counter and making his way to the fridge freezer. “S’where I get my honey, too.” He chances a look over his shoulder just in time to see Y/N dip her finger into the honey pooled on the plate and pop the digit into her mouth, and Harry has to force himself to tear his eyes away as she sucks lightly on her fingertip, her cheeks just barely hollowing. “Do you like it?”

“Mhmm,” Y/N hums around the digit as she keeps her eyes shamelessly glued to Harry’s ass while he bends down to open the cooled drawer, retrieving a tray of cubed ice and coming back over to add one large block into each lowball glass. “Are there flowers in there?” She asks in wonder after retracting her finger from her mouth with a pop, leaning over the table more to observe the decorative ice that has filled the cups.

“Mm.” Harry matches her hum with a more pleasured undertone, both from her noticing the small detail, and from the unobstructed view of her cleavage that her new position allows him.  He picks up the shaker and strains the light purple lavender and vodka mixture into the glasses, topping off each cocktail with a can of sparkling lemonade that he’d also retrieved from the fridge. “S’pretty, isn’t it?” He asks, stirring the drinks with a spoon before holding up one of the glasses to the light and handing it to Y/N. “My own creation.  You’re the first person to try it.”

Their fingers graze as Y/N accepts the glass from him, sparking electricity up her entire arm, and she can’t help the irreverent moan that thrums in the back of her throat as she brings the glass to her lips, tasting the honey and sugar first before the lavender coats her tongue. “This is so good, H.” She praises, licking a lingering dab of honey from her mouth between her words.  Twisting the glass in her hands as she regards the lilac drink, Y/N eyes him over the rim of the crystal, pupils blown wide. “I didn’t think honey and lavender could ever taste so good.”

“You know, I used to think that, too.” Harry’s mumbles knowingly as his own eyes drift a shade darker. He watches the human girl’s neck strain with her swallow, as if she knows he’s trying to keep his gaze away from there and she’s beckoning him back. “But it’s my favourite flavour combination now.  Can’t ever seem to get enough.”

The comment goes right over the mortal girl’s head, just as Harry knew it would.  His expectations of the cocktail in his hand are also met from his very first sip; although the concoction is delicious, it pales in comparison to the fragrance wafting across the island from Y/N.  He may as well be drinking water, honestly. But he knows he’ll end up repeating the recipe a few more times at the very least, just because Y/N tells him that it’s her favourite drink he’s ever made.

“You say that every time I make you a new drink, dove.” Harry can’t help but quip coyly at the repeated compliment, setting his crystal tumbler against the counter with a quiet thud. “Am I supposed to keep believing it?”

“Obviously. Especially when each drink keeps getting better and better.” Y/N licks a drip of honey from the rim, her tongue delicately capturing the sugar crystals before her lips settle back onto the edge to take another sip. “You would be an amazing bartender, but we’ve already talked about that before.”

“We have, yeah.” Harry smiles softly as he recalls the conversation they’d had weeks ago, where she had said his drinks were better than anything she’d had at a club, and he had responded by saying he doesn’t have the patience to be a bartender. That conversation feels as if it happened a lifetime ago, and considering how much closer they had become since, it quite literally could be. “But refresh my memory, will you? Why is it that I’d make such an amazing bartender?”

Y/N gives Harry a jokingly flat glance as a response to his smug tone, but decides to humor him, nonetheless. “Well, you obviously have the mixology skills, and I don’t doubt that the whole thing you have going—” She nods her head to him over the island with a teasing smirk. “—would get you endless tips.”

“My whole thing?” Harry repeats the phrase with an air of faux confusion. “What do you mean, my whole thing?”

He knows what she means, of course.  But he won’t deny himself an opportunity to hear Y/N feed his ego with sweet-spoken praise.

Y/N doesn’t buy his innocent act for a minute, but still indulges him, yet again.  She likes to see Harry preen under her compliments just as much as he likes to receive them. “You know…” She casts her eyes over his figure slowly, picking out every detail she can comment on as she wedges her bottom lip between her teeth. “Your whole look— the tattoos, the muscles, the dimples, the sparkling green eyes, the shiny curls… all of that would have any drunk customer draped over the bar for you.  And even if you couldn’t get by on looks alone, you’re absolutely charming.  To the point of ridiculousness, honestly, but,” Y/N eyes him suspiciously, and while her words are mostly in jest, she can’t deny that she’s seriously thought them at some point in time. “I’m not entirely convinced it’s genuine.  Although being able to fake that kind of attitude would serve you well in a crowded bar.”

Whatever Harry was expecting to hear among the praise, an accusation of dishonest behaviour wasn’t it.  His brow furrows deeply as his lips turn down into a displeased grimace, and he drums his ringed fingers over the marble countertop as he cocks his head to the side. “What d’you mean?” The question is earnest now, no longer a coquettish teasing remark, and the warmth the mortal girl had provided him with begins to subside as a flash of icy doubt digs shards through his chest. “Not genuine?  Does it seem like I’m faking it or something?”

Y/N teases her lips with her tongue, unable to stop the nervous tic as she hears the displeasure that clearly strains Harry’s tone.  Setting her own glass down on the counter, Y/N lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “I just mean, like… I don’t know.  I don’t really think that now, but in the beginning…”

“What?” Harry prompts her with more intensity than he’d meant to, but he’s spent so much of this past week analyzing their every interaction while wrestling with his own thoughts that he’s already on edge; he needs to hear what Y/N had thought of him when they’d first met.  His own recollection of the memories has made him flinch multiple times, particularly the times when he’d thought that Y/N was as boringly ordinary as humans come. He can only imagine what her take on the situation is. “Did I— was I rude, or—?”

“No, no, nothing like that.” She hurriedly assures him, shaking her head hard enough that her loose locks bounce around her shoulders. “You weren’t rude at all— the opposite, actually.  I don’t know, it just seemed… like it was too good to be true, y’know?” Her voice grows impossibly softer as she traces her finger over the rim of her glass, her eyes dropping from Harry’s like it hurts her to hold them. “Like, there was no way that someone could be so attractive, so funny, so good in bed—” Harry can hear blood creep up the nape of her neck against her will, beginning to pour into her cheeks. “—and so charming.  Something had to be an act.”

Despite the urge Harry has to justify his actions, he knows there’s nothing he can say that could prove Y/N’s original perception of him wrong.  And, in all honesty, he has no right to.  As much as he’d like to argue the fact, and as much as he did genuinely come to enjoy being around her, Harry can’t deny that from the first moment he’d approached Y/N in that club, he’d dialed up his charm as he always did without a second thought.  He’d flattered her, flirted with her, done everything he could to convince her that she should take him home so he could indulge in the two things he’s always manipulated people for: sex and blood.  And when that worked, he did it again, and again, and again, until they’d fallen into the pattern they have now.  He’d never lied, of course, and he prides himself on that— every compliment he’d paid her had been rightly deserved.  But even that justification doesn’t stop the shame that’s twisting its way through his limbs and making his head heavy.  

She had thought something had to be an act, and she had been right.  Harry himself was an act, in every aspect of the term— stretching the truth about his past, opening himself up just enough to make her open herself in return, setting her up so that she’d become dependent on their relationship. And all so he could sink his teeth into her neck without a second thought.  

He can’t exactly pinpoint when all that had changed— singing “Non-Stop” in his kitchen?  The jealousy he’d felt when he spotted her on a date with that insipid idiot, Jacob?  Seeing her in that yellow sundress when he picked her up for their first date?— but the fact that it had changed doesn’t erase how it had started. It doesn’t erase the cruelty he’d hidden beneath his calculating words, intricately-placed caresses, and dirty promises.

“Harry.” He’d been so caught in his thoughts that he doesn’t notice Y/N had moved until she’s standing right in front of him, one of her velvet hands twisting into his own as the other tucks a loose curl back from his creased forehead. “I don’t think that now.  You know that, right?” Even after securing the ringlet, she keeps her palm pressed against his cheek, and Harry can’t help but lean into the burning heat her touch provides. “I just— I’d never met anyone like you.  There was no one like you where I grew up.  I didn’t think someone could be so…” Y/N worries her lip between her teeth again, and Harry wishes he had enough in him to smooth the bite mark with a touch as soft as her own. “I didn’t know you yet.  But I do now.”

The vampire inhales a shaking breath as if he needs it to live, lifting his own free hand to wrap over the palm Y/N rests against his cheek.  Weaving his fingers through hers, he drags her hand lower until her skin is secured over his lips, and he smudges a gentle kiss against her handprint.  There’s something so tender in her words— no one could ever accuse Y/N of being disingenuous.  But he needed to hear this, he thinks as he presses his mouth repeatedly to her palm, the throbbing of her pulse in her wrist catching against his cheek.  He needed to hear how she thinks she knows him.  It’ll serve as a reminder that he can’t allow himself to succumb to the weak thoughts he’d battled earlier in the day.  As much as Y/N assumes she knows him, there’s things that she’ll never understand— things he would never allow her to understand, because she doesn’t deserve such a terrifying burden— and how could he keep up that pretense while allowing her to call him her boyfriend?

“I know you do, sweetheart.” Harry mutters the words into her fragile skin, inhaling her intoxicating aroma deeply until his throat burns in agony.  It’s a small price to pay for what he’s put her through. “It’s alright.  I don’t blame you for doubting it.” The smirk he forces onto his face is nowhere near believable, but he manages to keep the strain out of his voice enough to sell it. “I’m pretty hard to believe, y’know?  Especially when you grew up with people like Cucumber Dick.”

Successfully diffusing the moment, Harry’s comment tugs an irritated groan from Y/N’s chest, and she takes a step back from him as her hand falls from his face, despite her other fingers still remaining tied with his own. “You can’t just keep calling him Cucumber Dick, alright?  He has a name!”

“Yeah, Bradley.” Harry says in distaste, his nose wrinkling as he shakes his head slowly. “S’honestly worse than Cucumber Dick.  I’m doing him a favour— a bit of charity work.”

Y/N hums in the back of her throat thoughtfully as she steps back around the kitchen island, Harry’s arm extending over the countertop as she tugs his hand along with hers. “Then don’t do me any favours like that, alright?  Can only imagine what you call me when I’m not here.”

A few names pop into Harry’s mind— dream, darling, angel, and countless others that he’s murmured to himself in the privacy of his condo— but they’re tainted by the memory of his friends confessing how they’ve talked about her when he hasn’t been around to hear it.  How they’ve compared her to different foods, used that to reference her, as if that’s all she is to him.  As if she isn’t the only person who has managed to make him feel something in over two lifetimes.

In the rational part of Harry’s mind— which, once again, is sadly not the part of his mind that’s ever in control— he knows that he can’t blame his friends for thinking that.  It’s his own fault for being so insistent on that fact over the last few months.  How many times had they questioned his motives behind his daily phone calls to her, or how often he found himself dropping everything just to spend some time with her?  How many times had he rolled his eyes at their assumptions that he wanted more from the mortal girl than he’d ever admitted?  How many times had he asserted that there was nothing more that she could offer him than her body and her blood?  They’d only listened to what he was saying, despite knowing that Harry’s reassurances were false.  Did any of them suspect that things had changed for him now?  Or did they still think that Harry’s only motivations behind his relationship with Y/N are primal?

Harry pushes the badgering thoughts from his head as best he can as he reaches for his apron that’s still lying over the back of the chair.  He can’t dwell on those thoughts now.  If the turmoil twisting inside of him hasn’t subsided by the end of the night, he’ll call Mitch once Y/N is fast asleep under the extra blanket he keeps on his bed just for her.  Although he doesn’t relish the thought of admitting he was wrong to the likes of Xander or Niall— he knows their teasing and taunting would never end— he can talk to Mitch about it without the worry of judgement.

“Why don’t you put a record on, petal?” Harry asks absentmindedly, nodding his head towards the record player set up in the corner of his living room as he slips his apron back over his head. “I just have to boil the gnocchi, and then—”

“Wait, wait wait,” Y/N cuts over him with an increasingly gleeful expression, rounding the edge of the island again to tug on the strap of Harry’s apron. “Mr. Good Lookin’ is cookin’?” She repeats, unable to bite back the giggles that are rising through her throat. “Please tell me you didn’t buy that for yourself.”

His troubling mindset disappears the moment laughter falls from her lips and echoes around the kitchen. “‘Course I did.  And why wouldn’t I?” Harry simpers as his deft fingers easily secure the ties behind his back in a neat bow. “I’m Mr. Good Lookin’, and I’m cookin’.  S’only the truth.”

“Your vanity is astounding.  Truly.” Y/N trails her finger from the strap of the apron to the pearls around Harry’s neck, stroking the silky stones with the lightest touch. “Like, borderline narcissistic.”

Snaking his arms around her waist, Harry easily pulls the mortal into his body, securing her against his chest just as he had done when she’d first arrived.  It’s comfortable for him to have her pressed against him like this.  The steady rising and falling of her chest and hummingbird beat of her heart against his own unmoving organ keeps him centered, like his own personal lifeline. 

“Is it so wrong to be confident in my appearance?” Harry quirks an eyebrow as his dimples pop from his cheeks, and he slides his hands from Y/N’s back to her ass, cupping and squeezing firmly in appreciation.  His smirk only grows as Y/N’s cheeks begin to boil from the suggestive contact. “How can you contradict me when it gets such a reaction from you?”

“I think that has less to do with your looks and more to do with where your hands are.” She quips dryly, and yet her nails dig into Harry’s exposed collar bones with the slightest of pressure, a surefire sign of just how much his touch affects her.

Harry leans forward as the girl’s breathing grows more erratic, and he nuzzles his nose along hers while keeping the smallest of spaces between their lips. “Either way, I’m getting what I want, aren’t I?”

To his immense pleasure, Y/N’s words are breathy and strained when she replies, a side effect of the shallow inhales her body draws against his. “Which is?” 

“You.  More specifically, you melting under my touch like you just can’t get enough of it.” Harry drags his lips across Y/N’s for no more than a second before continuing his path up her jaw, only stopping when he can feel the flushed shell of her ear beneath his mouth. “You should indulge your vanity a little more often, sweetheart.  S’quite fun, honestly.”

Y/N shivers beneath Harry’s touch, her eyelids fluttering as his cool breath rolls over her ear and down her neck.  Turning her head to the side, she locks her half-lidded gaze with his own before slotting their lips together to indulge in the lingering taste of honey and lavender that sits on his tongue. 

Despite his instinct to draw her closer while curving her body into his own, Harry separates their lips with a gentle nudge of his forehead against her own, his breathing growing just as erratic as Y/N’s.  Control, he reminds himself as heat prickles along his icy skin from the tender pads of Y/N’s hands.  This isn’t like their first meetings, when he could invite her over under a pretense and take her against the counter before they’d even finished their drinks.  This is different now.  She’s different now.

“Why don’t you go put a record on?” He says again, his voice noticeably deeper than it was when he first made the request. “And I’ll finish getting dinner ready. Sound alright?”

Y/N manages to nod without removing her forehead from his, but that seems to be the only movement she makes; her palms remain pressed firmly against Harry’s tattooed biceps, even after he reluctantly releases his hold on her body.  She can’t help it— it feels too good to be so close to the young man to allow herself to willingly walk away.  Something in his presence is so calming, so steady to her, even when he’s whispering obscenities in her ear.

But outweighing the need to be next to him is her desire to make him happy, and if he wants her to pick out a record… “Alright.” She nods once more as her hands slip from his skin, trailing down his forearms and grazing his wrists before falling to her sides. “Any record?”

Harry drags a ringed hand through his curls, his lithe fingers tugging on the locks before falling to his side in a loose fist. “Any record.” He confirms as he reaches for a kitchen drawer, tugging it open to extract a long metal spoon. “Anything you want to listen to.”

He watches as a serious expression paints itself over the human girl’s face, as if the task he’s given her is of the utmost importance.  She turns on her heel and marches out of the kitchen as if on a mission, and as Harry turns towards the now-boiling pot of water on his stove, he knows that his own face reflects a look of fondness.  It’s too easy to let his guard down with her, he thinks as he ladles his homemade gnocchi into the rolling water.  When she looks at him, there’s such an openness in her expression that he can’t help but allow himself to be seen.

But being seen doesn’t always feel so sweet, which Harry remembers the moment he hears Y/N’s melodic voice ring from the living room. 

“When did you get a piano?”

Harry’s hand freezes mid-scoop, the few gnocchi that had been dangling on the edge of his spoon falling into the boiling water.  A bit of the liquid splashes out and lands on his arm, but quickly fizzes to room temperature once it meets his freezing skin. 

“Uh—” He clears his throat as he tries to refocus on his task, but his actions are much more frantic than careful as he finishes filling the pot with gnocchi. “I’ve had it for a while, remember?  I mentioned it to you before.  At the antique mall.”

When his explanation receives no response, he gives his own frustrated sigh, and sets down the polished spoon to retrace Y/N’s steps out into the living room.  As he expected her to be the moment he heard her question, he finds her with a reverent hand tracing the edge of the matte black Steinway grand piano that’s occupied a space in nearly every home he’s had since he purchased it in the 1920s.  Seeing her nimble fingers drift over the hand-crafted edge brings back a hazy human memory to Harry’s mind— a flash of sharply manicured fingers and a strangely pale hand, adorned with an opal ring as they danced over the pianoforte in an opulent sitting room. The sound of tinkling laughter that rang like a bell, pitched almost high enough to make his ears ache, and a soft, hypnotizing voice slathered in the most delicate accent he’d ever heard. 

Harry has to blink a few times to bring himself back to the present.

“What was that, darling?” He hopes his voice isn’t nearly as strained as it feels when he refocuses his eyes on Y/N’s waiting gaze. “I didn’t quite catch that.”

“I said that you told me it was in storage.” She glides over the intricately carved music stand, the digit dancing across every twist and curve of the decorative panel. “Why did you bring it out?”

“Uh, I dunno, really.” An uncomfortable itch settles onto Harry’s skin, his stomach turning as Y/N takes a seat on the creaking piano bench set in front of the instrument. “I just, uh, figured it should be displayed somewhere, instead of gathering dust in a storage unit.  It’s a vintage Steinway, y’know?  Those need to be taken care of.”

In truth, the vintage instrument had rung Harry quite a high bill over the last few decades, not only in the price it cost to keep it in permanent storage, but in the services he’d had done to it once a year to keep it in its nearly pristine condition.  Despite keeping it out of sight to keep it out of his mind, he couldn’t seem to allow himself to let the instrument fall into disrepair, just in case he ever decided to display it again.  Or sell it, as he’d been leaning towards doing over the last few years— a genuine Steinway piano in condition as good as his had quite the high price tag.  But he’d never been able to force himself to part with it, as it looked too similar to the one he had originally learned to play on.  Even though those memories were tainted with the usual pain that came with thinking about his human life, it was still his life, and he ached to hold onto some part of it.  It’s why he had his mother’s ring, and his sister’s earring, and his father’s cross and pocket watch.  It’s why had a small wooden box hidden away under his bed with memorabilia from his first life.  As much as it hurt to remember— and it did, in ways he can’t possibly begin to describe— remembering seems better than the alternative.

“Well, if you want to show it off…” Y/N’s fingers are trailing down the fallboard now, inching their way towards the ivory keys with a daydream-like purpose. “You shouldn’t hide it away in the corner of the room.  It would look gorgeous in front of the windows, don’t you think?  A proper centerpiece.”

It would make a beautiful centerpiece, and he originally intended it to be so after the delivery company had dropped it off at his condo a few days before.  After bribing Adam and Niall with the offer to buy out their bar tabs for an entire month, the three of them had spent the afternoon rearranging the furniture in his living room to display the Steinway in the center of the room.  He’d thought that, knowing how excited Y/N had been to hear him play the piano in the antique store, she’d like to hear him play in his own home, on an instrument he knows like the back of his hand.  He’d even begun kicking around the idea of teaching her a few songs, but those musings had quickly turned sour as the instrument brought back more memories of his foggy human life.  In the end, he’d decided to restore his living room back to its original state with the addition of the Steinway thrust into the corner, where the ghosts of his past could plunk the keys quietly without drawing too much of his attention.  He’d done his best to ignore the instrument over the last couple of days, and in his hurricane of thoughts that had centered around Y/N, he’d nearly forgotten about its existence completely.

He can’t be mad that Y/N is asking about it; after all, he’d brought it out of storage with her specifically in mind.  But seeing the newfound object of his affections with her fingers poised over the keys brings back a rush of emotions he’d been repressing for the better part of two hundred years.

“It—” Harry clears his throat once more, trying to rid himself of the lump that is rising up like bile. “It took up too much space in the center of the room.  Wasn’t very cohesive.”

“That’s too bad.” The mortal girl’s words fall from her mouth in a murmur as her gaze remains locked on the keys, almost as if she’s in a trance.  Her finger begins to press down on the ivory with a slow and meticulous motion. “It seems like such a shame to—”

“Let’s— Let’s not get into that now, sweetheart.” Harry says hurriedly, his fingers catching her own before she can trigger the instrument to make a sound. “Dinner’s almost ready, and you—” He forces a grin onto his lips. “—still haven’t picked a record out.” Threading her fingers through his own, Harry gently tugs the human girl up from her seat on the piano bench. “Would you rather I do it instead?”

As he expected, Y/N wrinkles her nose with distaste as she rises to meet his emerald eyes. “No.” She scoffs as a quiet snort rises from her throat. “I don’t need to listen to some weird experimental 60s music while trying to eat dinner.”

While Harry would normally bite back at her dig, he just responds to her with a thin laugh and a smile without dimples. “Exactly.  So why don’t you pick something out,” He jerks his head over his shoulder to where his record player and vinyls sit neatly on a shelf lining the wall, ignoring the ghastly spike of pain that twinges his neck as he does so. “And I’ll plate dinner, yeah?”

“Alright.” She agrees, and Harry nearly breathes a sigh of relief before she finishes her phrase. “But you’ll play for me later tonight, won’t you?”

The phantom pain grows until it extends down Harry’s entire spine, filling every nerve in his body with a sense of anxiety and trepidation.  The last thing Harry wants to do is move his fingers over those weighted keys, and with the burning sensation now shooting through his fingers, making his hand twitch around Y/N’s, he’s not even sure he can.

But he is sure of one thing, and that’s the fact that he can’t ever seem to say no to Y/N.

“Yeah, dove.  Of course.” Keeping his voice even, Harry pulls her away from the extravagant instrument as inconspicuously as he can. “Later tonight.”

///

There are so many things that Harry has done over the last two centuries that have both angered and confused him.  

He’s held grudges against himself over the way he’s acted, the people he’s surrounded himself with, the people he’s allowed himself to trust, and the blatant disregard for human decency he’s allowed himself to succumb to.  In the last twenty decades, Harry has amassed enough vendettas for fifty lifetimes, let alone the one endless life he’s been given.  And yet, even with all of those missteps in mind, the fact that Harry ever looked at Y/N and deigned her an ordinary human might be one of the biggest mistakes he’s ever made. 

It’s so clear to him now— sitting across from her at his kitchen island, the few scented candles flickering between them doing almost nothing to cover her sugar and flower scent, her eyes reflecting back the burning flames and something else that Harry can’t quite put a finger on— that he’s not sure how he ever missed it.  How had he once leaned against the counter in her own kitchen, looked into those very same eyes, and managed to convince himself that it was only her blood that drew him to her?  How had he listened to her sweet and sensual voice murmur delicate phrases about her day and her emotions, and not realize that he was inching closer and closer in order to hang on every word, as if she had the supernatural ability to compel him as he did her?  How had he seen her in the smokiness of the club, with her fragile skin practically luminescent under the pulsing strobe lights, and thought that she was so utterly unmemorable and unnoticeable that he could easily take her home for one night without anyone wondering about her whereabouts?  How had he convinced himself that it would only be one night? 

There are so many things that Harry will always be angry about, will never forgive himself for, and his initial perception of Y/N is one of them. 

If he has any redeeming qualities, he thinks as he watches the mortal girl spear a bite of gnocchi onto her fork over the rim of his wine glass, it’s that he can, at the very least, admit when he’s wrong.  He can admit to himself that this girl— this self-assertive, stubborn, vivacious, kind-hearted mortal girl— is the most interesting and most intriguing human he’s ever met.  And as terrifying as that is, it’s also a little thrilling; it’s been so long since Harry has felt a pull to someone like this.  The sensation, while unfamiliar and something he’s severely out of practice with, is just as electrifying as he remembers, and now that he’s had a taste of it, he can’t stop chasing that high. 

It’s that undeniable pull which drive Harry to murmur an unauthentic apology about not having a dining table (he’d chosen a larger living room over a dining area when he moved in, and his friends just settled for eating at Niall’s when they wanted to sit down somewhere) because he’s secretly pleased that he has an excuse to sit next to Y/N.  It’s that pull that makes him hang on her every word about her day like she’s relaying the plot of a Greek tragedy, his facial expressions perfectly mimicking hers as she describes the customers she dealt with.  It’s that pull that sends his fingers forward of their own accord to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear as the soft melody of Hozier’s “Like Real People Do” floats between them like a comforting lullaby.  It’s that pull that, when she inquires about the entrée he’d prepared for them, causes him to proudly admit that he’d recreated the recipe from Bella Vita after wrestling it from Vincenzo.  It’s that pull that urges him to scoop up one of his own gnocchi and bring it to Y/N’s lips to feed her the first bite of the meal, his hand cupped delicately under the utensil to catch any sauce that might drip onto her shirt (which is really his shirt, and that fact alone delivers so much more pleasure than he ever would’ve thought possible).  

It’s that pull, that adrenaline rush, that indescribable sensation, but underneath it all, it’s her.  It’s always been her, since the moment they’d first met.  From the moment he first laid eyes on her.  How is it, Harry wonders, that his first sighting, enhanced by his supernatural senses, had managed to make him so blind?  How is it that he’d had this girl in front of him all along, and he’d managed to delude himself into thinking that he’d be able to stop himself from becoming vulnerable for her?  And maybe, he wonders slowly as he clears Y/N’s empty dinner plate from the marble island to the sink, he’s still deluding himself, because for some strange reason, being vulnerable for the mortal girl doesn’t seem to be as terrifying as he thought it would be.

The vampire suddenly recalls a specific day all those weeks back, when Y/N had stayed over and they’d taken their first bath together in his jacuzzi. He thinks about how he’d allowed himself to be vulnerable for just a fraction of a second, when he had admitted to her that she often caught him off guard. She had returned the sentiment, and he remembers the words he'd uttered to her amidst the warm steam and quiet splashing of the water. He had said that he found her influence on him— the influence they had on each other— to be scary, but exhilarating. And now, after spending so much time together and allowing himself to grow closer to her than he ever could’ve imagined, he’s come to find that his attraction to Y/N is no longer incredibly scary. Yes, there’s still a sliver of fear in him at the notion of opening himself up to her, but it’s only natural— there isn’t one person in existence who isn’t scared to strip themselves emotionally bare for someone else. However, his genuine excitement soothes his hesitations, and it startles him in a pleasant manner he can’t quite decipher.

Setting the dirty dishes into the sink to be dealt with later, Harry risks a glance at Y/N over his shoulder.  He watches as she wipes the corner of her mouth on a napkin before raising her stemmed glass to her lips, delicately draining the last of the crimson liquid before placing it back down with a clink.  When he catches her sparkling eyes, Y/N shoots him a smile that, even with only one corner of her lips lifted, manages to dazzle him from across the kitchen.  Harry can hear the fresh flush of blood that overtakes her cheeks, as if the wine itself is settling beneath her fragile skin.

Yes, vulnerability should petrify him.  Vulnerability means danger.  It means giving someone the ability to break you, and Harry knows this from firsthand experience.  Harry might be the only monster in the room, but in this moment, Y/N is the ominous threat. She’s the vague silhouette that hides in the shadows, the mysterious mass circling just beneath the waves, waiting for the right moment to strike.

But now that he’s dipped a toe in, Harry can’t stop himself from diving headfirst into those dangerous depths.

“D’you want another drink, love?” He asks, turning back around and leaning his hip against the marble counter as he cocks his head to the side in a questioning manner. “Some more wine before dessert?  Or another cocktail?”

Y/N glances at her multiple empty glasses in front of her, but shakes her head slowly. “No, I’ve had enough to drink.  But I’d love a cup of tea, H.  If you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.  A cup of tea, coming right up.” Harry reaches for the sleek kettle that he keeps set on the backburner of his range, flicking on his tap with his other hand before settling the hollow object under the stream of water. “You know, I think this is the first time I’m actually making tea for you.  S’a real treat, isn’t it?” He flashes a toothy grin at the girl before placing the now-full kettle back onto the burner and twisting the knob to high. “A proper cup of tea made by a proper Brit.  Can’t get much better than that.”

Y/N rolls her eyes playfully as she circles her finger around the rim of the empty wine glass, her motions just starting to get heavy with the liquor. “It’s just some dried leaves and water, Harry.  Don’t get too full of yourself.” 

“I think you’re the one who’s usually full of me, aren’t you, pet?” Although his back is turned towards the stove, Harry can hear the effect his words have on the human girl by the small, nearly imperceptible gasp that leaves her lips. “‘M not sure you’re allowed to make that observation.”

Despite the choked feeling that’s welled up in her throat at his comment, Y/N quickly clears it out with a small cough, capturing Harry’s sea glass eyes with her own to stare him down stubbornly. “I’ll make any observations I want.” She says firmly, crossing her arms over her exposed chest in a mockingly angered pose.

A fond laugh rolls from Harry’s stained lips as he opens his cupboards and extracts two tea cups that are painted with vines of wisteria flowers.  He’d found them a few years back at the very same antique mall he’d brought Y/N to, included in a china tea set that he hadn’t been able to resist buying.  The hand painted violet flowers had caught his eye from the moment he’d glanced at the china cabinet they’d been locked inside, and he’d barely been able to tear himself away from the glass case to retrieve the key from an employee.  

He’d always had a soft spot for wisteria; there had been a wisteria tree outside of his childhood home, and he and Gemma used to collect the bunches of blooms and bring them inside for their mother.  That had been a long time ago, of course.  When they were children.  Harry can’t quite remember at what age they’d stopped digging through the garden for flowers— it might have been when Gemma turned eleven, which would’ve made him…. Seven?  Harry frowns at the uncertain memory as his grip tightens around the delicate china cups.  Yes, he reminds himself, he would’ve been seven.  His sister had been four years older than him, and it was around age eleven when she’d declared herself a lady, and said that it wasn’t ladylke to dig through a garden and walk around with dirt under one’s fingernails, and Honestly, Harry, you must wipe your feet before stepping into the house, or else you’ll track mud everywhere—

With trembling hands, Harry sets the wisteria tea cups down on the marble counter, flexing his fingers to get rid of their shakiness before reaching for the respective saucers.  It seems that Y/N’s ability to make him feel more human isn’t just resurfacing the manners and emotions he’d long suppressed, but the memories, too.  How long had it been since he’d heard his sister’s voice ring in his head as clearly as that?  How long had it been since he’d thought of the tiny foyer of his childhood home, which he’d tracked mud into countless times as his mother and, eventually, his sister clicked their tongues at him?  Is the tree still there, he wonders as his thoughts continue to spiral.  Or had it been cut down in the two hundred years since he’d last seen it, long after his family had all… 

Harry places the saucers carefully down against the marble before bracing himself against the edge for just a moment.  Barely thirty seconds have passed since Y/N’s retort, and although his enhanced mind had begun to spiral, it’s not too late for him to give a half-sane response.  

“I know you will, sweetheart.” He finally murmurs, hiding his face as he pulls open his fridge to extract the carton of oat milk he’d purchased last week.  Y/N, he’d come to learn over the last few months, prefers milk over cream in her tea, just like she prefers sugar over artificial sweeteners. 

Harry can feel the burn of her eyes into his back as he extracts a teaspoon from his kitchen drawer and the kettle begins to whistle.  Focusing and relishing in being the object of her attention, Harry removes the kettle from the heat, flicking the stove off before reaching for the canister that stores his tea bags.  In an effort to fully distract himself from the troubling thoughts of his past, he begins to hum the tune to the Hozier song that had been playing earlier, before the record had spun to stop just before they’d finished their entrees.  With the near murmur of the melody reverberating through his throat, he spends a moment debating on whether or not he should use the matching wisteria-adorned teapot that sits on the highest shelf of his cupboard, but quickly decides against it— it’s too formal for the occasion.  But tossing two separate tea bags into the two teacups, he finds as soon as he does it, doesn’t feel right either; after all, he’d told Y/N that he’d be making her a proper cup of tea.  That fact settles the manner in his (moreso than usual) changing mind, and within a few moments, he has the two teabags deposited into the teapot before pouring in the boiling water to steep the satchels of dried leaves.

Halfway through his preparation, his ears had perked up with the distinct sound of Y/N rising from her chair, which had been followed by the muted pattering of her feet against his hardwood floor.  Not bothering to ask where she’d been going, Harry had instead decided to wait for his suspicions to be confirmed.  Sure enough, just as he’s stirring the sugar and oat milk into Y/N’s cup of tea, he hears the quiet press of one of the keys of his piano.  C4, if his aural skills are still as tuned as they used to be.

Setting the two cups of tea onto their respective plates (Y/N’s with milk and sugar, and Harry’s plain), the vampire easily balances both cups of tea in his hands and makes it to the living room without spilling a single drop.

Just like before, Y/N seems entranced by the piano, plunking out different notes and letting them ring into the open air.  Harry can’t help but wince slightly as he approaches— as talented as Y/N seems to be at some things, music theory does not appear to be included.

“Christ, love, a tritone?” He protests, his voice hinging on a whine as he approaches the piano bench. “What, your fingers couldn’t make it a perfect fifth, hm?”

The answer to his teasing question comes in the form of Y/N’s entire body jumping as her fingers stutter over the keys, an audible gasp falling from her mouth while her hand clutches to her chest and her head turns to stare at Harry over her shoulder. “Jesus, you scared me!” She says breathlessly, her palm massaging over her the area where Harry can hear the rapid pulsing of her heart. “Have you always creeped around like that?”

A playful grin tugs at the immortal’s lips as he extends an arm out, handing the china saucer and cup to the human girl. “Only when I’m carrying boiling tea.  Scooch over, will you?” Nudging his way onto the newly unoccupied space of the bench, Harry nods his head towards the keys she had been previously playing. “Was that an original composition?”

“Beethoven, actually.  I’m surprised you didn’t recognize it.” Y/N blows gently over her tea with pursed lips before taking a small sip.  Harry knows that his sister would have condemned the action, along with the following slurp, by calling it unladylike, but the inelegant manner leaves a fond feeling buzzing through his body once more. 

Raising his own teacup to his lips, Harry chuckles quietly over the rim of the cup. “I wouldn’t have pegged it for the classical era, actually.  Sounded more atonal to me.” He takes a small sip of tea, the liquid scorching down his throat in the best way. “You said you took lessons when you were younger, didn’t you?  Do you remember anything?”

“Twinkle twinkle little star, maybe.” Y/N takes another small gulp before setting the cup back down on the saucer. “I was, like, eight.  Nursery rhymes were as far as I got.” Her gaze drops to the caramel coloured tea with a curious gaze; Harry had remembered exactly how she takes it, despite him only having seen her make a cup of tea once a few weeks ago. “But you, on the other hand… Mr. Good Lookin’...” Her lips jolt into a teasing grin as her eyes flicker to the side to capture his own. “You’re quite the musician, from what I remember.  And you promised to play me something.”

“I did, didn’t I?” Harry’s smile grows imperceivably tighter as he takes another drag of the boiling drink, his throat growing thicker with every swallow. “And you still want me to?”

Brow furrowing at his reluctance, Y/N cocks her head to the side in bewilderment. “Of course I do, H.  I loved listening to you play for me at the antique mall.”

Harry thinks back to that day, when he’d stuttered his way through a Chopin piece before his stumbling fingers had given up entirely. “I’m just a little out of practice, love.  It’ll be a bit messy.”

“I didn’t ask for perfection; I asked for you to play.” Her warm fingers find Harry’s upper arm, massaging the tattooed muscles just underneath the tucked sleeve of his shirt as she regards him with wide, curious eyes. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but if you’re nervous because you might mess up… Well, you heard me play.” Her light laugh rings through the cavity of the piano, reverberating off the highest strings in a way that only Harry’s immortal ears can pick up. “I won’t be able to tell the difference.”

“I suppose that’s true.” Despite his reservations, a half-hearted smile finds its way to Harry’s lips over the rim of his tea cup, which he sets down on the living room side table after taking one last sip.  

Flexing his ringed fingers, he repositions himself on the piano bench, moving more towards the center of the seat as Y/N moves down to the edge to give him full access to the piano.  For a brief moment, his hands hover over the ivory and ebony keys as he evaluates the repertoire he knows he can muddle his way through without too much trouble.  He’s already played a few Chopin pieces for the human girl, so that composer is out.  Liszt doesn’t seem to fit the mood, either, as his pieces are much too ornamented for their quiet living room ambience.  Debussy is out before Harry can even consider him; the last thing he wants to do is invoke any more memories of sitting at a piano with the much too familiar composer.  And Beethoven and Mozart seem too contrived for this setting, as well.

With a frown on his wine-stained lips, Harry spares one glance at Y/N, whose own eyes are glued to his floating fingers.  She reaches out with a tentative touch of her own, gliding them across Harry’s tensed knuckles with a pressure so soft that, if not for the heat of her skin, Harry might not feel it at all.  The cautiousness of the motion is not lost on him— it’s almost as if Y/N is worried that she’ll spook him out of playing, like any sudden movements could break him.  It reminds the creature of the awareness he has whenever he touches her; how he always carefully evaluates the amount of pressure he uses whenever he glides his fingers over her vulnerable skin. 

As if she were a butterfly, he thinks, not for the first time.  His butterfly.

Harry doesn’t remember making the conscious decision to start playing.  He doesn’t even recognize the piece that’s tentatively ringing from the piano until the repetition of the first motive, when Y/N emits a satisfied breath and her warm hand falls back to Harry’s thigh, rubbing gently over his olive trousers with that same delicate touch, almost as if he were a butterfly.

The creature’s fingers continue to glide over the ivory keys, his phrases growing smoother and more confident with every passing moment.  He pays careful attention to the dynamics of the piece, trying his best to recall the sheet music that he hadn’t looked at in decades, but it only takes about thirty seconds for him to realize that it’s easier to just let himself feel the music.  With Y/N’s hand continuing to dance over his thigh in time with the tune, Harry lets himself play around with the score, peppering in crescendos and decrescendos as he sees fit.  He draws out some of the minor phrases, hoping to wrench on his obsolete heartstrings the way he had when he first learned the piece in the early 20th century, and hovers his fingers over the bass notes as he uses the pedal to make them ring out into the living room.  

Halfway through the composition, Harry realizes that he’s breathing with the phrases, timing each inhale and exhale of his lungs with the musical lines.  It only takes him another two measures to realize that Y/N is doing the same, her body leaning into Harry’s as Harry leans into the instrument.  And that, he finds as his jeweled fingers slide over the keys, tugs on his heartstrings more than any melody ever could.

As he approaches the end of the piece, he softens his touch, his fingertips almost ghosting over the keys as he gently presses the final notes.  Harry keeps his foot hovered over the pedal, allowing the quiet cadence to fade to silence in its own time, and as it does, he can feel his body coming back into itself— which is strange, considering he hadn’t noticed the trance-like space he’d slipped into.

Y/N, however, must have noticed, because her voice is hushed and hesitant when she speaks again, waiting until the final notes have completely faded to silence, as if she’s afraid that she’s interrupting something. 

“That was so beautiful, H.” She praises, her hand still rubbing over his clothed thigh.  The motion would normally drive Harry mad, but for some reason, all it does to him in this moment is bring a strange lump to his throat. “What’s it called?”

In his unfamiliar haze, it takes Harry a moment to find his own voice. “Uh, Papillons.” He says through his thick accent, clearing his throat subtly as he lowers his hands to his lap.  He hadn’t even realized they were still lingering over the last notes. “It means—”

“Butterflies.” The mortal girl nods in recognition, a thoughtful look over her face as she taps a finger against his trousers, her tone slightly jesting as she murmurs her next sentence. “I know enough sixth grade French to understand that.  Is it a French piece, then?”

“No.” Harry jerks his head in the negative, only remembering to soften the agitated motion after it’s happened.  He raises his keen eyes to meet Y/N’s, a reminder of where he is.  And a reminder of who he’s with. “It’s the fifth movement in a suite by Robert Schumann— the “Polonaise,” in B-flat major.  S’one of my favourites.”

“I can see why.” Y/N murmurs, a fond smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “It was wonderful, really.  ‘Out of practice,’ my ass.”

Even with the residual anxiety still coursing through his veins, Harry manages to force out a chuckle at her teasing. “Trust me, I’m just as surprised as you are.  But Schumann has always been a favourite composer of mine—” Harry takes Y/N’s teacup from her, noting how her eyes had flickered to the ground, as if she was looking for a place to set it, and she sends him a thankful grin as he sets the cup next to his own on the end table. “—along with his wife.  They were both incredibly talented musicians.”

“His wife?” Intrigue threads through Y/N’s voice as she props up an elbow on the piano, resting her chin on her loose fist as she turns her body towards Harry. “She was a musician, too?”

Harry hums affirmatively as he cracks his knuckles, flexing his fingers in his lap to loosen them from the buzzing sensation that’s still prickling his skin. “She was, yeah.  They had a pretty passionate love story, y’know.  That’s why his music is so beautiful— he wrote it all for her.”

Y/N doesn’t miss the reminiscent tone that seeps into Harry’s voice, and she threads her fingers through his own as her eyes widen with a gentle plea. “Will you tell me about them?  Schumann and his wife?”

“I—” Hesitating at her request, Harry squeezes her hand tightly, half in affection, half in warning. “It doesn’t have much of a happy ending, darling.  A bit of a tragedy, that one.”

“I want to know.” The human girl nods her head stubbornly as her eyes flash with determination. “Just because it has a sad ending doesn’t mean it’s not worth knowing.” 

Harry pauses for a moment, allowing her words to fully sink into his mind and spark the beacon of hope that’s sat coldy in his head for so long. “I suppose that’s true.” 

He mulls over where to begin, thinking back to all the newspaper articles he’d read about a child prodigy in Germany in the 1820s, who was the daughter of—

“So the story really begins with Friederich Wieck.” Harry’s voice falls into a smooth cadence as he begins, thumbing over Y/N’s warm knuckles absentmindedly as he recalls the information. “He was a music teacher, most known for piano, but what he really wanted to be known for was raising a child prodigy.  He had a few children, but the one who filled that description was Clara, his second oldest.”

As Harry begins to spin the tale, Y/N can’t help but focus on his expression.  Although his eyes are set on their linked hands, she can tell that his gaze is far away, as if he’s seeing the scene play before his eyes as he tells it.  It’s fascinating, she thinks, seeing him focus so intently on something as niche as an old love story between musicians, but more than that, it’s new to her.  This is a new side of him that she hasn’t seen before— not cocky, or charming, or playful.  This side of him is intent, as if he wants to make sure that every word he speaks is the truth.  His expression is almost as interesting as the story itself.

“Clara’s parents, Friederich and Mariane, didn’t really get along very well, and Clara had a lot of trouble when she was young; she didn’t really speak until she was four.  But music always came easily to her, which made sense, considering her parents.” Harry’s free hand drifts back to the ivory keys, just resting over the lacquered surface. “Her mother was a musician, too— an accomplished singer.  But after her parents split when she was five, when Mariane had an affair with a family friend, Clara was left with her father.  And her father wanted to focus on her music career.  He gave her hour-long lessons every day, and made her practice for two hours on top of that.  She made her performance debut when she was just nine years old, in 1828, at the Gewandhaus in Leipzig.”

“Okay, wait.  Pause.” Y/N worries her bottom lip between her teeth as she waits for Harry’s faraway eyes to refocus on her confused expression. “What does playing in Leipzig at age nine have to do with a love story?”

An amused laugh slips from Harry’s lips at Y/N’s impatience. “I’m getting there, sweetheart.  A little bit of patience would be beneficial to you, I think.  And a little bit of trust in me, yeah?”

Although she huffs a little bit, Y/N relents, squeezing Harry’s hand in acknowledgement at the phrase he always seems to end up repeating: Trust me. She vaguely wonders why it’s so important to him. “Alright, fine.  Continue.”

“Thank you.” Harry swipes a hand through his tousled curls before settling it back down on the keys, running his fingertips over the smooth surface absentmindedly in the same rhythm he’s swiping over Y/N’s knuckles. “Okay, so… She played in Leipzig a few times that year, and once was at a private music party at someone’s house, where she met Robert Schumann.” At the mention of the name, Harry shoots Y/N an ‘I told you so’ look, which she meets with a roll of her eyes. “He was a gifted pianist, and was so inspired by Clara’s playing that he got permission from his mother to quit his law studies in order to study piano under Clara’s father, Friederich.  So in 1830, Robert moved into the Weick household as one of Friederich’s students, and—”

“Sorry, I— pause again.” Brow furrowed, Y/N’s eyes narrow in suspicion as she mulls over Harry’s words. “So— if Clara was, like, nine—”

“Eleven, actually.  It’s 1830 now, remember?”

“Alright, eleven.  If Clara was eleven… You said Robert quit law school to study music.” Y/N’s narrowed eyes widen as she regards Harry, as if asking him to contradict her suspicions. “How old was Robert?”

“Around twenty, I think.” Harry says casually, lifting his shoulder in a light shrug. “He was born in 1810, so— yeah.  He would’ve been twenty.”

“Twenty?” Y/N yanks her hand from Harry’s as she fully twists her body to face him, as if just hearing the horror in her voice isn’t enough. “He was twenty?  I thought this was a love story?”

“It is!  It’s just—”

“No, it’s not!  It’s gross!” Wrinkling her nose in disgust, Y/N shakes her head harshly, her loose hair spilling over her flushing cheeks. “A twenty year old shouldn’t—”

“He didn’t!  Nothing happened until they were older, love.” Harry captures Y/N’s hand within his own again, smoothing over her knuckles as he hurries to reassure her. “And it was the nineteenth century… a nine year age gap in a relationship wasn’t exactly uncommon.” For a brief moment, Harry wonders what Y/N would think if she knew just how much older he really was than her.  Would she react with the same horrified expression she had now?  Yank her hand from his again as she had just done?

“Yeah, well…” Y/N’s appearance is still bristled as she shoots Harry a condemning look. “There’s a difference between a nine year age gap and a child—”

“Nothing’s happened yet, sweetheart.” Harry bites back the involuntary laugh that bubbles through his chest at the indignant tone of her voice. “Now can I continue?  Or do you want to yell some more?”

Although her response is grumbled, the mortal girl mutters, “Fine.  Continue.” as Harry lifts her knuckles to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of her hand. 

“Thank you.” He lowers her hand back down to his thigh, smoothing it over his trousers before continuing where he’d left off. “So Robert studies under Clara’s father and stays with them for a year.  And although Clara and Robert were just friends, Friederich could tell that they were becoming close, which he didn’t like.  And before you say anything,” Harry watches as Y/N’s lips twitch into a frown. “It wasn’t because of Robert’s age.  Friederich didn’t want Clara to fall in love with anyone; he just wanted her to focus on her music.  He still wanted his child prodigy, you know?  So he began to take her on tours through Europe.  But by the time Clara was sixteen, it was clear that she and Robert had feelings for each other.  They wrote countless letters to each other, signed them ‘your special friend’... And when Clara turned eighteen, Robert asked Friederich for his permission to marry his daughter.  And Friederich said no, because that would ruin his plans for Clara’s music career.”

Despite her hesitation at the relationship, Y/N still mutters a quiet “Harsh.” at the story.

Harry’s hands return to the keys, but this time, they do more than hover.  He begins to press a few notes slowly, letting one ring out completely before moving to the other, and it takes Y/N a few moments to realize that he’s playing an actual melody, albeit a deconstructed one. 

“Because Clara wasn’t twenty-one yet, they needed her father’s permission to marry, so Robert took the case to court.  And it was…” His fingers stutter over the keys for a moment as his face twists up, remembering how the story had decorated the society pages of newspapers back then. “Messy.  Really messy.  But in the end, Robert won the case, and he and Clara were married.  And they wrote all this beautiful music together…” Harry’s left hand joins his right over the piano, moving with more intention now as he adds a quiet harmony to his slow melody line. “They weren’t good with words, but they were good with music.  That’s how they communicated with each other.  You can hear the love in everything they wrote, the devotion they had for each other.  Listen,” He says in a hushed voice, the melody of the music becoming unbearably sweet. “D’you hear it?”

“I do.” Y/N nods softly, her fingers massaging Harry’s thigh muscle as he continues to play.  It’s not a lie, either; there’s a sincerity in what Harry’s playing that twists within her chest.  

Or maybe, she thinks, her eyes trained in the profile of the man beside her, it’s just Harry. 

“Didn’t you…” Y/N hesitates both in her words and her motions over Harry’s leg as a new thought tugs at her mind. “Didn’t you say the story had a sad ending?  That all seems good, isn’t it?  Clara and Robert got married, wrote music together…”

Harry’s fingers begin to slow down, returning to the reduced melody he’d been playing previously, as if weighed down by the knowledge he’s about to share. “Uh, yeah.  Robert had a lot of problems— mental health issues.  Later in their marriage, he became manic, had episodes where he saw angels and demons… and he was worried he’d hurt Clara.” Harry says quietly, risking a glance at the girl beside him, who’s watching him with such wide and trusting eyes that he almost can’t bear it.  Harry knows what it’s like to fear hurting the ones you care for. “He tried to kill himself, and when he was unsuccessful, he asked to be taken to an insane asylum.  And he never went home again.  He died there, just a few days after Clara was finally allowed to visit.  S’like…” Harry’s fingers pause over the piano once more. “S’like he was waiting for her.  Before going.”

Detecting the emotion in his voice, Y/N raises her hand from his thigh, smoothing back a few loose curls before gently setting her palm over the curve of his neck. “That is a bit of a tragic story, I’ll admit.  To have fought so hard for each other for so long… And then to lose all of it like that…”

“Yeah.” Harry clears the lump from his throat as subtly as he can.  He’s certainly no stranger to loss, to feeling helpless at being unable to save someone you love… He knows that pain all too well. 

As if she can sense the darkness in his mood, Y/N rubs a comforting hand across his shoulder and down his arm, drifting over his inked skin with a warm touch.  Her comment, however, is more lighthearted than her caring caress. 

“I still think the age gap is a little weird.  How do you go from writing letters about being ‘special friends’ to falling in love?”

Harry rises to her baited joke, doing his best to shake himself from his introspective thoughts as his fingers begin to drift over the keys once more.  He focuses on just his right hand now, playing out an absentminded yet tender tune as he speaks. “So if I started to call you my special friend, you wouldn’t like it?”

“God, no— that sounds awful.” Y/N scoffs, her own hand drifting to the ivory keys. “We’re sleeping together, not making mud pies in a kindergarten class.”

Harry’s laugh is more genuine as he begins to slow down his playing, plucking only single notes that Y/N echoes in the lower register of the piano. “Alright, fine.  Not special friends, then.”

“There’s just so many cooler historical ways to say we’re having sex, y’know?  None of that ‘special friend’ bullshit.” Y/N continues to match Harry’s notes as best she can, wincing every so often as she plays a dissonant key. “Like… ‘lover.’  That’s a good one.  Nice and simple.  Or—” Her eyes light up with mirth as the thought pops into her head. “Courtesan to the queen.  Not as simple, but it certainly rolls off the tongue.”

Harry quirks a brow at the suggestion. “And you’ll be the queen in question, I presume?”

“Of course.  Do you have a better idea?”

“‘Paramour’ is a neat little name, don’t you think?” Harry asks, his fingers pressing down a simple perfect fourth on the piano to punctuate his question. “Sounds pretty elegant.  Understated.”

“If you want understated…” Y/N matches the top note of Harry’s interval, already knowing she wouldn’t be able to match the actual notes without hurting both of their ears. “We could do what historians do when talking about ancient queer couples.  Say we’re just good friends.”

The creature hums in acknowledgment at the back of his throat. “We could, yeah.  Or we could be mistresses.   Is there a word for a male mistress?” Harry quirks an eyebrow as his lips pull into a quizzical frown. “A master?”

“Jesus Christ, never refer to yourself as a master again.” Y/N groans loudly, her fingers slipping from the keys as she feigns a shudder. “That just sounds creepy.  Even creepier than a special friend. How about…” She tries her best to stifle a wry grin as a more vulgar alternative pops into her head. “The Whore of Babylon?” 

“Fuck’s sake, what did I say about slut-shaming me?”

“I just thought it’d fit! It has a nice ring to it! But if it really irks you that much— Oh, wait—” She quirks her head to the side, a new wave of amusement lighting up her eyes as she thinks of her next step in their game. “What about ‘special advisor’?  You know, like we’re in a historical drama, and I have a kingdom to defend from oncoming war, and you’re my most trusted advisor, and when my husband is away with the army, you and I sneak off into my chambers…”

Although he giggles boyishly at the suggestion, Harry can’t ignore the twinge of jealousy that shoots up his spine at the mention of Y/N’s— albeit imaginary— husband.  He doesn’t like being referred to as her side relationship, even in an imaginary world of queens and wars.  Even then, he wants to be Y/N’s first choice. 

Because she’s his, he realizes, his fingers continuing to pluck out single ivory notes as a way to deal with the impending ball of tension that’s growing inside his abdomen.  Even in a game, in an imaginary world, in any way imaginable— Y/N is his first choice. 

He just— he wants her, in every sense of the word. And he knows all the reasons he shouldn’t— he knows how reckless it is to allow a human to get so close to him, how he’ll never truly be able to be honest with her, how he’ll always be using her for her blood, how he can’t give her the human relationship she deserves.  But he can’t stop from thinking about Robert and Clara, who fought for each other from the very beginning, who persevered through every challenge thrown their way, and who still only got sixteen years together before circumstance tore them apart. 

Harry is here. He is— for all intents and purposes— theoretically alive.  And the girl he wants more than anyone else is right next to him.  There’s no doubt in his mind that it’ll be difficult, but does he not owe it to those who ran out of time to try?  At the very least? Does he not owe it to himself to fight for the happiness he’s spent so long evading, all out of fear? 

He can manage that.  He can manage his cravings around Y/N enough to take only what he needs, and never anything more.  He can manage his double life and keep her from falling victim to the darkest corners of his mind. He can manage his strength enough to treat her as delicately as he’d treat a butterfly.  He can manage the most monstrous parts of himself.  He can do that for Y/N. 

But only if she wants him to. 

It’s that hesitation that brings a tremor to his hands as they pause over the keys, poised over the lacquered surface that he can barely tear his gaze from. “A special advisor sounds fun, yeah.  Or you could…” Harry clears his throat roughly, sweat pooling across his brow as he fiddles with the opal ring on his pinky.  He twists it back and forth around the digits, only managing to spare one look from the corner of his eye at Y/N’s quizzical face before dropping his stare back down to the piano. 

“Or you could, um… you could just… call me your…” Say it, the voice in his head practically yells. It’s just one word. It’s not that hard. “Boyfriend. You could just call me your boyfriend.”

A heavy pause fills the air in the large room, and Harry feels like he’s being suffocated. His voice grows fainter when he detects the sudden hitch in Y/N’s breath, but nothing else. He finds himself wanting to fill the empty space between them with something, or else he might pass out from the nerves. “If you… If you want, that is.  It would just keep it simple. Plain and simple.”

Plain and simple, Y/N thinks as her hands curl together in her lap, slotting between her thighs as if the pressure of her clamped legs can keep her from feeling how they shake.  It would keep it plain and simple.

But when has their relationship ever been simple?

It should’ve been simple, and the mortal girl knows this.  Two consenting adults, calling each other every once in a while for a bit of release— that’s simple.  That kind of relationship doesn’t have any pressure.  There’s no need to try and impress one another, or to meet any expectations.  That kind of relationship is no muss, no fuss, and no strings attached.  That was how they had started, and it had been simple.  It had been easy.  It had been uncomplicated. 

And it also hadn’t been that way for a long time.

Y/N’s known for a while now that the line between two friends having sex and being in a committed relationship has become increasingly blurred; that was all but confirmed when Harry nearly pitched a hissy fit when he saw her coming home from her date with Jacob.  But even with all of the dates, the gifts, the phone calls during her lunch breaks, the homemade dinners and drinks and desserts, even with all of that— Y/N never thought that they’d actually arrive at this moment.  This moment, in Harry’s apartment, their bodies pressed together on the small piano bench, his fingers fidgeting nervously as hers are pressed between her thighs, with the word boyfriend dangling over their heads like a sword.

She can’t pretend she hasn’t thought about it, because she has.  And she can’t pretend that her thinking about it doesn’t usually lead to her daydreaming about it, because it does.  It’s why she spends the majority of her downtime wrapped in Harry’s rainbow cardigan, and why she’d picked out his button down shirt to wear tonight.  It’s why she’s talked about him to her friends, why she’s begun to speak about him casually to her coworkers, instead of hiding in the storage closet when he calls her on her break.  Because even though they aren’t together— even though they’re friends in the least and seeing each other at the most— it had been nice to pretend that either of them were capable of being more.

Y/N is no stranger to heartbreak, and she’s spent long enough studying her own commitment issues to be able to recognize them in someone else.  Harry had pretty much told her in the beginning that relationships weren’t his thing, that he didn’t want to be defined by a label that could so easily be broken.  And Y/N, who hadn’t opened herself up since Bradley, had been inclined to agree.  Relationships are messy, and labels only bring expectations that would eventually not be met.  Seeing each other is easy.  Seeing each other is breezy.  Seeing each other leaves room for interpretation, for allowances, for excuses to be made if one of them suddenly changes their mind.  Seeing each other is plain and simple. 

Boyfriend.

The truth of the matter is that Y/N shouldn’t be so terrified of such a simple word.  In all forms and fashion, Harry practically already is her boyfriend— he literally calls her his girl during sex, for fuck’s sake. They do everything that a normal couple does, and have been doing it for a while now.  She’s fairly certain that calling Harry her boyfriend instead of the guy she’s seeing wouldn’t actually change their relationship that much.  But if she’s honest with herself, Y/N knows that it isn’t their present day situation that’s sending a cold sweat down her back.  Boyfriends, from her limited experience, lead to fiancés, which lead to husbands, which lead to children and a white picket fence in an unassuming suburb.  That was the exact life she’d come to L.A. to escape— how could she willingly fall back into it?

And then she hears Harry exhale shakily, his thumb fumbling with the opal ring on his pinky, and she knows exactly how she could willingly fall back into it.

This is Harry.  Harry, who tells her the stupidest jokes that can somehow still make her laugh.  Harry, who gives her all of his attention every moment that they’re together.  Harry, who listens to every story about rude customers without complaining once, hanging onto her every word as if what she says matters more than life itself.  Harry, who makes her believe that it does.  Harry, with entrancing emerald eyes, shining chestnut curls, intricately inked skin, and the most comforting arms she’s ever been held in.  This is Harry.  Not Bradley.  Bradley wanted the wife, the white picket fence, the house filled with children.  Harry— as far as she can tell— just wants her.  And she just wants him.

Plain and simple.

Y/N extracts one of her hands from between her legs, snaking it over Harry’s, where she captures one of his fiddling hands in her grasp.  Intertwining their fingers, Y/N fixes her gaze onto his opal ring as she hesitantly swipes her thumb over his cool knuckles.

“Yeah,” She whispers the word, as if speaking any louder could break whatever it is that’s brewing between them. “Yeah, that could work.  I’d really like that.”

The human girl watches from the corner of her eye as Harry’s lips, which he’d been gnawing on nervously while waiting for her response, slowly curl into a hesitant grin, as if he’s nervous to show how anxiously he’d been waiting for her to answer.  He keeps his sea glass eyes glued to their tangled hands, his own fingers contracting to test their grasp. 

Harry knows that it’s selfish of him to be so happy that the girl he cares for is entering into a relationship with a monster.  But seeing as how he’s the monster in question, he can’t make himself feel guilty for it.  All he feels is the elation that’s slowly spreading through his entire body, and the determination that’s chasing it.  He can do this.  He’s strong enough.  He can be strong enough for her. 

“Can I…” His voice is just as quiet as hers, nearly cracking at the end when he finally lifts his gaze to her heated cheeks, wide eyes, and stained lips. “Can I kiss you?”

A tender laugh falls from those stained lips as Y/N combs his curls back over his ear, dragging her thumb over the sharp lines of his jaw. “You do that all the time, so the answer is obviously yes, isn’t it?” She thumbs down the muscles in his neck, until her palm settles over the collar of his shirt to fist the fabric between her grip. “You don’t even need to ask anymore.”

“It never hurts to ask.  And this time…” Harry worries his bottom lip back between his teeth before he soothes the bite mark with his tongue. “It’s different.  We’re different.”

“Not too different.” Y/N leans forward until their noses nudge against each other, their mouths kept apart only by an inch.  She cards her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, twisting the locks around her digits in a way that’s so much softer than Harry thought possible. “Still us, yeah?”

The taste of honey and lavender is so thick on the back of Harry’s tongue that he’s almost choking on it, but he’s never felt less thirsty in his life.  He has this under control.  He can tame this.  He can.

“Yeah.” He inhales deeply through his mouth, as if he were relishing the bouquet without tasting the wine, and slots their lips together with ease. 

Although they’ve shared countless kisses over their months together, this might win the record for the gentlest that they’ve ever shared.  There’s no rush, no animalistic need to pull Y/N closer and tighter against his body.  There’s only her burning warmth, her silky skin, and her sugar and flower flavour washing out the black tea that had been lingering on his taste buds.  Harry has never felt closer to being human again than he has in this moment.  Right now, they’re not a predator and his prey; they’re simply two people who, against all odds, have managed to find each other.  And Harry is owed this happiness.  He knows he is. 

The rest of the night passes in a blissful haze of comfortable domesticity.  They eat dessert on Harry’s couch, feeding each other bites of raspberry sorbet in between giggles and banter.  It’s something they’ve done countless times before, but there’s something different about it now; maybe it’s the fact that Harry knows that Y/N isn’t going to push him away now.  She wants him.  She wants him.  She’s leaning into his touch every time he brushes his knuckles over her cheek, laughing at his poorly-timed jokes, gazing at him through her lashes in a way that stirs desire in the very pit of his belly.  They’re comfortable together, and for the first time, Harry is realizing just how wonderful that is.

It’s the only thing on his mind as they stand side by side in front of his double vanity in his en suite, his gaze tilted to the side to watch as Y/N removes her makeup with some wipes she’d packed in her overnight bag (Harry makes a mental note on the brand so that he can pick them up the next time he finds himself near the drug store).  He’s never had such casual comfort and ease with someone like this before; the last time he’d found himself in a relationship, it had been in a time where maids were required to help lace and unlace corsets and valets prepared him for bed.  There was never a chance to watch as someone he cares for ties their hair back in a loose ponytail before rubbing cleanser into their skin.  He never got to observe the quiet, intimate moments of someone’s bedtime routine.  In the early days of their relationship, Y/N had never had a chance to properly take her makeup off before Harry was tugging her into bed, her lipstick smeared across his face as much as hers.  This is his first time really witnessing that transition, and he likes it more than he thought he would.

There are, however, a few things that he knows Y/N likes before bed, and he gives her a moment of privacy to change into her pyjamas while he makes the quick trip to his kitchen to fill a tall glass with cold water.  He doesn’t need to grab an extra blanket this time— he’d already made sure to toss the knit afghan onto his bed before Y/N arrived, and he finds it draped over her body when he returns to his bedroom.

“You look cozy.” He comments with a fond smile, handing the mortal girl the glass of water as he pulls back the other half of the blankets.  He climbs underneath the covers, propping his elbow up on his pillow as he lies on his side to watch as she takes a sip of the drink. “Y’alright, love?  Need anything else?”

Y/N shakes her head as she sets the glass down on the bedside table and settles back into her pillows, stifling a yawn into the back of her hand.  She always gets sleepy after she has a few drinks, something she’d explained to Harry— much to his amusement— a few weeks prior, after a movie night at her house when he’d made his famous margaritas.  They’d been having a Harry Potter marathon, and they’d barely begun the second before her eyes had started to flutter closed. 

“I’m good, I think.” She tugs the blankets up to her chin, tilting her head to the side to find Harry already staring at her with a soft expression. “Actually…” Extending a hand to him, she lifts her covers off her body enough to indicate what she wants. “C’mere.”

A boyish giggle falls from the vampire’s strawberry lips, and he flicks off the lamp before crawling towards Y/N in the enveloping darkness.  He folds himself right into her side, opening his own arms for her to slide into, but is surprised when her hand finds his shoulder and tugs him closer to her.

Harry takes the hint and hesitantly settles himself onto her own body, allowing the mortal girl to rest his head along her collarbones, his ear finding a home just above her beating pulse.  One of her hands knots itself in his hair, delicately detangling his messy curls as the other finds a home on his naked shoulder blade, rubbing over his defined muscles with the hottest touch Harry has ever felt. 

It’s a vulnerable position, one that Harry hasn’t been in for decades.  And yet, instead of feeling the usual mix of fear and trepidation, all Harry can feel is comfort.  The combined sensation of Y/N playing with his hair and massaging his shoulder is more pleasurable than he ever could’ve assumed.  A month ago, that would have confused him.  But now… he exhales softly as Y/N’s nails lightly scratch along his scalp.  He can be vulnerable with her.  He trusts her.  And, to his extreme luck, she seems to trust him.

A few minutes pass with nothing said between the pair, the silence around them punctuated with only the sound of their breathing and Y/N’s lone heartbeat.  If Harry didn’t know better, he’d think that Y/N had fallen asleep, but his sharp senses know that’s not true; her pulse is still a few beats faster than it normally is, and her breathing hasn’t completely evened out yet.

Sure enough, Harry’s suspicions are confirmed when Y/N whispers into the darkness a moment later, as if she could hear him mentally assessing her body language. “Harry?” Her voice is gentle, halfway between a whisper and a murmur, as if she’s afraid to be any louder. “Are you awake?”

Harry bites back the smirk that threatens to overtake his lips. “Mhmm.” He hums, nuzzling his head further into Y/N’s caring touch. “Still awake.”

She matches his hum of acknowledgement, the pads of her fingers pressing deeper into the knots of his back. “I was wondering…” Her voice thickens with hesitation. “Would you, um, would you sing for me?”

Without completely lifting himself from her chest, Harry raises his eyes to meet her own, her fingers pausing their motions through his locks as he does so. “Sing?” He asks, taken off guard by the out-of-the-blue request. “Y’want me to sing?”

Although there’s a shadow of shyness across her face, Y/N nods slowly. “I heard you humming earlier today, while you were cooking, and it sounded nice, so I was just thinking about it…” She clears her throat nervously, and Harry can hear the wave of blood that rises to her cheeks. “But you don’t have to.  I know it’s late—”

“No, petal.” Harry hurries to ease her, a frown settling onto his face as he hears her breathing grow shallower with anxiety. “S’fine.  No need to get shy.” Harry is amazed at how smoothly the reassurance falls from his lips. “Yeah, I’ll sing for you.  Any requests?”

Despite him telling her not to be shy, Y/N just shrugs her shoulders in response to his question, her eyes locked on the ceiling above them as if she can’t bring herself to meet his gaze.  Harry plants a kiss along her clavicle before settling back into her plush chest, mentally running through the catalogue of songs he’d been humming earlier.  He should pick something soft, he thinks.  Something like a lullaby.

Y/N resumes her gentle combing through Harry’s locks, mostly to distract herself from his thoughtful silence.  She shouldn’t have asked him to sing something— he’d made it clear earlier that playing the piano for people was something that made him nervous.  They’d sung together playfully multiple times, and Y/N could tell that Harry has a pretty voice, but half-singing, half-rapping along to the Hamilton soundtrack is so different than singing to her in the darkness of his bedroom.  She shouldn’t have asked.  In fact, she should tell him to just forget it, and—

“I had a thought, dear, however scary, about that night, the bugs and the dirt.” Harry’s low vibrato echoes around the previously silent room, his voice no louder than a murmur.  Y/N can feel the vibrations of his vocal chords against her chest, a quiet hum that soothes her like nothing else ever has. “Why were you digging?  What did you bury, before those hands pulled me from the Earth?”

Harry clears his throat quietly between the stanzas, his own eyes drifting close.  He’s never been one for stage fright— he’s always been eager to show off his vocal skills, and there’d been a time when all he wanted was to sing on stage in a smoky speakeasy.  But this— singing in the quiet of his bedroom for an audience of one— is more intimate than he’s used to, and he knows if he catches Y/N’s observant gaze right now, he’ll lose his nerve.

“I will not ask you where you came from; I will not ask and neither should you.” Harry tunes his ear to the steady pulse of Y/N’s heart, using the rhythm as a makeshift metronome to keep his time.  To keep himself steady. “Honey, just put your sweet lips on my lips; we should just kiss like real people do.”

Harry feels a spike of warmth against the top of his head, and it takes him a moment longer than normal to realize that it’s Y/N’s lips pressing against his hair.  As he continues to sing, she times her caresses of his ringlets with the beat of his words, which he keeps timed with the beat of her heart.  They’re in a cycle, he realizes as he quietly sings the second verse into her skin. She’s lined up with him as he lines up with her.  They’re locked together, steadying the other while relying on them to keep them steady in return.  For the first time in two hundred years, Harry feels truly in sync with someone.

“Honey, just put your sweet lips on my lips,” Y/N’s mouth smudges against his temple once more as he nudges his nose along the base of her throat, allowing himself to press his own lips against the satin skin of her chest, just over her heart. He feels like he could stay in this moment forever, which means something given that he truly does have forever. He’d spend every second of the rest of eternity frozen in this instant, if the world allowed it. He’s content, and relaxed, and cradled in his duvet with the one other soul who has somehow managed to thaw the coldness from his stony heart. For the first time in too long, he feels like an actual person again. He isn’t bogged down by his carnal instincts, or by the fear of losing his composure, or by the fact that he doesn’t have a thumping rhythm behind his ribs. 

He doesn’t need all of that because he has Y/N, and she makes him feel more real than all of those aspects ever could. 

“We could just kiss like real people do.”

[bts-teaspoonff]

Fangirl pt. 5

Genre: Romance, Fluff, Slow Burn, Idol A/U

Pairing: BTS OT7 x backupdancer!reader

Rating: PG

Summary: Y/N, being a huge fangirl, finally got her chance to work alongside her favorite idol group as a backup dancer. She gets to know each member personally and realizes that her feelings may be more than fangirl-idol attraction.

Word Count: 6.1K

Taglist: @nochujeonjk @i-like-puppy-mg @miyochan @satotakeru14 @boba-tea1206​ @blimpintime​​ @kodzuskook​ @fangirl125reader​​

PARTS: masterlist ... | 4 | 5 | 6

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Namjoon broke the tension in the room so sudden, making you halt your breathe. You and Jiyong quickly turned your head towards him. “Y/n has good taste in music. Besides, I have to thank her quick thinking with Jin’s soup. If it wasn’t for her, this dinner would definitely turned for the worst.” You hear a slight giggle under the deep timber of his voice.

 Everyone was quiet. Mark also realized by now after Jiyong strongly slapped his thigh that it’s not his place to say that information out loud. The two men were now aware that you’re definitely embarrassed by what they said.

 “Yeah. Namjoon’s right. It isn’t a bad thing that you support us.” Hoseok went on, quickly turning his head back and forth towards Namjoon, Mark, Jiyong and me. “Bangtan is always grateful to each and every Army, right?”

 Hoseok held out his fist to you, grinning wide. You look at him in curiosity for his gesture as you tightly grip your glass with both hands. He eyes out his hand with a smile so bright while waiting patiently for hand. You understood that he’s doing his best to comfort you and to assure you that there’s nothing to be embarrassed about. He felt huge relief as your face slightly lightened while you start to lift your fist to his. He bumps his fist to you as he kept grinning widely.

 “Apologies Jin. It must have passed through my mind and didn’t double check the menu.” Jiyong brought his head down. He definitely felt sorry for not taking good care of Jin and unintentionally ruining your night. He must have been too busy to oversee details in the menu for tonight and was also too tactless with his mouth to continue rambling. His insides were in knots looking at your state. He adores you too much that he can’t see you getting humiliated at his foolishness.

 “No worries, hyung. Y/n, thank you for your thoughtful concern.” Jin turned to you, still worried with how tight you were gripping the glass and how you’re hunching down as if you want to hide beneath the table. You’re still not relaxing despite Namjoon and Hoseok attempts to comfort you. “Don’t be shy. In fact, a lot of people here in this room are now a part of BTS’ Army.” He jokingly laughed as he exchanged winks with the other producers across the table. His window wiper laugh echoed, lifting your mood entirely.

 “This hyung here has a young daughter who is an Army as well. She would always visit us during recording sessions and even music video shoots. Her support would always make our day and give us energy.” Yoongi added with his arms folded, pointing one finger at one producer across him.

 You slowly straighten your back as you felt how the tension in the room began to dissipate. It’s not like you intend to ruin the night by moping all the time and you also don’t intend to keep the fact that you’re a fan of them hidden forever. Today is just not the best time and place to reveal that and the way it was known to the boys was not the best scenario you’ve thought of.

 You’ve openly told them that you’re a fan of them whenever you would attend fanmeets and album signing event but that was because they don’t know you personally and will probably never remember you. You cringe when you remember the moment that you carelessly blurt out Jin’s allergy despite not personally knowing him. You know they’re gonna know eventually that you’re their fan especially with how Jiyong is close with them, but not this way.

 Jiyong calls out your name. You looked at him and read his face. You know he feels deeply sorry and he didn’t mean to embarrass you as he looks so sullen, eyes drooping and a frown painted on his lips. Blame it on the twin telepathy but you understood him well enough that the both of you don’t need words. Besides, it’s not like you can’t hate him for something he didn’t intend to, but you keep in your mind that you’ll get back at him for this to tease him. You don’t want to ruin this special day for Mark as well. You nod at him expecting that he will understand that you don’t mind it anymore. You both smile at each other.

 Mark mentioned something else to change the topic and tried to save the current situation. Fortunately, this got the attention of everyone else as they began talking to each other. You let your shoulders down and sighed in relief that the embarrassing circus of a situation was now done. You steal a glance at your side to see if the four boys were still looking at you. You don’t want them to feel obliged to comfort you and this was also a night that they could spend some time with their friends and be comfortable. You’re just their acquaintance and not yet a friend.

 You hoped that none of them was still giving you their attention but no, Jin is still looking at you. He was still trying to read your expression with both eyes glued to you, not sure if you’re angry or embarrassed or hating the situation entirely. None of which was correct because now, all you felt was comfort. You felt safe from the small words of comfort that the boys have said.

 Surprisingly, it was now easy for you to mingle with everyone through the night. You lost your nervousness as some of Jiyong’s friend have made an effort to get to know you better. You glad that your brother is surrounded with good people. Mark have also approached you just before the dinner ended to apologize. You wrapped your arm around Jiyong’s head and rubbed your knuckles on his head as compensation for the embarrassment they’ve caused you. Mark also jokingly offered his head for you to attack but you hesitate. You told him that he has the birthday privilege to escape your punishment but he can make it up to you someday.

 You walk back to your seat feeling very happy at how the night turned out and slightly tipsy at how you daringly drank three glass of wine. The four BTS members were not in their seats as they try to crowd among the producers who were saying their goodbyes to the birthday celebrant and thanking Jiyong for an amazing job with the surprise dinner.

 You took out your phone to check if there’s anything worth checking. You landed on Twitter and proceeded to check your feed. Not a surprise that majority of the tweets you read is about BTS. You follow a lot of fan accounts to help keep you updated about the boys. A meme popped from the bottom of your feed showing a hilarious face of the hyung line. As you clicked the photo to take a better look, you can’t help but chuckle at the thought the hyung line is here with you inside this room. Their debonaire charms tonight are totally different from their comical faces in the meme you’re currently ogling at.

 Just as Yoongi finished saying his farewell to the other people in the room, his eyes darts to you as you’re scrolling through your phone with a ridiculous grin on your face. He stops in his spot to admire you. He does feel relieved that you look a lot better now and you’re feeling relaxed. Seeing you giggle at your phone makes him smile as well.

 “I’m glad you’re now laughing.” Yoongi slowly sat down beside you. Your heart jumped at his deep calm voice, almost making you fall off your chair. You click a button on the side of your phone, turning off the screen.

 “I’m fine. Totally sorry about that fangirl debacle at the start of the dinner.”

 Yoongi shook his head. True, he was baffled at first when you shouted with him. He was suspicious at first but he quickly understood your situation. Knowing that you didn’t know everyone so well, he recognizes your discomfort from the sudden revelation by your brother. Also, a part of him swells with pride that you’re their fan. How long you’ve been their fan? How many shows have you watched to know the detail of Jin’s allergy? You must know a lot more detail about them. What’s your favorite song? Are their songs saved on your phone? Have you listened to his mixtape? What can you say about his mixtape? Do you like his mixtape?

 As these thoughts ramble through Yoongi’s mind, Hoseok takes the empty chair from your other side.

 “I thought we told you that you don’t have to be embarrassed about it.” You turn to Hoseok and saw him pulling the chair facing the other way with the back support placed in front of Hoseok, legs spread apart by the chair. “Honestly, I’m glad that you’re a fan. The best dancer from the female dance team is our fan.” He ridiculously flashed his teeth as he lean his chin on his forearm that was supported on the top of the chair’s back support.

 “Don’t overcrowd the lady.” Namjoon appears behind Hoseok, placing his one hand on Hoseok’s shoulder and the other one tucked in his pocket. “I mean it when I thanked you for stopping Jin. You’re the one closest to him and if Yoongi was a bit late... well, we know what could happen. You know him, always gorging through his food.”

 He’s right. I have watched a lot of Eat Jin episodes to say that Jin will always stuff his mouth with huge amounts of food. Sometimes, he would look like a hamster from having his mouth filled with food. Looking at him enjoying his food tonight also made you feel that the food was 100% more delicious.

 “So if you’re our biggest fan as your brother would boast, who’s your bias?” Jin daringly cut in. You cough at his sudden inquiry. Hoseok teased him for making you uncomfortable but you assure Hoseok that you’re not. Seeing you laugh at Jin’s question pleased Hoseok.

 You pause to think before you try to answer. The four of them were now nervously anticipating your reply. Jin didn’t mean to put you on the hot seat but now that he already asked you that question, he somehow felt disappointed at the thought of not hearing his name as your answer. Yoongi was also surprisingly nervous waiting for you to answer. Normally, he didn’t care about asking somebody with whom among them was your favorite but as he waits for you to reveal your answer, his heart was furiously pounding in his chest. Hoseok was beaming with pride thinking that there’s a chance that you might be his bias since you were a fellow good dancer as him.

 “Actually, don’t answer that. It’s better if you won’t tell us.” Namjoon chuckled, stopping you from your thoughts and granting glares from Hoseok and Jin. His eyes wandered off and landed on the phone that you were holding in your hands. He saw the huge crack across the black screen. This made him remember that day when he stepped on your phone while he was helping you up.

 “You’re right.” You cleared your throat. The tug inside Jin’s, Yoongi’s, and Hoseok’s chest swiftly disappeared. “Let’s just say I’m an equal big fan of everyone.” You beam a smile hoping that you didn’t let anyone disappointed from your answer.

 “Guys, I’m really sorry. I really didn’t mean anything bad when I rambled.” Jiyong, walking from behind Yoongi, looked at the boys with his head down. Most of the people in the room have already said their goodbyes and the ones left are you, your brother and the four gorgeous men crowding you.

 “Geez, hyung. I didn’t know you bully your twin sister. After all that continuous bragging at how you adore your sister whenever we would be in the booth?” Hoseok teased Jiyong.

 “You what? What have you been telling them about me?” You turned to glare at your brother. Jiyong was now disputing Hoseok’s words, flapping his hands around.

 “Believe me, I haven’t told them anything embarrassing.” You fold your arms as you huff your chest.

 “There it is! The angry look you gave just now looks exactly the same as him when he’s scolding us.” Hoseok suddenly shouted while pointing at you and your brother. You and Jiyong puzzled, exchanging looks. A loud laugh erupted from the both of you.

 Yoongi, Hoseok, Jin and Namjoon was surprised at how loud the two of you were laughing. Yoongi was completely loving the way you look right now, carelessly laughing. He felt happy that you finally felt a lot more comfortable at this moment.

 “See? Even your laugh is the same.” Hoseok cackled at how you siblings were now having a good time. Jin and Namjoon couldn’t help but also laugh at the silly situation.

 …..

 “Hyung, how does it sound?” Jimin called Yoongi’s attention from the other side of the recording booth as he put down the headphones. Yoongi was seated in front of the console beside Jiyong and Mark. He pressed a button to communicate with Jimin inside the booth.

 They were working on a new version of their old song to be specially performed at the online concert. Yoongi threw in some comments and Jimin was now ready to sing again. The rest of the boys were seated on the couches behind Yoongi. Jungkook was playing a game on his phone, waiting for his turn after Jimin. Taehyung was making notes on the lyric paper. Hoseok and Namjoon were busy discussing about their new track that they’re working together on. Jin was also busy scrolling through his phone. It was a very busy day for everyone.

 “How’s the surprise dinner? Was it a success?” Taehyung placed the paper down. Everyone turned to his direction, with the exception of Yoongi and Jiyong who was very busy discussing the details of the track.

 “Jiyong did a great job! We had fun and the food was great as well.” Namjoon commended. Jungkook was wriggling in his seat to tease Jin sitting beside him. Jin laughs looking at the youngest in adoration.

 “I didn’t know that this man could be a bully to his sister. He would never stop telling stories about his sister whenever he could but the both of them started embarrassing her out of nowhere.” Hoseok teased and laughed as he points out the two recording engineer while facing Jungkook and Taehyung. Jiyong was now red from embarrassment as he waft his hands towards the younger members, earning a ridiculous glare from Jungkook.

 “Why? What happened?” Taehyung asks, eyebrows raised at the sudden revelation from Hoseok. He lifts his knees and hugs it tightly as he bury himself back on the couch.

 Jin leads the conversation telling everyone, especially the maknae line who wasn’t present at the dinner, what transpired that night. Jimin, just finished recording in the booth, got out just in time to hear most of the conversation. The three younger members, Jungkook, Taehyung and Jimin, were surprised as well when they heard the potato soup incident then they joined the others in teasing Jiyong for embarrassing you. Jungkook actually leapt off his seat and went to slap Jiyong and Mark’s back, warranting deafening laughs from his hyungs. Jiyong then went to admit that if you can hear him right now telling your fangirl escapades, you would definitely kill him right now. Also, he proudly told them the fact that you’ve been to almost all of their concerts and fan meetings. A fact that surprised all of the Bangtan members.

 “She will definitely kill me if she knows I’m talking about her now but I’m really glad she’s a fan of you guys. She looks so happy every time she mentions the group. Seeing her smile looks so much better than witnessing her bottle up all emotions to herself.” Jiyong frowns as he remembers your former state in his mind. As much as he wants to stop rambling now, the boys in front of him owes his thanks on how they changed you, his precious sister. Gratitude was all he wanted to express to the boys for so long but he can’t since you emphasized very well not to tell anyone from the group that Jiyong has a sister who’s a big fan.

 “Your parents?” Mark asked as his hand crept up Jiyong’s shoulder. All BTS members froze at the topic. They know that the topic about Jiyong’s parents is still a sensitive one despite years have passed.

 Jiyong hasn’t discussed the whole detail but they know that you and Jiyong lost your parents when you were younger. Among the members, Jin was closest with Jiyong and might be the only one who Jiyong had mention some more details about their death. Whenever the topic would surface, Jiyong would just scrub it off and change the topic. Over the time he has worked with them, the words they have only heard from him was that you and your brother left for Seoul to stay with your aunt and that’s it. Nothing about the reason for their death. They just assumed it was something horrible because of how Jiyong would always freeze when his parents would be mentioned. They didn’t try to pry any further. If anyone did, Jin would be there to change the topic or talk to the member to stop prying further.

 “Then let’s keep making our fans happy with our work and of course, that includes your sister.” Aware at the change of mood and how Jiyong was now starting to get sullen, Yoongi places his hand on Jiyong’s shoulder to try and encourage everyone to get back to work.

 “Yeah. He’s right. We’ll take good care of her, hyung.” Jungkook flaunts a thumbs up for Jiyong as he stood up from his seat to walk towards the door of the recording booth.

 …..

 It’s supposed to be a rest day for you today. Luckily, there’s no need for you go to Big Hit since there’s no practice today and the gym is also closed for the day. You actually planned to spend the day in your pajamas and just watch your unfinished series in Netflix. However, the dance studio called to inform you to handle a dance class in the afternoon. Of course it’s a BTS dance class. They got a backup staff to handle it just in case you got a schedule but you did accept the offer which the owner of the studio was thankful for.

 Laying on your couch scanning through the selection of movies in Netflix, you wonder if it was a good choice that you agreed to the dance class this afternoon. You are dead tired, craving for your bed’s comfort. Even though your complexion’s a bit better nowadays since Jiyong relentlessly scolds you to take better care of yourself, you did want to take a day off from any work. Maybe you’re just addicted to punishing yourself to overwork but in truth, you can’t just sit around and do nothing. You’ve been too busy hustling around ever since working in Big Hit that your body finds it weird when it’s doing nothing. Not that you don’t want to but being active makes you happy as well, you guess.

 With a small body bag slumped on your shoulder, you tightly gripped the strap as you slowly enter the dance studio. The owners and other staff greets you as you open the door to the reception area. Sounds coming from the nearby two smaller studios along the hallway to the right can be heard from the reception. You waded to behind the reception desk to look at the chart for your class and you find that the attendance is full. It’s not a surprise since it is a BTS dance class, one of the best-selling classes in this studio. Also, when you’re the one leading the class, full attendance is always expected by the owner of the studio. A source of pride for you.

 You climbed up the stairs towards the second floor of the dance studio and opened the door to the biggest studio available. You dropped down your bag beside the console and sat down on the floor as you take out your phone from your pocket. There’s still half an hour before classes begin so you want to take this moment to practice for your class.

 As you warm up your body to the beats of Black Swan, you let your mind wander off. Dancing has always been a source of happiness for you. Your day instantly gets better when you let the words of any song fill you, taking control of your body. Like the song’s message, one of your biggest fear is when you’ll lose passion for the art. Performing has always been an extension of yourself and it just happened that you do perform BTS songs most of the time nowadays because their songs tend to bring out your real and hidden emotions. That’s one thing why you never stop listening to their works. It helps you to keep your emotions in check and equalizes everything within you.

 Your students started to arrive one by one as they fill the room, some actually were very eager to greet you for they have been waiting for your classes to resume again. Most of your students were high school students but there’s also a handful of men and women of varying ages. As you try to chat with some of them, you learned that a few of them were actually foreigners who were visiting Seoul for vacation. Honored, you expressed your gratitude and you returned to the front of the room, determined to make this their best class.

 It was a breeze to teach your students. Some had it easy with their experience in dancing so you try to focus on the ones that were visibly struggling with certain steps. One by one, you tried to come up to any student who would call your attention. Seeing their joy when they perform a sequence perfectly will always tug your heart.

 A man suddenly called your name as you were inspecting the class. You turn and see him staying at the last row of your students. As you slowly walk towards the man, you noticed that he was wearing a bucket hat and a mask that fully covers his face. His fashion also caught your eyes, a large bright orange sweater with adorable prints on the front paired with denim baggy pants. A comfortable and bright style you have always wanted to try but you can only think of one person who can pull it off, laughing as that person’s face suddenly popped in your mind.

 With his head down and his fringe almost covering his eyes, you couldn’t see any sliver of skin from this man’s face. Intrigued, you wanted to take a better look at his face but that wasn’t your purpose for coming his way.

 “I seem to have it bad… with this step sequence.” You heard him change the tone of his voice to a deeper one midway between his words. Still with his head down, he repeats the steps in his place as you stand beside him. The way he moves seems like he has some experience in dancing but still a bit stiff and awkward with complex moves.

 You try to stare at his hands and feet as you inspect the steps. When he stopped moving, you demonstrated the same steps slowly with better instructions to help him understand. As you were teaching him, he slowly lift his head up just enough for you to see a slight glimpse of his face. With the way he’s trying so hard to avoid showing his face, you’re now either amused that he’s so shy but eager to attend the class or worried if he’s someone suspicious. You never did hear his voice again after he talked to you. You bent slightly to get a better look at his face as he moves his hands to repeat the moves you’ve just taught him. A little bit more, you get a glimpse of his face that was not obstructed by his face.

 When you were so focused on trying to catch a glimpse of his face, he caught you staring when you met his eyes. His eyes widened and he shot up straight in his place, his head bent down and turned slightly away to avoid your gaze. You now felt bad seeing him backing away from you. That’s what you get for being so overly nosy about everything. You express your apology towards him before you return to the front of the room, stealing glances back at the man to check if he’s okay. Now seeing him standing further back and turned away from your sight, you felt crestfallen as you regain your spot upfront. You don’t even know you were so curious in the first place but something about him just seems so familiar.

 Before the class ends, there’s usually a segment where everyone performs the dance per groups of 7 shot by one of the staff to be uploaded in the studio’s Youtube channel. As they grouped themselves and stood against the walls, your eyes scanned everyone but couldn’t find the bucket hat guy. You heaved a long sigh recalling what had happened moments ago and now you can’t anymore apologize to the man. Everyone had their chance to perform Black Swan one last time and not a moment long, you’re left all alone in the room. The orchestra version of Black Swan now plays through the speaker, you let your body slowly fall to the floor. Legs and arms sprawled out like a kid as you take a moment to take a breather.

 As your breathing slowed like a lullaby’s melody, your eyelids are now also getting heavy. It was easy to just lay back and doze off on the floor but your active mind kept you up. Upon closing your eyes, you try to relax and think back on the good things that have happened to you this past month. You could only describe the feeling as flying around on a cloud, wishing that you could stay and not come down anytime soon.

 “You know you’re going to get sick if you lay there to sleep while your clothes are soaking wet from your sweat.” A bright male voice erupted from above you startling you, making your body jump. You opened your eyes and saw a dark figure hovering above your head. You shriek as you get up from the floor, seeing the bucket hat man gazing at you. He sees you quickly backing away from him and he raises his hands in front of him.

 “Bucket hat guy? Why are you still here?” You slowly back away from the man towards the mirror. He continues to raise and shakes his hand like he’s telling you there’s nothing to be worried about as he sees that you’re still backing away, guard up at his presence. He then proceeds to swiftly tear his bucket hat and mask off his face and the sight quickly giving you relief. “HOSEOK?! What are you doing here?” Your guarded state now replaced with shock.

 “Well… I came to watch your class.” Standing very timidly across you, Hoseok shyly gazes towards you. “I heard from Jiyong that you teach our choreographies and it’s all on Youtube. It’s easy to find this studio and so I booked a class.” You shoot a glare at Hoseok upon learning that your brother has once again blabbed to the boys and he just chuckles. The two of you were still strangers to each other so not knowing exactly what to do being alone in the same room as him is normal.

“Yeah but why? You don’t need to. Did he put you up to this?” Walking towards your phone on top of the speakers, you see Hoseok following beside you. He quickly reassures you that coming here was his choice which pleased you. “Wait. Oh my gosh! Are you just pretending to be a bad dancer a while ago when you asked me to teach you the steps?” You rotate your body towards him, jumping in disbelief. He nods as he shows a humble smile at the corner of his lips.

 “Hey, I really did forget that part and I wanted to interact with you. I didn’t want you to know it was me so I did my best to disguise but you kept on peeking under my hat.” He admitted quietly, chuckling in his spot as he maintains his eye contact with you.

 “Do all the members know? That I teach dance classes here?” You tuck your phone in your pocket while looking straight at Hoseok. He shakes his head. You sigh heavily before you turned to walk back to your bag near the door.

 “Only Jimin and Taehyung. They saw me play the YouTube videos on my phone.” Hoseok was still following you, maintaining a slight distance. He did clear out his schedule for today just to accommodate your class. Although he told you that Jiyong had mentioned your other job, he never mentioned about any videos on Youtube. When he saw the videos of your classes, he quickly did an inquiry for a slot in your classes. They told him that you were handling less classes from now on and there’s only one class for this month. The class was almost full and he was lucky that he got the last slot.

 “Also, I have another reason why I came here.” You were about to open the door with your heavy bag hanging off your shoulder but your hands stopped inches away from the door handle when you heard Hoseok. “I’m actually here to pick you up. I’m supposed to drop you off somewhere and it’s a surprise.” Hoseok saw how quickly you looked so confused at his words. “Did you drive here?”

 “No. Umm, I don’t own a car and I don’t know how to drive.”

 “Good. That solves my problem. I don’t want to drive back separately in two cars.” He grinned as he try to put his hat and mask back seeing as you are now opening the door to walk out of the studio. “We still have time before I need to drop you off so can we get some snacks?” As if on cue, your stomach grumbled. You felt your cheeks burn and avoided Hoseok’s gaze.

 “That would be nice. Although, I really want to know where you’re supposed to take me.” Hoseok laughs as you adorably pout to turn and walk away from him along the hallway.

 You got in the car with Hoseok and immediately, you felt awkward being alone in the car with him. He did offer you to drive him but every now and then, the thought of interacting this close to someone that you formerly could only through the screens of your phone is mind boggling. However, this makes them also more human. You start to look at them at a different light but this also makes you admire them more now that you know them behind the glitz and glamour. You both ate snacks in the car and Hoseok was comfortably chatting with you.

 Hoseok felt comfortable talking with you. He likes it that it feels easy to conjure up any topics and laugh at them with you. Although he’s supposed to drive you straight to the destination right after the class, he selfishly told himself that a few minutes added to the drive back won’t hurt. Getting you a snack was not part of the surprise plan and neither was him driving at a very slow pace to extend the time of the drive back. Although he thought at first that this was just him taking care of their number one fan but when you touched his hand during the class and when your hand grazed his in the car, he felt something different. Different but pleasant.

 “Ummm. Why are we back in Big Hit?” You gaze the huge building as Hoseok continues to drive towards the parking lot. “What is this surprise anyways? It’s not my birthday.” You continue to berate him but he keeps mum about it as he parks the car.

 “There’s nothing to worry about. Just follow me.” Hoseok opened his door and stepped out of the car. You froze but you don’t want to be rude and keep him waiting so you fished out your company ID in your bag to strap it around your neck and stepped out of the car.

 You quietly followed Hoseok as he continues to quietly parade through the floors while still keeping a healthy distance away from him to avoid gossips from anyone that might see you walking so close to him. Both of you arrived at a floor familiar to you. Jiyong has once walked you through the same hallway that has the recording studios where he works. Hoseok stopped in front of a door and turned to you as he opens the door. You stopped walking as well but slightly hesitating to go inside. Why is he guiding you to a recording studio?

 “You see, Jiyong wanted to make it up to you. The other boys and I helped pitched the idea for the surprise for our number one fan.” You narrow your eyes realizing where this is going and you hesitate more to go inside the room. Seeing as you’re hesitating, Hoseok now worries that the other boys might scold him more since he did take a lot more time than intended to get you here. He carefully took your hand to lead you into the room.

 The contact of Hoseok’s hand with yours is scorching hot. You try to deny yourself that you spent an awful amount of time stealing glances at his face as he drives you back here. He does look so handsome when he looks serious. It didn’t help that the sun shone on his face as he focuses on the road. You could almost hear yourself scream inside as you take in this wonderful moment. As you walk through the door, Hoseok’s hand slowly left yours and it felt empty. You linger at the thought but was now surprised at the sight of Jiyong sitting down in front of the console board, as if waiting for you.

 Hoseok closed the door to leave you two inside. Jiyong quickly gets up from the chair and wraps his arm around your shoulder. He took the bag off your shoulder and placed it on the sofa. He then pushes you into the booth and quickly leaves you alone. You stay quiet, not knowing what to do at the whirlwind of an event this is. It’s definitely not your birthday and whatever the issue was with your brother about the dinner nights before, this was more than what you expected. You were actually planning to tease him to get back at you for what he did and try to ask for free lunch with him every day for a week.

 “Put on the headphones.” You saw him mouth the words through the mirror. You scan around the booth and picked up the headphones hanging on the stand in front of you. “Hey, can you hear me?” You nod and lifted your hand to do an ‘okay sign’ at him.

 “What is this, Jiyong? Why am I here?” He hears you through the speakers. He looks at you, very confused at what’s happening, and laughs as he presses the button for you to hear him speaking.

 “I love teasing you but trust me when I say that I will never embarrass you to anyone. Also, I know you well that if you plan to tease me about it, you’re gonna ask for something small like food for a week or maybe drive you to work for a week.” You laugh at how he predicted your way of thinking. Driving you to work for a week sounds tempting. Better make sure to take a note of it. “So here’s my little present for you with the help of some people to make it up to you. Enjoy!” He smiles as the two of you exchanged sentiments. He doesn’t mind it when he’s cheesy with you since you’re one of his favorite person in the world.

 A few seconds of silence as you anticipate whatever is going to go through the headphones after you saw Jiyong work his way through the abundance of buttons on the console and stare through the monitor in front of him. You held the headphones with both of your hands as you wait.

 “Hello y/n, we are BTS!”

Next: pt. 6

[missaudreyhorney]

The Big Game

Modern AU where Jim Hopper is at your parent’s house for a Super Bowl party. That isn’t a plot so much as it is a very flimsy excuse for me to write out some dirty thoughts I have after seeing this photo of David Harbour looking like an absolute DILF.

Content Warnings: Rated M for age gap, kissing, over-the-clothes touching, a bit of Daddy kink, a little physical intimidation. All that good stuff. Female Reader. Slightly OOC for the sake of funsies. 1.6k words.

Tagging @t-u-m-s​. Anyone else want to be tagged when I post something new? Let me know.

“I know you said not to bring anything,” you announce as you walk into your parents’ house from the garage, “but mom told me the doctor said you should be watching your diet.” You place the tray of vegetables on the kitchen counter and turn towards the living room. “So I brought you some ve-” your words are cut off by the sight of an unfamiliar man sitting on the couch.

He’s wearing jeans, a dark grey polo shirt, and a black baseball cap that’s on backward. Just his profile alone is stunning. Thick eyebrows, an adorably pointy nose, and a strong jaw covered by a short, scruffy beard. He turns to look at you and it feels as if your heart stops.

“Hopper, you’ve met my daughter before, right?” your father says as he stands up from the chair to greet you.

“No,” the man answers coldly, eyes now fixed on the tv.

Your father comes into the kitchen and gives you a hug. “That was very nice of you, sweetie, but your mom’s been making me eat vegetables every day. This is the Super Bowl. All I want today is wings and potato skins.”

You hear his words clearly but they don’t register in your head. You’re much too distracted by this Hopper person you’ve never seen or even heard about before.

“Where’s everybody else?” you wonder aloud.

“They’re not here yet. This is just the pregame stuff,” your father clarifies.

Hopper glances at you again and you feel like you’re melting as you lean into the countertop. He’s so hot. Nothing like the boys you go to school with. Nothing like a boy at all. He is one hundred percent man.

“You wanna get a snack and join us?” your father requests in a jovial tone.

“Um, I have to, uh, put this other stuff away,” you point to the bag of groceries on the floor next to you.

“Oh, right,” your father acknowledges.

“Where’s mom?”

“Getting a couple of last-minute things for the party. She’ll be back soon.”

You roll your eyes. “I told her I would do that.”

“You know your mother, “ he says, walking back into the living room. “She never listens.”

You take a moment to admire Hopper before removing the food you’ve purchased from the bag. His arms are tantalizing, with the type of muscle not built from going to the gym, but from moving furniture, fixing cars, and other forms of manual labor. Seeing the veins in his hand as he drinks a bottle of beer makes you lick your lips. You can’t stop yourself from shooting him more glances as you finish putting the remainder of the groceries in their rightful place.

There’s no way you can sit in there with that gorgeous man and pretend to be calm or make casual conversation. Instead, you slowly and carefully make your way upstairs to your bedroom, or rather, what used to be your bedroom before you started college. Leaning against the inside of the door and taking a deep breath, you pull your phone from your pocket to distract you.

Your mother arrives about ten minutes later, with a football-shaped ice cream cake, and you admonish her appropriately. Soon after, more people show up to the party and the game starts.

With increasing frequency, your eyes drift over to the handsome stranger still on the couch, and within time, his begin to drift towards you as well. You try to keep busy by topping off people’s drinks, refilling the chip bowls, and putting more snacks in the oven but it’s ultimately no use. You can’t avert your gaze for longer than 5 minutes at the most.

Every time you catch him looking at you, heat rises in your chest and radiates out through your limbs. Under normal circumstances, you would welcome this feeling, but with so many sets of eyes surrounding you, the feeling is almost embarrassing. You don’t know how much more of it you can take and you have to get out of there. Not necessarily out of the house, but just away from Hopper.

During a detergent commercial, you try to sneak back upstairs. When your mother asks where you’re going, you tell her that you’re not feeling well and you need to lie down. It is at least partially the truth.

Sitting down on the small bed, you begin to scroll through Instagram to get your mind off of him and you quickly lose track of time. A while later, you hear someone ascending the staircase. Standing in the doorway of your room and looking down the hall, you see Hopper’s impossibly long legs lumbering up the steps.

“What are you doing up here?” you question quietly.

“It’s halftime,” he declares as he closes the space in between your bodies. His scent is so manly, like tobacco and aftershave.

You take a step back. “Don’t you want to see...whoever it is that’s performing?”

“No,” he answers, entering the room. “I want to see you.” His voice is low and deep, causing your thighs to gently quiver.

“H-Hopper, right?” you stammer, breath getting caught in your throat.

“You can call me Jim,” he offers. It's not until you're this close up to him that you see how incredible his eyes are. They're such an unusually dark shade of blue.

“Okay...Jim.” You can feel your cheeks flush as you utter his name.

He looks around and takes a sip of his beer. “Is this your old room?”

“Yeah,” you answer, “haven’t lived here in years though.”

“Who’s Troy?” he asks you with a slight chuckle.

You give him a confused expression, completely unaware of who or what he’s referring to. He points to the wall behind you and you turn your head to look.

“Oh,” you laugh nervously, seeing your old Troy Bolton poster. “It’s Zac Efron. I used to have a crush on him.”

He nods his head in recognition.

“My tastes have…matured since then though.”

“Have they?” he asks with his curiosity piqued.

You nod vigorously as he approaches you like a lion stalking a young gazelle. Attempting to be coy, you back away, until your legs hit the bed and there’s nowhere else to go.

He puts his beer bottle on the nightstand. “What’s your taste in men like now?”

“Older,” you admit, looking up into his beautiful eyes.

“How much older?” His hands clasp around either side of your waist.

“I don’t know,” you answer breathlessly as your hands move up to his shoulders. “About 20 years?”

As soon as the words are out of your mouth, his lips are on yours in a fiery kiss. Something about this feels wrong, but at the same time, oh so right. You do have a genuine preference for older men, but one that’s friends with your father is really pushing it. As much as you hate to admit it, part of that excites you. It turns you on that he’s in his 40’s and there are a dozen or so people downstairs who could catch you two together at any moment.

Your mouth gasps against his when he shoves you backward and you both fall onto the twin-sized bed. He tastes like beer, a flavor you’re not fond of, but the absolute last thing you want to do right now is to stop. Suddenly, his left hand pulls your hair, yanking your head to the side to give his mouth better access to your neck. He kisses and sucks your sensitive skin there, making you squirm with equal parts pleasure and arousal.

“Oh, Daddy,” you breathe as he nibbles on your earlobe.

“Did you just call me Daddy?” he whispers.

“Yes,” you confess. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. I liked it.”

You moan as his teeth graze your skin. The way he’s biting and sucking on you, it feels like he’s going to leave a mark, and at this point, you don’t even care. You don’t care about anything at all other than the way your body feels underneath him and his wanton mouth.

Another moan tumbles from your lips as run your fingers up his hairy forearms and grasp onto his biceps.

“Not so loud, huh? They’re gonna hear us.”

“You should have shut the door,” you reprimand halfheartedly. The sensation of his beard scratching the flesh over your collarbone has you pushing your hips into him.

“Too late for that now,“ he dismisses as his palm presses just below the zipper on your jeans.

Again you let out a moan, this one strained as you try and fail to be quiet.

“Why haven’t I seen you here before?” he inquires, his fingers now massaging against the denim.

“I’ve been at school,” you pant out.

“Well, you’re just going to have to come over here more often, aren’t you?” he prompts.

“Yes, Daddy!” you moan as the fingers of his free hand start to slide up the back of your t-shirt towards your bra.

“Hey, Hopper. You up there?” your father calls from downstairs.

Slapping a hand down on his head to keep his hat in place, Hopper jumps up from the bed and sprints to the door. “Yeah, I’m, uh, just looking for the bathroom.”

In a daze, you close your eyes and stay on the bed. It’s not until now that you notice how much your blood is pumping and your heart is pounding. With a resigned whimper, you realize that you’re aching with an overwhelming need left by his immense hand rubbing you through your jeans.

“Hurry up. The game is about to start again.” The sound of your father’s voice is a massive buzzkill.

“I’ll see you later, alright?” Hopper suggests to you as he stands in the doorway.

You don’t know what that means exactly but you’re looking forward to finding out. “Alright,” you sigh.

READ PART 2 HERE!

[tomdiddlyumptious]

Can u do a Tom Holland x model (tall) reader where she’s friends with law roach and zendaya and z and law roach introduces Tom and Toms friends to reader at a after party and they become friends and it’s fashion week and reader invites them and reader does multiple runways and photo shoots and Tom really likes her 🥰maybe fluff and smut

IT WAS TO FLUFFY TO ADD SMUT BABE- THANKS FOR THE ASK! REQUESTS ARE STILL CLOSED I HAVE TO FINISH THE ONES ALREADY ASKED!

Summary: ah, nothing like a nice life

Warnings: boob grabbing, dancing, sitting on laps and fluff! No smut!

A/n: IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK TO LONG- NOT PROOF READ!

T.H| I’m OuTsIdE iN a AmG

You sat down on your phone, playing candy crush like the old person you are, it was an after party and you came with zendaya and law roach, you’ve been friends for a little bit but it was nice, you both got closer then you both expected. You sat there pretty in a black tuxedo, shirtless with red bottoms on, hair in a shag, a pretty one though. You lifted your leg and placed ontop of the other, it was like any other after party, boring. Zendaya and law roach singing the lyrics while others jumped around them.

“Y/n!” Zendaya said, catching your attention, you shut off your phone and put it in the side of your pants, looking up at her. “Get up I wanna introduce you to someone” “zendaya-“ “later please” she took your hand and lifted you from your seat, you took the seat with you because bitches be wanna steal shit. “So y/n, this is my friend Tom- did you really take the seat with you?” “I sure did, hello Thomas” you looked at him, curly brown hair, a little bit of gel, he wore a charming smile, he was also short. “Hi” he laughed. “Thank you-“ a stranger said, trying to take the chair, “I think the fuck not!” You yelled over the music, tugging it back. “Back Yo ass up!” You say, fake charging at the person making them flinch. “You are so mean” law rolled laughed.

“It’s not my fault she crazy” you sat the chair down and sat in it. “Well anyways, this is Harrison” zendaya said, Harrison waving with a smile. “And Harry, toms brother” he also waved. “Hi Tom and erbodyelse” you waved right back at them. “She apologizes” law said. “What did I do?” You asked, law looking at you. “Hey it’s okay, she’s funny” he laughed, you gave a innocent smile. “Well let’s party right!” Zendaya said, making everyone but you smile....until of course ice cube had to come on ‘you know how we do it’ you had no other choice, you could rap every single word of it, of any 90s song. You weren’t the type to party but you better make the best of it, zendaya handed you a beer and you took it sipping it. “I’m not letting this chair go” you said, “I’ll take it” Tom said, you stood and he took it, walking to the bartista and asking him to keep it back there and not let anyone else grab it. Once the achol got in your system there was no going back, you did what you said you could, everyone was suprised you didn’t even break a sweat, would you remember this? Of course you would! You aren’t that drunk dumbieee.

You’re the life of the party when your not so stuck up and stubborn, but it’s just your personality, you got your chair back and Tom was about tired as hell, he ended up sitting on your lap and having his back on the arm rest, having a normal conversation, you both have a lot of shared likings, basically the same person but not, your feelings are always mixed but Tom is nice to even it out.

“You think this is weird?” Tom asked, “Nah it’s good, look at her” you pointed at the girl who keeps whipping her head around to the song, leaving Thomas laughing as you silently giggled. “So your a model?” He asked and you nodded, sharing a hamburger you got from somewhere, it didn’t matter. You handed it to him and he took a bite “so like Victoria secret?” “Yeah and Rihanna, ya know fenty?” “Of course I watched it like a million times!” “Who was your favorite?” You asked him, “I mean Laura was pretty sexy” he shrugged and you laughed, “yeah she was” “but she wasn’t the best” “who was then?” “You, you danced in that tight underwear, it had to be uncomfterble” “no Rihanna makes sure it’s comfterble” “well I know you would kill it in some butterfly lingerie” he shrugged, handing the burger back to you. “Why thank you, seems like you like me showing skin huh?” “Hey I might not be sober, but I’m sober enough to not tell you my secrets” “dang it!” You laughed taking a bite out of the burger.

“I should come to your runways” he looks at you, his eyes slightly squinted. “That was just what I was thinking!” You took a bite as he laughed with his cheeks filled, you chewed away as you both just looked at each other. “So favorite movie?” “I can’t go one night without watching Spider-Man-“ “really? Thank you” he cheered, you only laughed, “you didn’t let me finish, Spider-Man into the spider verse” “that movie sucks!” “Noooo it’s miles morales! He’s fucking better then youu” “we can fight if you wanna fight” “then you wouldn’t be able to come to my shows” “ah fine”

As the time passed you both only made jokes, watching everyone else dance and point out the ones who don’t know how to. It was fun, he gave you his number and you gave yours to him, chatting and no more drinking, just eating.

“Naw I saw you both!” Law yelled as zendaya hyped it up. “Doing what! We were only talking-“ “and eating!” Zendaya added on. “That’s romance!” “Well I don’t think so, so hmph” you shrugged. “Whatever bye y/n” law exited the call and zendaya did to, it was time for your photo shoot for the week and Tom was expected to come, he didn’t come yet so you had time to get dressed.

You went shirtless with a pair of high waisted cargo pants and combat boots, your hair wet and your long nails black, there wasn’t really any makeup on your face other then a whole lot of highlighter, when you went out you found Tom. He had two water bottles in his hand, his hair wet with a black shirt and normal navy blue jeans with some black air forces, he looked around for you until he found you, giving you a smile as you holded your boobs with one hand to wave at him. He made his way over to you “hey!” He cheered. “Hey Thomas, how are you?” You asked and he shrugged, “I’m pretty full so I’m happy” “you ate without me?” “How was I supposed to know? What do you want” “loyalty” he smacked his lips at you “I got you water atleast!” “I can’t drink that right know, my stomach has to look good” you both looked at it, you basically were glowing.

“Water can’t kill you” “yes it can, that’s my que, let’s go!” You took photos in this large house, with a huge mountain next to it. Tom thought you looked beautiful with your hair out, he was to respectful to look somewhere he wasn’t supposed to. You sat next to the pool with a chair, sitting in it backwards you arched your back, Tom having a seat in the background just watching how you move and how the sun reacts to your skin, lucky you put on some sunscreen so you didn’t have to get sunburns. He sipped his water and smiled to himself, Tyler the creator played in the background and as you took your time you danced some, you were a cute dancer...you couldn’t dance but you looked nice moving!

“Tom I need your hands!” You yelled, Tom instantly came over asking you what’s wrong. “I need you to fix my hair really quick” “you and I both know I can’t do that” “then please hold these” you smile at him. “What’s?” He asked, knowing what you were saying but not so sure. “Hold my boobs dude” you took his hand with your free one. “Alright alright!” He says, coming behind you to hold your boobs. “Thank you Thomas” as you were about to grab your phone your hair stylist came up to fix your hair. “You can’t do it either” she said. You smacked your lips as Tom laughed at you, still holding your boobs with both of his hands, which they perfectly fit too.

“Alright Thomas you have to be in this photo shoot” the photographer said. “What why!” He asked, completely not ready. “It’s just a great pose” he smiled. “I don’t know if she’s okay with that!” Tom said looking at you. “I don’t mind” you shrugged, looking back at him. “Alright then I’m pretty sure we have some cargos for you!” “Right here actually!” Why do they have some men’s cargos, you like men’s clothes sometimes, your more thicker then Thomas though so that’s really confusing. You silently gasped “law!” You said to yourself. “Let me go change yeah” he said, you put your hands ontop of his, he removed his and ran to go get changed, when he came back he was dressed just like you, highlighter on his abs, everything.

“You look good” you complement. “Not as stunning as you darling” he said, ice cube now playing “alright let’s go to the mountains”

You all made your way up there, on the tip of the mountain, if you were to fall you’d die, you afraid of heights but Tom held your hand to reassure your safe, you and Tom stepped on the end, one of his arms came around your breasts, perking them up and the other came around your waist, you leaned on your left knee, tilted your head to lean on toms, the sun glistening your skin as you closed your eyes amd lips slightly open and your hand held his cheek as his lips were softly touching your neck. “Alright, perfect” they recorded you both, then when they look back there gonna make it pictures, they snapped another of you both hugging each other, his back muscles and the back of his head, showing his wet curls as you wrapped one around your finger, your lips so close to his ear, pelvis to pelvis and chest to chest, all very very good pictures.

You and Tom danced to the music, all oldies playing, Mary J Blige, Tony!, Tupac, Brandy, New edition, Micheal Jackson, snapping more pictures while you both weren’t paying attention. “Oh this totally gonna is gonna get in the book, this is gonna be all over the news” “oh tell me about it” the photographers laughed, but it was time to take the solo one, you covered your breasts as you were on the tip of the mountain, your face infront of the sun, you covered your face with your hand from a distance, revealing one of your eyes as they were light from the sun, you looked up at the camera and made eye contact with it, your lips again slightly open. “Perfect!”.

Snapped.

Tom put you on his story, smiling to himself as you came back down. “It’s hot!” You yelled, everyone laughing at what you said. “Guess who’s the new face of vogue!” Jim said, the photographer. “Me!” You jumped, dancing to yourself as everyone cheered you on as P. Y. T played, everyone clapping to the beat as you kept dancing, everyone singing and doing their own thing. Tom sung as he came up behind you, holding onto your waist as you moved you hips, some people recording for the YouTube video. It was like you were dating before you even knew it, it was nice, everyone could see the love you had for each other even if you both were oblivious of it.

“Did a wonderful job darling” he said, both in the same dressing room. “You didn’t do to bad yourself” you smiled at him, putting on your bra and your oversized shirt, taking off your pants and boots next as he followed along to put on the clothes he had on first. “Your the new icon y/n” he smiled at you. “Don’t say that, we both know zendayas the queen” “but you can be the king” he winked at you, you only smiled and shook your head. “So you guys, can we post these videos!” Jim said, you both looked at each other then the door. “Yeah!” Both of you said, I mean it was platonic right? Totally.

For the rest of the week you did the runways, the photo shoots, you of course were the new face of vogue, Victoria secret, Rihanna wanted you to come back, rumors of you and Tom dating which was okay you guessed, it was all just so going good for you, but Thomas not so much. “I think I really fucking like her” Thomas said, sitting in one of the front seats for your runway. “Then ask her out div!” “Harrison shut up!” “I’m just pointing out the obvious” he shrugged. “Well then don’t” he whisper yelled. “I can hear your whole conversation, Thomas” zendaya said smiling, “me too” law and zendaya high fives each other as Tom rolls his eyes, soon music starts playing and models come out, best for last so you weren’t out yet, Tom sat there bored wondering when you were coming out, crossing his arms over his chest as the time ticked, everyone was recording the models, professional cameras all over and recording.

And then your music played ‘Shes A Bad Mama Jama’ as you came out with your yellow layered large poofy dress, a deep v-line and black heels under, dangle earrings and your hair in butterfly braids, shinny lip gloss and long eyelashes, you walked down and danced a bit, everyone clapping for you, just cheering for you, Tom was lucky to even know you, the way your skin shined and you were so photogenic, you were just a goddess really, a mic in your hand as you finished coming down, you said a single ‘hey y’all!’ And everyone cheered for you, clapping.

“As you know I’ve done a lot in this week, including this” you held up your hands at the whole entire place. “But I couldn’t have done it without a few people” people clapped for you. “That includes, law roach” claps. “Zendaya” some ‘woos!’ “And Tom holland” he was shocked but everyone still cheered for him, smiling and waving at everyone who cheered him on. “I honestly feel so honored, I love every single one of you in this room, you’ve been with me ever since I didn’t get a chance, but that’s the thing” you pointed at the camera “if nothing works out, be your own boss. No one can reject you if your doing your own thing, that’s what I did” you shrugged, everyone clapping for you more. “So we have this set up right?” “It’s all in the trunk Thomas” “well are you gonna help me?” He whispered to zendaya which she laughed at “you have guns for a reason” she squeezed his arms. “Shut up” he silently giggled as he still payed attention to you.

You then walked out, everyone still cheering loudly as you waved them goodbye. You made your way to backstage, finding the models, including cara, Naomi, Gigi, Bella, Kaia, and Lupita. You walked over to the table and grabbed the champagne and grabbed it, law, zendaya, Tom, and Harrison all coming backstage and grabbing their glasses. “Ready?!” You ask and they all cheer, all around you, you popped the bottle successfully, you poured poured everyone some, including yourself. “Alright what are we cheering for?” You ask everyone, “your success!” Gigi says, making you blush. “Stop it, our success, we did it all together” you say making everyone ‘aw’. “To our success!” You yelled, everyone said it after you, raising their glasses and clanking it with some people before taking a sip, Tom came over and kissed your temple, wrapping his arm around your shoulder.

“Congrats babe, you deserve it” he whispered in your ear. “What’s with the pet name” you laughed. “Come to the car with me yeah?” He asked, you nodded at him and the small group followed behind you, making your way to the car he opened the trunk, revealing balloons falling out and flying in the air.

but also a collage of you both, at the club with him sitting on your lap sharing the hamburger, laughing with each other to at the photo shoot, you both dancing with each other, the actual photos you used for the magazine too, then you both hanging out getting coffee and hugging each other in public, then both of you in these dark gothic wigs, with electric guitars, back to back as you put on this weird scrunched face, to hard to explain. You smiled as you picked up the collage “I love it” you said. “I love you” he said back, you looked back at him and he smiled. “I liked you the first moment I met you, your funny, sweet, stubborn, cute, your scattered everywhere-“ “I am not!” You cut him off. “Oh you are” zendaya said, the small group recording letting out small laughs. “You just proved my point y/n, but I love how I can even you out, I like the way you look at me, I want it to last everyday, every night, I just wanna be with you.... so in that case would you be my girlfriend?” He asked, you smiled so wide as you out the collage down in the car, you walked up to him and made eye contact with him as he stood there, looking up at you, you kissed him, smiling into the kiss and kissing him repeatedly “alright get it over with” law intruded, “yeah yes I will” you nodd and he smiled, kissing you again. Zendaya smiles “AGHHHHHH” she screams in excitement. For some reason ‘ivy’ by Frank ocean played and you both just made eye contact with each other.

[hqxreader]

I-I taylor it just turned into a brain ramble pls accept my sachi x idol reader tots 😔🤲

Saichi going to a shoot for his bab on a day off n he was roped into bein an extra because come on look at him perfect face boi n then they make him do the kabedon or poses where theyre super close on the reader for the photoshoot then y/n is all flustered because its not an actor but her 11/10 boyfie doing it. (BOUNS POINTS HES IN A CRISPY SUIT OOO) Embarassed af and then Sachi is all happy like ‘this my puppy and only I can make her this embarassed hehe’ and the rest of the staff still teases her in the future about it like ‘come on put a ring on him, such a keeper owo’ and she keeps all the photos from the shoot into her phone like its a treasure we must keep and the fangirls start coming in like ‘who is this handsum handsum man? Is he also an idol owo’

Extra: His siblings see it and are kinda jelly like ‘were pro players but baby brother is more popular then us from 1 photoshoot? 👁👄👁’

P.s. Feel free to add anything u think of cause sachi thoughts are /chefs kiss/ immaculate 🥰

P.p.s. ILY STAY HYDRATED U AMAZING INCREDIBLE CUTIE PATOOTIE STRONG HUMAN BEING U CAN DO ANYTHING 😩💖

i’ll always accept them love 💕

this idea tho, i sat and thought about it for awhile cause damn.. Sachi in a suit?? who do i ask to draw that for all the sachi stans?

but anywho~ i did have to look up kabedon cause i didn’t know it was actually called that?? i knew it as the ‘goodbye personal space’ pose lol showing how intelligent i am

p.p.p.s ILY YOU STAY HYDRATED TOO OKAY?? YOU ARE AMAZING, GOT IT?? DON’T LET ANYONE TELL YA OTHERWISE!! OMG I LOVE THE CUTIE PATOOTIE  💕💕💕

okie dokie i hope you enjoy! 💕this got super long oh jeez

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Series Masterlist

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Warnings: Sachi gets a bit dirty sorry folks, embarrassed reader, horrible writing, and Sachi in a suit and tie cause that’s totally a warning 

Word Count: 1.1k (holy shit damn) 

You were more than happy to learn that your PR team had gotten you an ad photo shoot with a popular clothing line/company/whatever. They wanted to advertise some of their more professional clothes, suits and dresses, yada yada. With a quick kiss goodbye to Sachirou, you made your way over to the photo shoot location.  

Arriving there, everyone was rushing around more than what you would consider normal. You heard various people saying, “I can’t believe he got sick, what are we supposed to do today? Should we reschedule?”

Going to your PR team you asked what was going on, confused. They explained to you that the extra who was supposed to model with you got sick, and they were trying to find a replacement. “Well, um,” you started, “Sachirou’s off today, do you think he could work as a replacement?” 

Your team knew who Sachirou was at this point, especially after his surprise backstage for you. They eagerly agreed, saying that would be amazing.

Walking to a more quiet corner of the studio, you gave your boyfriend a call. “Hey Sachi?” “What’s up Puppy?” “How would you like to be a model for a day?” 

And with that, Sachirou made his way over to the studio, excited for the shoot. 

When you introduced him to the photographer and she was very happy with him, even mumbling, “maybe even better than our sick idiot.” 

And with that, they sent you both to the changing area to get all dolled up and such for the shoot. 

You were dressed in a dark red sleeveless dress that rested just above your knees with black heels. plus your hair and jewelry was all nice and fancy i’m not getting into that sry.  

Leaving the changing room, you saw Sachirou wearing a black crisp(y) suit, a white dress shirt with his tie matching the color of your dress. His hair was slicked back unlike his usual wild hair. You couldn’t help but let your jaw drop, when the hell had your boyfriend become even more handsome?? 

“Like what you see, y/n?” Sachirou walked over to you, smirk on his face. You felt your face warm up at his comment. “’Cause I’m loving what I see.” Cheesiest ass line ever

Before you could respond with a comeback, the photographer called both of you over to discuss what you’d be doing for the shoot. “So y/n, I’d like you to stand with your back against the wall, Hirugami, I’m going to have you put your arm next to her head and lean over her, like a kabe-don pose, okay?” 

You simply nodded and Sachirou gave her a thumbs up. Taking your hand, he walked you over to the set where the were two walls set up, one for you to lean on and the other for the background. 

You leaned against the one wall, getting situated before Sachirou placed one hand next to your head and the other slid into the pocket of his black dress pants. 

Your cheeks warmed up to what felt like a blazing temperature from the close proximity of your faces. Sachirou’s face was only what felt like an inch or two away from yours. 

You both maintained eye contact. His lips turned into a smirk, a mischievous glint in his eyes along with something else. “Is my puppy being a good girl? A good little model?” he murmured in a husky voice, and only you could hear his words. sorry ima go now

Your eyes widened at his comment and your mouth formed a small o-shape. “Y-yes, I’m being a g-good model.” You couldn’t help but stutter over your words, embarrassment seeping through your body. 

The camera went off various times, the photographer capturing the moment between you two. “’Cause I have the best little puppy, don’t I? She’s very smart and beautiful, knows how to follow directions, yeah?”

All you could do was nod, your legs buckling a bit underneath you. Sachirou moved his free arm on your thigh, keeping you stable.  “Does my puppy need some support?” Gasping at the sudden change of position, you couldn’t help but cover your face with your hands. More shuttering sounds were heard as the photographer continued to take photos.  

“No, no, no, puppy. Let me see your beautiful face, don’t hide it from me.” You slowly moved your hands to rest on his broad shoulders, one hand messing with his tie. “There we go, there’s my beautiful puppy.”

More shuttering.

“Okay guys, I think that’s pretty good! Nice job to both of you!”

Sachirou pushed off the wall, taking a step back. He grinned, the former horny teasing attitude gone. “Nice job, love! I’m sure the people will love it!” 

You continued to stare at him in shock, how in the world did he go from whispering dirty words in your ear to this energetic man? “Y..yeah the people will love it, Sachi,” you said slowly.  

“Alright well, I’m gonna change and head back home, see ya in a bit?” You simply nodded with a small smile and watched him walk back to the changing rooms. 

Still leaning against the wall, the photographer chuckled at you. “You’re keeping him right? I sure do hope so, you don’t find guys like him very often.” Your smile grew and you wholehearted agreed, “He’s a keeper, no doubt about it.”

“When you gonna put a ring on his finger? Huh, y/n!” 

You glared at your manager for a moment before giggling, “soon,” you whispered. Finally moving away from the wall, you walked off to the changing room while they uploaded the pictures to the computer. 

Giving one final kiss goodbye to Sachi as he left, you walked back out to the studio to see everyone huddled around the computer. “Did they come out good?” you asked, walking over to everyone to see what the big hubbub was about. 

“Oh y/n, they came out amazing.” 

Peering over to see the screen, you were astonished by how well they came out. They looked like a natural kabedon between two people, not something fake that would’ve happened with the sick actor. “Can you, uh, send those to me? Please?” 

Everyone smirked at you and the photographer agreed to send them as soon as she could. 

A few days later, you received them all, and you put your favorite one as your home screen background. 

A month later, the best photo came out for the ad and your fans couldn’t stop buzzing about it. 

“Who is that? He’s really cute!” “Isn’t that her boyfriend?” “Is he an idol too? That’d be crazy!”

You never heard the end of it from Sachirou.

Extra:

A few days after the ad was released and everyone started going bonkers over Sachirou, said man got a phone call from his siblings. 

“How?! How are you more popular than us!? We’re pro-volleyball plays that have been in sports magazines!”

“Well big bro, I guess I just got the good genes.”

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed horny sachi 💕

Taglist: @yams046 @sunarincakes @kkoalaworld @sachirou-senpai @osamusriceballz @edvigelacivetta @tris-does-stuff @ylxxia @kageyuji @isentsworld @aaakaaashii @disneyloving-muggle @ahkaahshi @sachrious @pretty-setters

[btschooseafic]

Hey you, what’s your dream?

Pairing: platonic!oc x ot7

Details: manager!oc, predebut/idolverse, partial BTS World!verse

Summary: The boys start filming vlogs.

Warnings: This is a fictional story based on real events. The characters presented here are not the same as their real life counterparts. [Masterlist]

Track 15: First log

Video Phone- Beyoncé ft. Lady Gaga, William Burke

“On your video phone (Make a cameo)

Tape me on your video phone (I can handle you)”

December 2012

“Okay, well, that takes care of the budget section of our meeting,” Aviva said, looking up from her papers. Jimin and Taehyung were playing some kind of hand game. Jin was watching something on his phone. Yoongi and Jungkook were napping on Jin’s shoulders. Namjoon was slumped over a bit and wearing sunglasses indoors, so she was pretty sure he was sleeping as well. Hoseok had been in the bathroom for over ten minutes now, but she was going to give him the benefit of the doubt and say he was really constipated or something. She let out a long breath. “Seriously, guys?”

“Hmmm?” Jin looked up at her, smiling innocently. “I’ll wash the dishes in the morning.” Aviva rubbed her temples.

“Yeah, you said that already. We already finished the cleaning schedule.”

“Oh.” He blinked at her. “Then… what were we talking about?” He looked at Taehyung and Jimin, who shrugged.

“The budget,” she said. “Which you might’ve known if you had actually been paying attention to me instead of playing on your phone.” Jin’s smile turned a little sheepish. “Ah, but you three get credit for staying awake at least.”

“I’m awake,” Yoongi said. Jin jolted.

“Aish.” He rubbed his chest. “Min Yoongi-yah, don’t scare me like that!”

“Boo,” Yoongi muttered, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. He looked at Aviva, his gaze suddenly so alert it made her blush. He smirked. “I’ll work on a grocery budget with hyung so you don’t have to.”

“Thanks, Yoongi-yah.” She let out a breath of relief. “That would be a big help. Now, let’s wake the others up, cause they actually really need to hear this next part.”

“Hmm.” He kicked Namjoon’s shoulder. “Joon, wake up.”

“Wh-what?” Namjoon sat up straight and looked around. “Why’s it so dark in here?”

The others snickered.

“Maybe these?” Tae suggested, stealing his sunglasses and putting them on his face instead. “Wow, yeah, these are dark. How do you see in these things?”

“I’ll wake Jungkookie up,” Jimin offered, springing up and shoving the youngest boy. “Kookie, time to wake up!” Jungkook just groaned.

“He’s so cute,” Jin cooed, cradling him under his arm.

“JK, if you don’t wake up right now, I’m going to take a picture of Jin-oppa cradling you like a baby and send it to Jen,” Aviva threatened.

Jungkook sat up abruptly, nearly knocking his head into Jin’s.

“I’m awake! Don’t do it!”

“Blackmail?” Yoongi raised an eyebrow at her.

“The tricky part is, she’d probably think it was really cute,” Aviva admitted.

“Yeah, but cute in what way?” Jungkook thought aloud. “Probably not the right way…”

“What’d I miss?” Hoseok asked, walking back into the room.

“Doesn’t matter,” Aviva said. “Everybody else missed it as well…” She paused as Yoongi caught her eye. “…With the exception of Yoongi-oppa who gets a gold star.” Yoongi smiled smugly.

“Kinky,” Hoseok said appreciatively. Aviva blinked at him.

“…How?”

“I don’t want to know,” Yoongi said, waving his hand as Hoseok opened his mouth again. Hoseok shrugged.

“Anyway,” Aviva said loudly. “Special announcement—Youtube finally gave us permission for an official channel, so I’d like for you all to start posting vlogs.” They blinked at her. “Video logs.”

“Logs…” Jungkook stared at her uncertainly.

“Just talk to the camera,” Aviva said. “About what you did today, or what your hopes for the future are.” Namjoon grimaced, shaking his head. “Joon, I know you like to write silly raps just for fun sometimes, maybe you could record one of those? I could edit them in sort of a meme format, and that should attract some viewership.” Understanding passed over Jungkook’s face. Aviva pointed at Jimin and Hoseok. “And you two can post routines that wouldn’t be spoiling any original content.”

“Ah, like, coming soon, Bangtan boys,” Hoseok said the last part in a surprisingly deep voice. Aviva blinked.

“Hobi, you ever considered voice acting?”

“Eh?”

She shook her head. “But I’m getting sidetracked… anyway, I’d like you each to get me a video by the end of the week.”

“The end of the week!” Jungkook repeated worriedly.

“It doesn’t have to be anything special,” she told him. “Just be sure to record it in the studio, there’s the best soundproofing in there.”

“Beep—Wrong,” Taehyung said. “It’s the Bangtan Room, not the studio!”

“I’ll call it the Bangtan Room if you actually pay attention during next week’s meeting,” Aviva offered. Taehyung rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

“You drive a hard bargain, manager-noona.”

She sighed.

“But, who would want to know what we do all day?” Jimin wondered.

“Come to think of it, I’m not comfortable in front of the camera… I’m not sure I can do it,” Jungkook thought.

“I could be in the background out of the shot to keep you company,” Aviva offered. He frowned at her.

“Yeah, I think that would only make it worse.”

“Jungkook-ah, you’re going to be an idol, get used to it,” Yoongi said bluntly. Jungkook grimaced. “Unless you want to be treated like a baby forever?”

“No.” Jungkook’s brow furrowed.

“Don’t worry,” Jin said. “I’ll show you how to do it. Watch and learn!”

“…What, now?” Jungkook wondered, as no one moved.

“Ah… maybe tomorrow,” Jin thought.

“Okay.” Aviva gave him a thumb’s up. “Let’s meet at the studio around this time tomorrow and see how it’s going.” Jin smiled nervously. “Yoongi-oppa, text me some kind of treat you want and I’ll bring it for you.”

“Hmm, now I kind of want to know what Hobi thought a gold star meant,” Yoongi said thoughtfully. Hoseok opened his mouth again.

“Nope.” Aviva made an X with her arms.

‘Have you decided what you want?’ Aviva texted Yoongi first thing in the morning before she even got out of bed.

‘…I wanna eat meat.’

‘You always do! But remember the budget…’

‘right. ㅠ.ㅠ ok. Can I be exempt from logs for the next couple of weeks? I can do a product review of the new soundboard that I’m getting, but it hasn’t come yet.’

‘Ok. The viewers will miss out on your cute face, though,’ she texted before she thought too much about it. She froze. Shit.

‘Shut up >//<, u r the cute one.’

She laughed. ‘No, it definitely you. Just look at that emoji usage!’

 ‘u text like my grandma.’

 ‘u live like a grandpa.’

 ‘I see, so we match well together~’

She laughed again. It wouldn’t be too bad if not everyone got a log out this week. As long as two of three members posted something, that would be good. But was that really enough of a treat for Yoongi? She hadn’t done any baking in a while, and if she did something with ingredients she already had, it wouldn’t break the budget.

‘Do you like sweet things?’ She texted, and then got up to get dressed and start the day. Her phone buzzed. She finished getting dressed and looked at it.

‘d(^_^)b Duh. ♡.♡ Check the name.’

 ‘I thought it had something to do with basketball?’

‘…It does. I was just… guess I’ve spent too much time with hyung. ^^; ’

Aviva snorted.

That morning, Hoseok had somehow convinced Yoongi to join him at a nearby basketball court. They were shooting hoops, and Hoseok was frustrated, because Yoongi was winning, even though he kept taking breaks to look at his phone. He kept smiling at it, and at one point Hoseok even thought he blushed, although that might’ve been from the exercise.

“Who are you texting with?” He wanted to know.

“Your mom,” Yoongi said, without looking at him. Hoseok whipped at his ass with his sweat towel. Yoongi attempted to fight back, but Hoseok caught the towel, holding it as he smirked.

“Ah. I bet it’s Avi-yah.” He leaned over closer, trying to get a look at Yoongi’s phone screen. “What did she say that made you blush like that? Or was it a naughty photo?”

“That would be sexual harassment, technically, I think,” he said, twisting away from Hoseok, trying to keep his phone hidden. “Since she’s our manager.”

“Not if it’s totally consensual,” Hoseok thought, grabbing at the phone. Yoongi finally just shoved his phone in his bag.

“Let’s go back to the dorm and shower before she gets there,” he said.

“You don’t want her to see you all sweaty and messy?” Hoseok teased. Yoongi shot him a weird look.

“She’s seen me after dance practice plenty of times.”

“Ah, right.”

They walked out of the court, continuing down the street towards the dorm.

“Anyway, she doesn’t seem like the type,” Yoongi said, so quietly Hoseok almost didn’t hear him.

“To want to see you sweaty?” He wondered, confused. Yoongi rolled his eyes.

“To take pictures like that.”

Hoseok blinked. “Eh? You were still thinking about that?” Hoseok grinned. Yoongi was definitely blushing this time. “It’s always the quiet ones. Like, I bet you’re pretty kinky.”

“Depends who I’m with,” he said honestly.

“Ah.” Hoseok nodded. “You’re a switch.” Yoongi stared at him.

“…Can I consensually murder you?”

“What? No! How would that even…” Hoseok stopped suddenly as a familiar car pulled up alongside them.

The window rolled down and Aviva waved at them.

“Morning, boys. Need a lift?”

“Sure!” Hoseok said, going to open the passenger seat door.

“Ah, no, I have stuff on the seat,” she told him. “Sit in the back.”

“Okay, okay.” They got in the back. “What’s on the seat?” He wondered, trying to lean forward to see.

“Buckle your seatbelt, Hobi,” she ordered.

“I got it.” Yoongi buckled him in.

“…They’re cookies I made for Yoongi-oppa,” she said quietly. Yoongi blinked, and then a smile spread over his face.

“What? Hyung doesn’t deserve cookies,” Hoseok protested. “He threatened to murder me!”

“Yeah, cause he was saying dirty stuff about you again, Siljangnim,” Yoongi told her, without even hesitating. Hoseok gasped.

“Aish, you tattletale! Seriously?”

“While I appreciate you trying to defend my honor, or whatever, oppa, don’t murder him, that would be too much paperwork. Anyway, that stuff doesn’t bother me,” Aviva said. Yoongi and Hoseok looked at each other, and then her.

“Wait, really?” Yoongi said. “Why?”

“I grew up with Soonyoung, so I’ve been kind of… desensitized to that stuff?”

“Ah.” Both boys nodded. “That’s why your reactions are so amusing,” Hoseok figured. Aviva made a face.

“You know, both her and Taehyungie have said that before, I don’t get what I’m doing that’s so amusing.”

“Hmmm. Well, it’s similar to the satisfaction I feel when get Yoongi-yah or Tae Tae to react to things,” Hoseok told her. “They’ve got good poker faces, but they’re marshmallows on the inside.”

“Yeah,” Aviva agreed. “Cause he’s Suga.” Hoseok laughed as Yoongi groaned, a hint of a smile on his lips.

Later in the Bangtan Room, Jin was dressed oddly formal, in a suit.

“Seokjin-oppa,” Aviva started, but Hoseok interrupted her, pressing his finger to her lips.

“Shush. Just let enjoy the view for a moment.” He paused, tilting his head. “Eh, the moment has passed—why such a plain suit? That cut and color? So boring…”

“More importantly,” Aviva said. “Jin-oppa, you don’t have to do this in front of us, if it’s stressing you out too much.”

“Ha ha, of course not! I’m not stressed at all,” Jin said. “Why would you think that?”

“You’re standing as stiff as a board!” Aviva said.

“So…” Jin brushed his hair away from his face, ignoring her. “I’m going to do a three-line poem using my name.”

Aviva stared at him as he recited. “I don’t get it... did I lose something in translation?”

“No,” Hoseok told her. “It’s just not funny.”

“Yah!” Jin said, finally breaking from his robotic stance. “What do you mean?”

“It wasn’t fun at all,” Jungkook agreed, his nose wrinkling as he smiled slightly.

“It was hilarious,” Jimin disagreed. “But maybe not for the right reasons.”

“I’ve been thinking about the concept for these logs, but… do you think three-line poems are the right direction?” Namjoon wondered, tapping his chin.

“Not to mention the suit…” Yoongi added.

“Right?” Hoseok agreed.

“Is it too much?” Jin touched his lapel nervously. “I thought it would show I’m taking it seriously.”

“Aw, Jin-oppa, I really do appreciate the thought…” Aviva smiled at him gently. He smiled back at her. “But you should change.” He pouted.

“What about Tae?” Jin wondered as she started shepherding him out of the room. “He’s just been whispering into the mic!”

Aviva shrugged.

“Eh, some people like that kind of thing.”

That night, Aviva had just gotten home when her phone rang. It was Jin.

She answered. “Yes?”

“Ah, Aviva-yah? I was wondering, well, I think I need to get more used to being in front of a camera, so, I thought… maybe you could take some pictures of me?”

“…Like a photo shoot?”

“Did somebody say photo shoot?” Soonyoung wondered, popping up from the couch.

“Ah, it’s Jin-oppa,” Aviva told her.

“Oh? That oppa? Can you put him on speaker?”

“Um, oppa, do you mind if I put you on speaker?” Aviva asked him. “Soonyoung-ah wants to be included.”

“S-Soonyoung-ah?” He repeated. “Um… okay, sure.”

“Alright.” Aviva hit a button. “You’re on speaker. I think I know where she’s going with this, by the way. Soonie’s always liked dressing people up and taking pictures of them.”

“Well, yeah,” Soonyoung said. “It’s fun. But you never played with me!”

“I don’t like having my picture taken, and I don’t really like dressing up either, you know that,” Aviva said.

“Anyway, it would be fun to have such a handsome model,” Soonyoung thought.

“H-Handsome?” Jin said. “You’re too kind.” Aviva squinted at her phone, wondering at Jin’s sudden change in personality.

“You don’t mind people dressing you up, do you, Jin-oppa?” Soonyoung purred. “Since you’re gonna be an idol soon, hmmm?”

“Ah, no, I don’t mind,” Jin said, sounding like he wanted to crawl into a hole and die.

“Great!” Soonyoung said. “I’ve got some free time on my hands, so why don’t you meet me in the morning, that’s when the light will be best—ooh, ask Hobi to pick out a few outfits for you to bring, he’s good at that.”

“Okay, the ladies have arrived!” Soonyoung sang loudly, as they entered the dorm the next morning. She looked around. “Where is my model?”

“Ah, Soonyoung-noona,” Jimin smiled at her sleepily. He was still in his pajamas, sitting on the couch and playing a game on his phone, by the looks of it. “I heard there’s a photoshoot happening? Jin-hyung is in the kitchen, as usual.” Jimin pointed in the correct direction.

“Thanks, cutie.” Soonyoung leaned over and kissed his cheek before continuing on to the kitchen. Jimin’s face turned red.

“W-what?”

“…You haven’t really interacted with her much, have you?” Aviva realized.

“Ah, no, I’ve only met her a few times.”

Aviva nodded. “You get used to it,” she told him. Jimin looked doubtful. “Is Namjoon-ah in there too? He said he needed something.” Jimin nodded.

In the kitchen, Namjoon’s spoonful of cereal was frozen halfway to his mouth.

“What the hell are you doing here?” He said, eyes wide as he looked at Soonyoung.

“Joonie, I don’t remember saying you could address me so informally,” Soonyoung said, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Soonyoung-ssi,” Namjoon amended, putting his spoon down like he’d lost his appetite. “Could you please tell me... what the hell are you doing here?”

“Didn’t you hear me yesterday?” Hoseok wondered. “Jin-hyung’s having a photo shoot.” Namjoon’s eyebrows went up.

“With her?” He pointed at Soonyoung. Hoseok nodded. Namjoon patted the frozen stiff Jin on the shoulder. “Good luck, hyung. You’re gonna need it.”

Soon Soonyoung had left with Jin, somehow conscripting Jimin to help her, with Hoseok volunteering to go along.

“Do you think Jin-oppa has a crush on Soonie?” Aviva wondered as she sat with Namjoon, Jungkook, and Yoongi in the studio room. Jungkook and Yoongi were looking through a free-use video library for good meme clips to add Namjoon’s more serious than expected rap encouraging voting.

“What?” Namjoon stared at Aviva.

“She is hot,” Yoongi said, blunt as ever.

“Well…” Namjoon looked hesitantly at Aviva.

“She’s hot. She knows it, I know it, we all know it,” Aviva said, unconcerned.

“I guess,” Namjoon agreed reluctantly. “But I didn’t think Jin-hyung was the type to go for just looks.” He looked worriedly at Aviva again.

“It’s fine. I love her, including her personality, but I know she scares a lot of people,” Aviva said. Jungkook grimaced.

“She is a little scary.”

“Some people are into that,” Yoongi pointed out.

Jungkook’s eyes widened. “Jin-hyung is like that? Really?”

“We don’t know that,” Namjoon said, waving his hand. “And I never said I was scared of her.” Everyone looked at him in disbelief. “Okay, maybe I am a little scared of her…” Yoongi patted him on the shoulder.

“It takes a brave man to admit his fear,” he said. Namjoon smiled at him. “Which means Kookie is braver than you.” Namjoon frowned. Jungkook laughed. “Anyway, can we stop talking about this and get back to your video? I’m bored.”

As far as any of them could tell, Jin had survived the photo shoot. He was very quiet when he got back, but definitely more relaxed.

“These are actually great,” Namjoon admitted reluctantly, clicking through the photos of Jin on the studio desktop.

“Right?” Tae agreed. “The lighting and composition are gorgeous.”

“And the way she directs your eye to all these little details you’d normally miss is so cool,” Jungkook commented.

“…Did you both take photography in school?” Namjoon wondered.

“A bit!” Tae said.

“No.” Jungkook shook his head. “Just a personal interest.”

“Ah, you guys are constantly impressing me,” Namjoon said, patting both their heads at the same time. Tae smiled. Jungkook blushed.

“Okay,” Aviva said, walking into the room. “I got Jin-oppa to eat something and then sent him to bed.”

“Eat what?” Tae wondered.

“I picked fried chicken up as a treat,” Avi told them. “It’s in my office.”

“What?” Jungkook’s eyes widened. “Why didn’t you tell us earlier? It’s all gonna be gone.” He and Taehyung sped out of the room, though Namjoon stayed in his seat, frowning. Aviva sat next to him in Jungkook’s abandoned chair.

“Are you sure he’s alright?” Namjoon asked her.

Aviva nodded. “It’s just the Soonyoung after affect. I have seen it in many of her… um, objects of affections, over the years, even suffered it myself a couple of times.”

“What do you mean?”

“Hmm. She pays so much attention to you, it gets overwhelming,” Aviva explained. “It feels like she’s breaking you down and building you back up again stronger. She probably would’ve been a good manager… but she’s always been more interested in the technical side of things. She picked a broken old PS3 up off the street the other day and fixed it.” Namjoon made an impressed noise. “Don’t tell the boys, I don’t want them showing up at my apartment to play it at weird hours.”

“Got it,” he said.

That night, Aviva stayed in the studio to watch the vlogs on the desktop. Guilt stabbed at her chest when she saw Tae’s video in the queue. She should’ve told him what was said in that marketing meeting as soon as she saw him, but she knew it would hurt him. She was hoping to fight it somehow. Maybe if he’d made a really cute video it would convince the marketing team to retract their decision?

She clicked play, watching Tae excitedly brag about all the business cards various talent agencies had given him. There were some big names in there. Aviva leaned back in the chair, trying to untangle her feelings—the ones that came to the top were pride and possessiveness. She was proud that others saw how brightly Tae could shine, but she wanted to be the one to show everyone that light. But wasn’t that selfish? If she really wanted him to reach his dreams, shouldn’t she encourage him to strive forward, even if that meant alongside someone else...?

She sat back up, watching the video as Tae happily told the camera that he was already taken, and started making the cards into paper cranes. She smiled slightly.

“Manager-noona!”

She jumped as she felt someone’s hands on her shoulders.

“Kim Taehyung-ssi, are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

“Nope.” He was grinning. “But the guys don’t fall for that anymore, so you’re my best target!” She glared at him. He poked her cheek and cooed. “Even your glare is adorable!” She sighed, running her hand through her hair. She stared up at him, wondering how to break the news. He bit his lip, his playful expression turning into something she couldn’t read. “Ah, manager, why are you looking at me like that? That’s no fair!”

“Did you get taller?” She wondered absentmindedly, thinking she was having to crane her neck more than usual to look at him.

“Did I?” He wondered. “Stand up.” He took her hands in his, pulling her to her feet. Then he measured the distance from his head to hers and nodded thoughtfully. “The height gap has changed. It appears you’re correct, I am taller.” He smiled. “You’re so tiny, manager!”

“I’m really not...” Aviva automatically hugged her arms over her stomach.

“Well, maybe not all parts of you are small...” Tae glanced briefly at her chest and then blushed, moving his gaze to the ceiling. “But they are parts of you, and together they make up someone beautiful.” He booped her on the nose. “And cute.”

“I don’t agree, but thank you for the compliment,” she said stiffly.

Taehyung frowned. “I don’t do empty compliments.”

“I know. I have told you I admire your sincerity, Taehyungie.”

“Hmmm. You know, Jiminie doesn’t think he’s cute sometimes too, which is ridiculous, because he always is!” He tilted his head. “And I know I’m good looking, but sometimes people call me beautiful, like a few of those agents giving me business cards...” He pointed to himself on the screen. “And I’m not so sure how I feel about that.”

“Do you not want to be called beautiful?” Aviva wondered.

“I don’t know. Do you think I am?”

“Yes,” she said honestly.

He smiled. “Well, that makes me feel good, even if I’m not sure that’s exactly how I see myself... because you don’t give empty compliments either. Isn’t it amazing, noona, that no one sees things the same? You see me differently than I see myself when I look in the mirror. It’s like a painting, or a poem—we’re all art up to each other’s interpretation. I want to know more about how you see me, and I want to tell you more about how I see you.”

Aviva stared at him for a moment and then shook her head. “Tae, you are special, I’m sorry I can’t put it into such pretty, cheesy words as you do. There’s something else I have to tell you, and I don’t know where to start…”

“Would this help?” He held a crane out to her, which was made out of one of the biggest entertainment companies in the country. She swallowed. “I want to make a set of one hundred, but I want you to have the first one.”

“Are you planning on getting a hundred more offers?” Aviva wondered.

“Eh, maybe, if people keep calling me pretty,” he joked. He pointed at the video. “Will you post my video first?”

“I... I can’t,” she told him apologetically.

His brow furrowed. “Why not?”

She took a deep breath. “There was a marketing meeting earlier and they said, well, they want you to be a secret member.”

“Secret member?” He repeated.

“They don’t want to announce you until later. They know you’ll do well with the intended demographic and they’re hoping you’ll have even more of an impact if you come as a surprise,” she explained.

“I see...” He said slowly.

“So I’m not allowed to post any images of you online, but... I can fight it, if you want me to, Tae.”

He blinked at her. “Why would you do that?”

“Because you’re just as important a member of this group as any of the others, and I don’t want you to feel left out,” she said.

He smiled, a little sadly. “Thank you for offering, but I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble with your sunbaenims.” He wrapped his arms around her. “I’ll make it through.”

Instead of Tae’s video, Aviva launched the official Bangtan Youtube account with Namjoon’s ‘get out there and vote!’ rap as the first post.

The next day she launched their twitter page after talking to them about what kind of message they wanted to open with:

'What’s up! This is BTS. We’re finally officially opening our BTS Twitter~ *Clap Clap Clap* We will upload more weird and fun things that one could have only imagined about before our debut…’

Next was Soundcloud, which she opened with a solo song adaptations by Rap Monster and Suga.

To wrap up the year, all of the boys recorded a Christmas diss track together (except for Hoseok who was visiting family for the holidays). They called out themselves, Big Hit, Bang-PD, even Aviva.

“When do I ever sleep?” She wondered, glancing over the lyrics as they gathered in the studio.

“Well, we told you it was a diss track,” Namjoon said slowly.

“Besides, blame Jungkookie,” Jimin said. “He wrote that part.” Jungkook and Aviva squinted at each other.

“You need to sleep more,” he told her pointedly.

“That’s not what you make it sound like!” She argued. “You make it sound like I’m at home sleeping while you work to death!”

“Aish, just post the video already before we all grow old and die,” Yoongi groaned.

Although only Jin and Rap Monster were featured in the Youtube video Aviva and Yoongi did the editing for, Tae was still excited to hear his voice in the background. Aviva returned his warm hug and tried not to think too much about the glow of pride for the first posts wearing off and leaving them only with the strain of hard work.

[bluewhale52]

The History of Us - Ch. 25

Synopsis: You have built your career and you have 2 rising hip hop superstars as your besties. Life is pretty good, until one drunken night that derails your life plan. How would you survive?

Pairing: ?? x OC , main characters are mostly Namjoon, Yoongi and Tae, but all 7 are present now

Fic type: text

Word Count: 2.2k

Genre: Strangers to Lovers!AU, fluff, angst, NSFW

Rated: R/ 18+

Warning: swearing, talk about sex and pregnancy, foreplay that includes breast touching/ massage

Disclaimer: photos are not mine, and of course characterization and scenarios of the boys are purely of my imagination

Masterlist  |  Next>>

Ch. 25 - Bombshell

3 May 2019, 06:30am

You sit at the edge of the bed, watching Taehyung sleep. Little snores escape his mouth, and his eyes twitch occasionally, and you wonder what he is dreaming about. His hair has grown longer now, and you have come to adore the soft curls that adorn his face. You smile at how much his hair reminds you of a King Charles Spaniel.

You brush your fingers over his hair, not wanting to leave just yet, but you know he is not going to wake up anytime soon. You wish you could just sleep in with him, but with the success of your best friends’ tour, you know there are a lot of things to do and plan for the rest of the year and even into the next year. You are determined to give them the world tour that you have promised.

With one hand rubbing your back (the back pain is becoming a daily occurrence, as all the pregnancy books and blogs have warned you), and one hand on the bed as an anchor, you push your 27-week pregnant body up. You gasp lightly when you feel a fingers wrapping around your wrist.

You sit back down and turn to Taehyung, who is blinking his eyes to rid away his sleepiness. His voice hoarse, he asks, “What time is it?”

“Early. Go back to sleep.” You gently answer.

Rubbing his eyes, Taehyung sits up and looks at the clock at your bedside. “Noona, it’s so early.” He blinks a few more times. “And you are dressed for work. Why are you leaving so early?”

“I have to leave the office early to get ready for that gala.” You answer, rolling your eyes. Hoseok has reminded you all week that he will be brining a stylist and a make up artist to your office at 4pm on the dot. “I don’t understand how I’d need three hours to get ready. I mean it’s just dress, hair and make up; I could do it all myself in under thirty minutes.”

Taehyung lies back down on the bed, chuckling. “Always so efficient, my darling.” He rubs your arm and yawns. How does he still look so handsome when he yawns? “I’m sorry I came home so late last night.”

You shake your head in understanding. “It’s ok, how was it by the way? Your bro-date with Seokjin?”

“It was good, I’m really glad we did that.” He rubs his chin. “It’s nice to have that one on one talk, you know?”

“Put your mind at ease?” You ask carefully. You know Taehyung has not been the most receptive having Seokjin in your and his inner circle, and you have been extra careful to keep the balance between your boyfriend and your baby daddy.

“Yeah,” Taehyung lets out a long exhale. “We talked a lot. And I think I needed that more than he did? I was being very honest with him, maybe I was being too honest, like I told him all the reasons why I didn’t like him.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Wow, and how did he react?”

Taehyung scrunches his nose. “I hate that I put him in a corner like that. But...” Taehyung trails off, you stroke his leg, encouraging him to continue. “I wanted him to know what he’s put me through. Although you know most of it is my own overthinking. That was so cruel of me, right? He doesn’t deserve that.”

“Yeah, that’s quite mean, Tae.” You reply in a low voice.

“But he’s such a good guy, Noona, like despite everything I said, he was still willing to listen and not retaliate at me. There are so many what-ifs going through my mind now he’s in the picture. He makes the effort to understand where I was coming from, in terms of you, us, the baby... he even bought me ramyeon.”

You burst out laughing. “Oh dear Taehyung, he knows your weakness.”

“Don’t tease. But yeah, we ended up eating ramyeon by the river, and then we just talked. I mean, really talked, and not about the three of us, but you know..” Taehyung runs his fingers through his hair.

“Like friends.” You conclude for him. Taehyung nods. “Well that’s fantastic, I’m happy, Tae.” You try to bend down to kiss him, but your pregnant belly is in the way. You pout. “Come up here and kiss me, daddy.”

Licking the corner of his mouth, Taehyung sits up and scoots closer to you. He wraps his big hand around the back of your neck, his fingers burying themselves in your hair. “You can’t call me daddy and expect me to just kiss you, darling.”

You sigh contentedly as he presses his lips against yours. “Maybe I want more than just a kiss.” You murmur. Taehyung hums as he continues to kiss you, then you abruptly pull back.

“So you’re good with Seokjin now, right?” You ask as Taehyung presses his body closer to yours, his lips start moving to your jaw.

“Yes, we’re good, darling.” Taehyung huffs as you push him back.

“OK, good, because it’s difficult for me to play mediator all the time between you two. And, Taehyung, stop it!” You squeal as his lips latch onto your neck and his hand sneaks up to cup your breast. “We’re not done talking about it!”

Taehyung is covering your neck with kitten licks, you have been very stern about him not to mark you on areas you cannot hide. “Hmmm, we can talk now,” he answers between licks. His hand is massaging your breast harder.

You moan his name as you feebly try to push him away again. “We always do this, when we need to talk, ah!” He sucks at your collarbone, interrupting you.

"We have the best talk when I’ve got my cock deep in you.” Taehyung mouths at your neck again. He glances at the alarm clock. “What time do you need to be in the office?”

“7:30.” You breathe out, voice thick of neediness.

“Good, shall we see how many times I can make you cum in thirty minutes?”

-------

3 May 2019, 13:20pm

You slurp another forkful of spaghetti bolognese as the door to your office opens. Namjoon and Seokjin walk in, followed by Yoongi who grimaces at your lunch.

“Noona, seriously, do you even eat anything else?”

You wipe your mouth. “What Little Miss wants, Little Miss gets.” You watch the three men standing around awkwardly before you. Something is up.

“Is everything OK?”

The three of them look at each other, before Namjoon speaks up. “About the gala tonight, there’s something you need to know.” He turns to Seokjin. “Hyung, I think it’s best you tell her.”

Seokjin rubs his face repeatedly. “OK, promise you won’t get angry, please.”

“We’re just here for moral support, by the way, he was too scared to talk to you.” Yoongi pipes in, earning an annoyed groan from Seokjin. You put aside your spaghetti. This is serious.

“Ok,” Seokjin takes a seat in front of you and inhales sharply. “do you know a Lee Yuri?”

You narrow your eyes. “Lee Yuri, whose father is in the National Assembly? Who works in my old firm and exists in this world to be my ultimate arch-nemesis?”

“I told you this isn’t good.” Yoongi whispers to Namjoon, who only nods sympathetically.

Seokjin seems to sink deeper into his seat. “Yes, and who also happens to be an acquaintance of mine...”

“He means fuck buddy.” Yoongi pipes in.

“Yah Yoongi!” Seokjin turns to glare at Yoongi angrily.

You look at Seokjin and your two friends questioningly,  “Are we here to discuss about Jin’s horrible choice of a fuck buddy? Because Jin, seriously of all the women you can get, really? Lee Yuri?”

Seokjin shakes his head, his ears immediately turning red. “She’s easy, OK? One phone call and.. no, we’re not talking about that.”

You stare at Seokjin, still unsure where the conversation is heading. He takes a deep breath.

“I did call her last weekend, you know for... that purpose. But that’s not the point of the story here. The point is,” he hurriedly says before Yoongi can interrupt him, “the point is, she’s friends with the owner of that god-awful gossip site that we hate and whose name will not  be mentioned here.”

Your eyes widened. Seokjin quickly continues. “She talks a lot after.. you know, and we kind of go way back,  we went to the same high school and university..”

“Where Seokjin first became fuck buddy with her.” Yoongi comments.

You look at Yoongi. “Thanks for the information no one asks for, Yoongs. How do you even know..”

“He told us.” Yoongi gestures to Seokjin.

“Not important to what I’m trying to say, but..” Seokjin tries to continue.”Well her family is friends with mine and I think our moms once tried to set us u..”

“Hyung, focus.” Namjon places his hand on Seokjin’s shoulder.

“Right, OK,” Seokjin clears his throat and glances at you nervously, “so, she knows you work here now, and that you and me are business acquaintances, BUT she doesn’t know that we’re all friends.”

You hold your breath, waiting for the bombshell to drop.

“And last weekend when I was with her, she was asking a lot about you. As if she’s trying to dig some dirt on you.”

There it goes. You remember Lee Yuri as the ultimate queen bee in your old firm, a position she holds because people offer her gossips inside and outside work relating to her co-workers, in return of, well, you suppose her attention and being accepted into her clique. She uses her collection of gossips and hearsay to manipulate your co-workers, and even the bosses and the clients.

You remember exactly how you and Yuri became enemies. She wanted the Bulletproof account; at first she acted all sweet and charming but you saw through her. You saw how she wanted to account so that she could sell it to another investor, and you would not sacrifice Namjoon and Yoongi. Not being able to take rejection gracefully, she launched an salicious attacks on you. For two years, you put your head down and focused on Bulletproof. As long as your friends’ label was doing well, there was no reason for the upper management to remove you. It annoys you greatly that even after you were fired from your firm, she is still haunting you.

“We think she's the one who hinted at your being Joon’s baby mama.” Seokjin cowers.

You swear in response. You know Seokjin’s legal team is doing its job, they have scared the living daylight out of the gossip site for publishing such slanderous article about you and Namjoon. You know they can’t afford to go to court, so an apology is soon coming. And you trust Seokjin enough that he will not say a single word about you, or Namjoon, or anyone else in Bulletproof to that snake. So, this is not the end of Seokjin’s confession.

“There’s more isn’t it?” You ask the three men. You brace yourself for the final blow.

“She’s coming to the gala tonight.”

You close your eyes and exhale in defeat. “Seokjin, you gotta be fucking kidding me!”

“She’s a family friend! My mom curates the guest list! I just found out this afternoon that she’s coming! Please don't kill me.” Seokjin begs.

“Ok ok ok...” you take deep breaths. “This is not a problem, right? There’s nothing she can do even if she sees me at the gala.”

“No, Noona, you see, she hates- HATES- you. She was saying how you stole the Bulletproof account from her, apparently your boss promised to give it to her after you were fired. And then you came here and you took over yourself, leaving the firm and all that. She is out for your blood.” Seokjin explains hurriedly.

“Well what else can she do? That site can’t say anything anymore about me and Joon.”

Namjoon clears his throat. “Doesn't mean she can't tell the others, Noona.”

“She will purposely provoke you at the gala. So you have to be ready.” Yoongi sighs.

“And people will talk. They will talk and whisper behind your back. You have to be ready for that too.” Seokjin says apologetically.

“Is it going to hurt us? The label?” The four of you look at each other at your question. "You guys have great momentum after the tour, we can't afford to lose it over some gossip, guys.” You remind them.

Seokjin rubs his chin, “We’ll just have to play this to our advantage. We can get an interview with a respected unbiased journalist. We’ll just tell it as it is, let the truth be out there, anyone who tries to twist it will just be seen as petty or jealous.”

You gulp. “Tell it as it is? Including your identity as...”

“If we hide nothing, there’s nothing for them to dig.” Yoongi murmurs. Namjoon nods in agreement.

“It’ll cause people to talk, no matter how good the interview is. But... It’ll show how we are different than other labels. That we’re honest, and open, and most importantly we don’t judge.” Namjoon carefully says. “But whatever action we take in this matter, we take it only if all of us agree to it.”

You bury your head in your hands. Seokjin and Taehyung have just reached a milestone in their friendship. You and Taehyung are growing closer and stronger. You dare not think what would happen if Seokjin’s plan does not yield the result you all hope for. Your head is cloudy, you can barely think right now.

You look up at Seokjin, Namjoon and Yoongi. All three are fidgeting, waiting for your final call. “You all three agree to this? The interview option?” They nod.

“OK.” you breathe heavily. “OK. So what’s the game plan? Joon and Yoongs are supposed to attend with me. Would it be better now if they don’t?”

“I agree they shouldn’t go. Joon, especially you. It may just create unwanted attention.” Seokjin says. “Take Hoseok, Noona. Attending with the designer of your dress is the safest option.”

You nod your head, agreeing with Seokjin. “Does he have a suit?”

Namjoon laughs out loud. “Noona. He has one of every color.”

“Ok, that was a silly question.” You set your hands on your desk. “Ok. Ok. We’re doing his then?”

“Yes.” Seokjin answers with conviction. “And we’ll pray for the best outcome.” He sticks his hand out. You, Yoongi and Namjoon look at him quizzically.

“Are we doing a cheer or something?” Yoongi looks at Seokjin with a smirk.

“We’re not. Sorry Jin.” You stand up from your desk. “But I’ll tell you what we’re doing. We’re telling Taehyung and the rest about his crazy plan of ours. Let’s go, guys.”

You are about to walk out of your office when you suddenly turn around. Spotting Yoongi trailing behind, you ask him sweetly. “Yoons, can you get the spaghetti from my desk please? I’m still hungry.”

[pikapeppa]

Professor Solas/Lavellan: First Impressions

Chap 1 of Inadvisable (professor Solas AU) is posted! In which Nare Lavellan has a chance run-in, literally. 

Beautiful art by Nare’s creator, @elbenherzart​!

~2400 words; read on AO3 instead.

- NARE -

Nare swept her hair into a tidy ponytail, then gave her face one last critical look before stepping out of her bedroom. She tapped lightly on the closed bedroom door across from her own. “Tamaris?” she called. “Are you–”

“I’m coming,” Tamaris grunted. “Give me two fucking minutes.”

Nare smirked at Tamaris’s customary early-morning surliness, then padded quietly down the hall to the living room. Athera was waiting pertly on the couch with a half-finished cup of tea in her hands, and she grinned at Nare as she approached. 

“She’s awake, at least?” Athera asked.

“Awake enough,” Nare said drolly. She sat next to Athera and tucked her legs up on the couch. “Are you nervous about your first day?”

Athera laughed. “Me? Nervous? Of course not! Just a normal first day doing this job for the first time in the only Ancient Elvhen Studies program in the entire country. What’s to be nervous about?”

Nare sympathetically eyed her friend’s bright smile. She didn’t blame Athera for being nervous. Athera had been looking for a research coordinator position for years. Her new job at the University of Orlais was well-earned, in Nare’s opinion, and it was just a stroke of happy fortune that Athera was starting her job at the same time that Nare was starting her Master’s of fine arts with U of O’s prestigious — and infamous — Ancient Elvhen Studies program. 

It was also serendipitous that Tamaris had decided she wanted a change of pace and place, resulting in the three girls splitting the rent on a cozy three-bedroom-plus-studio apartment close to the university.

“Don’t be nervous,” Nare said warmly. “It’s going to be great! By the end of the week, the director will be wondering how they lived without you making the whole lab twice as efficient.”

Athera grimaced and ran a hand through her hair long chestnut hair. “I don’t know. Professor Abelas did not sound that impressed with my lack of experience during the phone interview. I’m still surprised I got the job.”

“He probably thinks he can train you up fresh since you’re so-called ‘inexperienced’,” Nare said knowingly. “He’ll see how good you are in two seconds. I’m sure of it.”

Athera smiled at her. “Aw, you’re sweet. I bet you’re going to impress your new supervisor just as much when you meet with him tomorrow.”

“I hope so,” Nare said. But her belly jolted at the mention of Solas. 

Professor Solas, she reminded herself. Just because she had a crush on her new supervisor’s voice didn’t mean she could start thinking of him in an informal way before they’d even met. 

Oh, but he had such a gorgeous voice. The majority of her communication with Professor Solas had been via email, but the one time they’d spoken on the phone… Fenedhis, Nare couldn’t get it out of her mind. His voice was smooth and mild like a hot vanilla latte, with a curl of an Elvhen accent that made something shiver in her belly in a very visceral way. She was still surprised that she’d managed to keep her calm and sound like a reasonable and intelligent person after hearing Professor Solas’s first few words floating into her ear through the phone. 

And that was just from hearing him talk about the Elvhen art stream of the program and the opportunities for exhibiting her work in the galleries in Val Royeaux. Imagine if he ever spoke to her in that beautiful smooth voice about other, less professional things… 

Stop it, she scolded herself silently. She was being so stupid and horny, developing a crush on a man purely for his voice. Well, not just his voice: he was incredibly intelligent and knowledgeable, and strong-willed to the point of stubborn as well, if his academic position papers were anything to go by. But if Nare was being honest, his intelligence wasn’t the main thing that had been keeping her up at night for the past couple of months since she and Solas had last spoken on the phone. 

It was stupid to be thinking such carnal things about his voice, though. She didn’t even know what he looked like — not for a lack of trying to find out, if she was perfectly honest. She’d searched online for a photo of her soon-to-be supervisor, but he didn’t have a faculty photo anywhere on the U of O website, and a Google search had been shockingly unhelpful, leaving Nare with only a blank slate to imagine along with that knicker-melting voice. 

“Nare, you okay?” Athera said.

Nare jolted slightly, then smiled sheepishly. “Sorry. Just thinking.”

Athera gave her a shrewd look. “Something tells me I’m not the only one who’s nervous.”

“I thought you weren’t nervous,” Nare teased.

Athera grinned, but Tamaris’s grumpy voice interrupted before Athera could reply. “You guys have nothing to be nervous about. You’re going to impress the shit out of everyone. Now let’s go get some coffee already.” She wandered over to the door and started jamming her feet into her scuffed black motorcycle boots. 

Nare exchanged a smirk with Athera, then popped up from the couch. “Good morning, lethallan,” she crooned. 

Athera giggled and hugged Tamaris’s arm. “Good morning,” she sing-songed.

Tamaris groaned. “Fuck off, both of you. I’m only awake this early because I have a client in an hour.” 

“Wait, is it already nine?” Athera said in alarm. She checked her watch, then squeaked. “Oh shoot! Oh shoot, I’m supposed to meet Abelas at the office in fifteen minutes!” She shoved her feet onto a pair of flats and grabbed her bag, then flung open the door. “Bye! Have a good one!” she yelled, and she bolted down the stairs. 

Nare smiled at Tamaris. “Looks like it’s just you and me.”

“Lucky you,” Tamaris drawled. “You get to suffer my morning-gremlin attitude all alone.”

Nare chuckled, and they made their way down the stairs at a more measured pace and wandered toward their favourite café at the end of the block. 

It was a perfect crisp early-September day. The sun was a lovely warm wash of light, and the air was fresh and cool without being cold. The leaves hadn’t started changing colours yet, but the quality of their verdancy was starting to shift from the lush springlike undertones of blue to the more autumn-like undertones of yellow. When Nare pointed this out to Tamaris, Tamaris huffed in amusement.

“That’s such an artist-y thing to say,” she said. 

Nare gave her a chiding look. “You say that like you aren’t an artist yourself.” She pointedly eyed the delicate vallaslin that curled around Tamaris’s left eye — vallaslin that Tamaris had carefully tapped into her own skin, and the same skills which had imbued Nare and Athera with their vallaslin as well.

“I don’t often work with colour, though,” Tamaris said. 

“Isn’t your client this morning for a coloured tattoo?”

“Yeah, but that’s different than painting,” Tamaris pointed out. 

“Your tattoo work is amazing, though,” Nare said.

Tamaris smirked. “Fine. We’re both amazing artists with mind-blowing skills. Are you going to buy my coffee for me because I’m so awesome?”

“I’m the student here,” Nare said with a grin. “You should be buying me coffee.”

Tamaris tsked. “Fine. Just this once though, you leech.” She pulled open the café door and gestured sarcastically for Nare to enter before her.

Nare chuckled and slid into the café. They placed their orders together, then sat at a sunny table to enjoy their coffee and fresh scones — vegan blueberry for Nare, and lemon-glazed for Tamaris. 

Nare took the lid off of her cup and blew on her coffee. “So you’re coming to the start-of-year mixer tonight, right?”

Tamaris slumped in her seat and shoved a hand through her lush midnight curls. “Explain again why you want me to come to this mixer thing. I’m not a student.”

“It doesn’t matter that you’re not a student,” Nare said. In truth, she just wanted to get Tamaris out of the apartment before she started forming roots.

“It kind of does,” Tamaris said flatly. “It’s happening at the campus bar.”

“Lots of non-students go to the campus bar,” Nare pointed out. “It’s a nice bar.”

Tamaris grunted. Nare leaned toward her slightly. “Come on, Tam,” she wheedled. “Come to the mixer. Athera’s coming.”

“She works at the university now,” Tamaris pointed out. “It makes sense for her to go.”

Nare wilted. “What else are you going to do if you stay home?”

Tamaris’s reply was prompt. “I’ll rewatch The Archdemon Rises 3 for the fifth time and paint my nails.”

Nare declined to mention that Tamaris’s eggplant-purple manicure was still intact since she’d last done her nails two days ago. Instead, she widened her eyes pleadingly. “Please come? We’ll make a girls’ night of it. It’ll be fun, I promise.” 

Tamaris eyed her stonily for a moment, then sighed. “Ugh, you and your baby blues. Fine, I’ll come.” 

Nare beamed at her and took a bite of her scone. A leisurely half-hour later, they stepped out of the café.

Tamaris stretched her arms over her head. “All right, I’m headed home,” she said with a yawn. “You sure you don’t want to wait until tomorrow so we can go to that museum exhibit together?”

Nare shook her head. “I want to see it before my meeting with my supervisor tomorrow.”

Tamaris smirked. “Hoping to impress him with your up-to-date knowledge of the local art scene, huh?”

Nare poked her playfully. “Yes, okay? I want to make a good first impression.”

“You’ll be fine,” Tamaris said. “You always make a good first impression.”

Tamaris’s tone was dry, and Nare gazed fondly at her seemingly standoffish friend. “Thanks,” she said sincerely. “I’ll see you later.” 

Tamaris nodded and headed back to the apartment, and Nare turned in the opposite direction toward the modern art museum. She pulled her phone out of her purse and tapped open her browser to check the price of tickets for the special neo-Avvar exhibit; she was fairly sure she’d get a discounted admission with her student ID, but some of the museum’s special exhibits were even free for students, and Nare couldn’t remember if— 

She suddenly slammed right into someone. 

She stumbled back, then squeaked in alarm as she tripped over an uneven crack in the sidewalk. Her phone dropped from her fingers, and she grabbed for it even as she tried to find her footing, oh no oh shit she was going to fall down–

A strong pair of hands grabbed her arms, and Nare gasped as she regained her balance. “Shit,” she blurted. “I’m so sorry, I – my phone, I was distracted…”

“The fault is mine. I apologize.” 

A heated ripple of recognition spilled down her spine. That voice. She knew that voice. She’d been replaying that voice in her head for months and wondering what the person who owned that voice looked like: how tall he was, how big his hands were, what his lips looked like shaped around the liquids vowels of that divine Arlathani accent… 

Lightheaded with disbelief, her heart in her throat, Nare lifted her eyes to his face.

Her breath left her in a punch of shock. Gorgeous. He was gorgeous. An impeccably shaven head, a mere hint of crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes which put him somewhere in his late 30s or early 40s, lush lips with a perfect cupid’s bow, a delicate divot in his chin and a jawline sharp enough to cut, and his eyes… 

His eyes were perfectly lucid, a perfect quixotic blend of light grey and pale blue that Nare couldn’t quite name, and they were so warm. His eyebrows were creased with a hint of concern, and when the crease in his brow deepened, she realized that she was staring.

“Are you all right?” Professor Solas said. 

She opened her mouth, but no words came out. Which was a good thing, because the only words Nare could think were you are fucking hot.

She nodded dumbly. A tiny hint of a smile curled the left corner of his lips, and he released her arms. “I apologize for the collision,” he said, and he crouched down to pick up his book and her phone. “I should know better than to read and walk at the same time.” 

Nare watched stupidly as he rose to his full height. Fenedhis, he was tall.

He held out her phone, and Nare carefully studied his face. There was no recognition there. There was warmth in his handsome face, but no recognition. He didn’t know who she was. 

Not that she would necessarily expect him to, since he was a professional and an intellectual, and professional intellectuals probably didn’t online-stalk their new grad students to find out what they looked like. 

She took her phone with trembling fingers and swallowed hard. “Thank you,” she whispered. 

“You’re welcome,” he said. “You are not hurt, I hope?” 

Ugh, he was so good-looking. Why did her supervisor have to be her exact ideal physical type?

She dropped his gaze and tucked a stray strand of hair over her ear. “I — no. I’m fine,” she said in a tiny voice. 

“Good,” he said. “And again, I apologize for the collision.” 

She shrugged and tried to nod at the same time, then wanted to smack herself for being so fucking awkward.

“Take care,” he said. A moment later, he was walking away from her. 

She finally dragged in a breath and watched greedily as Professor Solas walked away. For someone who had such a mild voice and such kind eyes, his gait was certainly confident. 

Confident and sexy. 

Nare blew out a breath and forced herself to turn away. She was shaking. Why was she shaking? Why was her heart beating so hard, not just in her chest but in her entire body? 

Why was her mind completely taken over by the thought of Professor Solas stretching her naked body out on a desk, those warm grey-blue eyes scanning her from head to toe before he taught her all kinds of torrid lessons that she would never forget? 

Fuck, she thought desperately. I am in so much trouble.

[kbstories]

impression//expression

“It’s not like Kirishima had come all this way to U.A. to immediately break the promise he made to himself upon arrival.

It’s just that Bakugou is as feral as they come, and the moment Kirishima recognizes it’s fear he felt crawling up his spine that day, he makes it his personal mission to face it head-on until it’s gone.”

(Or: Being friends with Bakugou Katsuki is anything but a linear experience. Kirishima Eijirou would have it no other way.)

Tags: Kirishima POV, Developing Friendships, Kamino Arc, Kidnapping & Aftermath, Hurt/Comfort, Bakugou Gets A Hug

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Content warning for kidnapping, aftermath of violence. Chapter 5. Chapter 6. Chapter 7. Chapter 8. Chapter 9.

***

Nitro!! (Baku 💣💥)

i’m gonna die (sent 19:08)

no seriously i’m this 👌🏻 close to losing it bro (sent 19:08)

aizawa’s voice is so zzzz and it’s like sir,, i’m begging,,,, (sent 19:09)

a little bit of energy. just a little bit (sent 19:09)

A nudge to his side, somewhat urgent.

shit brb (sent 19:10)

“Dude.”

Kirishima keeps his voice down to a hiss, shooting a glance at Aizawa’s turned back just in case. Hidden behind his pencil case, his phone shows Bakugou has read his messages – near-immediately, as always – before Kirishima locks the screen. His own face is reflected on sleek, innocent black.

Next to him, Kaminari is looking at him like he’s lost his mind. “Don’t dude me, dude”, he whispers back. “Texting in Aizawa’s class? D’you have a death wish?”

Next to Kaminari, Mina leans over her desk, clearly curious and uncaring of her notes crinkling quietly under her elbows. “You? Kiri, paragon of wholesomeness and sunshine, breaking the rules? Lemme guess, it’s because of Bakugou.”

Next to Mina, Sero joins the fray with a muted headshake. “So brave yet so reckless. Truly inspiring.”

“You can say that again. That guy’s scary, man.” That’s Kaminari again. He leans in conspiratorially, nodding at Kirishima’s phone. “You got Blasty’s number? How? He almost bit my head off when I invited him to the 1-A chat.”

“Uh, yeah? We’re besties. But guys…”

If they were anywhere else, Kirishima would let out a whine. All he wanted to do was keep himself awake by texting his bro, is that such a crime? Especially since Bakugou’s the only one of ‘em who is actually allowed out there, where the fun stuff is happening. It’s downright cruel to have a new challenge dangled in front of their eyes like the juiciest steak only to be dragged away to the equivalent of plain steamed broccoli. Or something.

Point is: Kirishima’s bored enough he could cry and Aizawa, bless his insomnia-plagued soul, is making it about a thousand times worse with his monotone mumbling while he continues to write whatever-the-fuck in chalk to illustrate his point.

Three mouths open simultaneously in what Kirishima knows will be a too-loud bout of teasing – a frantic gesture of his hand to shut up, shut up, shut up has identical grins bursting on his friends’ faces.

Grins that disappear the instant the familiar sense of Aizawa’s quirk washes over them. Uh oh.

Aizawa doesn’t even have to say anything. Not even a brief pause registers in his lecture yet Kirishima snaps to attention so hard his buttcheeks clench as he furiously scribbles down what’s on the board. Some sort of… diagram? (It’ll make sense later, Kirishima hopes. And if it doesn’t, there’s always his equally draconic tutor-slash-best-friend he can poke into helping him eventually.)

After a semester at U.A., everyone in 1-A is whipped enough that not a single word is breathed between them for a good fifteen minutes. Aizawa talks, they take notes.

Then the adrenaline wears off and Kirishima finds himself drifting once more, fingers automatically flicking the home button. There, over Crimson Riot’s confident grin, three new messages.

Nitro!! (Baku 💣💥)

pay attention (received 19:14)

ffs (received 19:14)

hope aizawa murdered your ass (received 19:16)

No surprises there. Well, the fact that Bakugou has deigned to reply just before a training exercise kind of is, and he even triple-texted which makes a sappy part of Kirishima’s brain think he must’ve rubbed off on him over the past months. The day Bakugou Katsuki discovers emojis can’t be far off now and it will be Kirishima’s greatest achievement to date.

He bites his lip to suppress an amused noise at that. Ignoring the incredulous stare from Kaminari to his right, Kirishima types.

Nitro!! (Baku 💣💥)

haha! i lived bitch (sent 19:32)

minus the bitch askdjfhsk sry (sent 19:32)

i’m just tired af lol (sent 19:32)

how’s things on ur end tho? (sent 19:34)

no asses left unkicked i’m sure (sent 19:34)

👊🏻💥💥 (sent 19:35)

Kirishima gets about a solid second to feel good about furthering his pro-emoji agenda before his phone is snatched away by rigid, white cloth. Wide-eyed, his gaze is met by a flat expression that exudes more exhaustion than any human should rightfully have to feel.

“Kirishima”, Aizawa says, as calm as ever. “How kind of you to lend me your attention.”

Lord have mercy. Whichever hell Aizawa is about to unleash on him, Kirishima will be in it for a while. And when that’s over, it’ll be Bakugou’s turn to have a field day with it.

Somehow, Kirishima is actually looking forward to that last part.

*

Then, a voice rings out in their heads. Aizawa jumps into motion. The villains strike.

Afterwards, all Kirishima can do is stand there and watch the forest burn. His phone is silent, held between fingers that won’t stop trembling no matter what he does. He unlocks, checks, locks, only to do it all over again a few minutes or seconds later.

Around him, everything is spinning out of control. Reality is too loud, too bright, already overwhelming where it waits to be acknowledged beyond the soothing green interface of his chat with Bakugou.

The messages are still there. Marked read until they aren’t, and Kirishima stares at that subtle difference like it’s the last thing tethering him to the ground. Blue tick, his best friend is fine. Grey tick–

Bakugou let Kirishima take a photo of him, once. Kirishima had complained about his profile picture being that creepy default silhouette, especially once they started texting on a daily basis. So Bakugou sighed and leaned over the tiny table of the café, his chin propped on one hand and his coffee in the other. He’d kept still just long enough for the shutter to go off and called him a clingy bastard right after.

In the soft morning light, there’d been something warm in his typical glare. It’s still there, tucked away in the top left corner of the screen. Fond, red eyes, looking straight at Kirishima ever since.

Higher and higher, the flames reach for the sky with greedy, cobalt fingers, bright enough to take the stars with them. And Bakugou?

Bakugou is gone.

*

Nitro!! (Baku 💣💥)

hey (sent 23:01)

it’s a long shot but (sent 23:03)

are u there? (sent 23:03)

these are going thru so ur phone is on and i thought (sent 23:08)

idk (sent 23:08)

please respond man (sent 23:37)

please (sent 23:58)

katsuki? (sent 00:40)

*

Nitro!! (Baku 💣💥)

fuck (sent 3:24)

*

Bakugou Katsuki

um (sent 6:13)

the pros asked for ur number to track it and stuff so i gave it to them (sent 6:13)

turns out almost nobody has it?? so like (sent 6:20)

if u want a new one after all this it’s on me (sent 6:21)

pls don’t be mad haha (sent 6:21)

fuck that actually (sent 7:05)

be as mad as u want baku (sent 7:06)

u can do whatever ok? when u come back (sent 7:09)

free pass. i won’t guard this time (sent 7:09)

just come back (sent 8:00)

they’re looking for u so u gotta come back (sent 8:02)

* 

Baku 💣💥

sry i just (sent 19:55)

ok still going thru (sent 19:55)

that’s good right? (sent 19:57)

i need it to be good (sent 20:05)

yeah (sent 20:06)

*

Baku 💣💥

it’s saturday (sent 2:33)

please be ok (sent 4:46)

i miss u (sent 5:00)

*

Baku 💣💥

we’re on our way katsuki (sent 12:45)

just hold on we’re coming for u (sending…)

wait (sending…)

oh (sending…)

*

Bakugou is quiet.

When all is said and done, injuries patched up and police statements given, Kirishima waits and Bakugou looks… tired. Small. Glancing back at the precinct with eyes a little too wide, a little too hesitant to truly belong to him.

Whatever he’s searching, if he finds it or not – Kirishima can only guess as Bakugou’s shoulders slump further and he mutters, “Let’s just go.”

In retrospect, he was probably talking to his parents. The Bakugous came for their son in a car as expensive as they come, white with chrome highlights and an interior clad entirely in tasteful, beige leather; it’s an aesthetic that’s the antithesis to Katsuki’s. Their expressions are full of love, though, brows drawn in concern carefully left unspoken. His father opens the back door for him first, going for his own in the front, while his mother ruffles Bakugou’s hair within the one-second-window he allows for the touch before shrugging it off.

“Welcome back, brat. We missed ya.”

Familiar phrases laden with far too much weight. From the outside in, it’s just that: Mildly exasperated parents picking up their kid after some school thing that dragged on into the night, or perhaps a late hangout with a friend. No one acknowledges the nightmare-ish three days they’ve left behind by the merit of time passing and the world spinning on and nothing else – the countless people injured or dead, an entire district torn asunder in a conflict much bigger than any of them, especially Bakugou.

Bakugou, who shuffles onto the backseat without saying much of anything. It’s only after Kirishima trails after him and Bakugou’s eyes meet his own over his shoulder that Kirishima realizes that’s what he’s doing.

Then Bakugou’s gaze softens and he kicks the door of the car open wider. “Um”, Kirishima pipes up, the noise of keys clinking together drawing his attention to one Bakugou Mitsuki. “Is it okay if I…?”

She snorts and ruffles his hair, too. “Kid, after what you did tonight, a ride home is the least I can do for ya. C’mon.”

Kirishima bows politely, a mumble of “Thanks, ma’am” waved away immediately. A moment later, Kirishima’s hand is being grabbed and he’s dragged inside. “Get a move on”, Bakugou mumbles, staring pointedly until Kirishima rights himself and digs for the seatbelt with his free hand. The click of the clasp snapping in is oddly loud in the ensuing silence.

It doesn’t last. The moment the engine purrs to life and the lights go off, a heavy guitar riff screeches from cleverly hidden speakers in perfect surround sound and Kirishima jumps. He’s the only one in the car to do so.

“Whoops, my bad”, says Bakugou’s mom as she turns the music down the slightest amount, her smirk – so familiar and yet not – clearly visible in the rear-view mirror. Next to her, Bakugou’s dad chuckles and shakes his head.

Bakugou himself is turned towards the window, the hand against his chin barely hiding the tiny smirk there. Kirishima lets him have it. Anything that’ll replace that lost expression from earlier is good in his books.

“So. Eijirou, right? Nice to finally meet ya.” Mrs. Bakugou checks in with him via the mirror. Her hand rests on the gear selector. “Where to? We’ll bring you home first. I’m sure your parents are worried.”

And oh fuck, Kirishima hasn’t even thought that far ahead yet. When he snuck out of the house a lifetime ago, all his mind was able to process was getting to Bakugou, saving Bakugou, bringing Bakugou back. As much as both his mothers are angels in their own right, they’re also easily worried and twice as buff as him. There haven’t been many occasions which called for them to throw down for their son but they totally would if given half the chance.

If they catch wind of even a fraction of what Kirishima got up to tonight, someone will have to pay. Kirishima’s willing to bet his most prized, limited-edition Crimson Riot figurine that that someone will end up being all of U.A., nationally famous pro heroes or not.

Before any of that can make it out of his mouth, Kirishima’s hand is squeezed and… Oh. Bakugou’s still holding it. Their skin isn’t touching; Kirishima’s sleeve has been pulled down to prevent that.

(It’s one of those things Bakugou does, tracking who and what gets in direct contact with his sweat and how to neutralize it in time. It makes Kirishima’s chest ache that, despite everything that happened, he is still aware of small things like that.)

“He’s crashing at ours tonight”, Bakugou tells his parents rather gruffly. Still looking out the window like there’s nothing unusual about that at all, and Kirishima gapes at him in complete and utter surprise. Bakugou’s grip only tightens.

“Got a problem with that?”

Just like that, Kirishima finds himself able to process speech. “Nope! Not at all. Uh, that is– Mrs. Bakugou, Mr. Bakugou, can I?”

Bakugou’s parents look similarly caught off-guard. To their credit, they merely blink and look at each other, shrugging. Again, it’s the mother who speaks. “That’s Mitsuki and Masaru to you, kid. Let’s go home, then.”

And that’s that. They set off, the car’s movement a quiet thrum that’s drowned out by complicated drum solos and vocals barely scraping past outright growling. Any other day, Kirishima would’ve been ecstatic to finally get to meet the Bakugous. He’d hoard bits and pieces of knowledge about them – such as the fact that Katsuki’s taste in music runs in the family, what the hell – like a dragon does gold coins. The notion that Bakugou invited him to their first sleep-over ever would be the biggest treasure on that pile, for sure.

Because Bakugou Katsuki is anything if not cautious: with his quirk, with his time, with his trust. Because, after days of pacing his room and worrying himself sick and crying until exhaustion took him out, their plan worked.

They pulled it off, Bakugou is back and alive, and Kirishima’s allowed to stay by his side a little bit longer.

He’s here because Bakugou wants him to be and that… feels better than Kirishima can properly put into words. So, no, he doesn’t boast about it, he doesn’t have the energy to – but Kirishima notes and appreciates it nonetheless, relief forming a ball of warmth and light that radiates within him like a tiny sun got stuck between his lungs and his heart. Bit by bit, it melts the tension off Kirishima’s bones until all he can grasp is the steady presence of Bakugou’s hand in his and how heavy his eyelids feel.

Kirishima could sleep for a week straight and still crave a nap afterwards. Probably.

There’s something he has to do before he crashes, though. With a gentle squeeze, he frees his hand to grab his phone and winces at the dozens of unread messages and missed calls that greet him. Both the group he has with his family as well as the one for 1-A have been running hot most of the night, reducing his battery to a pitiful 12%.

Opening up the chat with his moms, Kirishima scrolls to the bottom of the increasingly worried barrage of texts and hesitates, his fingers hovering over the keypad. Once he starts typing, he’ll have about a minute before shit really hits the fan.

💪🏻Kirishima Power 💪🏻

guys i’m so sorry!!! (sent 21:58)

i know ur worried and stuff and i swear i’ll explain later ok?? (sent 21:58)

 just wanna let u know i’m safe!! staying over at baku’s tonight (sent 21:58)

he’s here and safe too (sent 21:58)

🙏🏻🙏🏻 (sent 21:59)

He pauses then, reading that last part over and over again. Safe. Safe, safe, safe. A smile cracks Kirishima’s lips apart and it remains there, steadfast through the flood of new messages rolling in.

*

Bakugou’s room is both everything Kirishima expected it to be and at the same time… not.

It’s huge, for one, the typical bed-wardrobe-desk setup expanded by a couch and a beanbag, a TV with a variety of game systems hooked up to it, a handful of shelves filled to the brim with books and manga and oh, a whole freaking drum set taking up a corner by itself. The walls are plastered with band posters and signed set lists and – less blatant but still there – the odd All Might merch Kirishima knows Bakugou would strangle him for mentioning, so he doesn’t.

What comes out of his mouth is: “Dude! I didn’t know you played drums. That’s so cool!”

Everything is kept in the triad of black-orange-green Kirishima recognizes from a certain hero costume. A few discarded shirts aside, it’s really tidy. So much so that Kirishima feels ashamed of the state of his own room just by seeing this.

The feeling is compounded by Bakugou picking up those shirts and throwing them in the hamper first thing, a quiet tch indicating he’s annoyed by it. Kirishima isn’t up to outing himself as an unrepentant walking mess in comparison – instead, he makes a beeline for the bookshelf with the manga, eyes drawn to a row of covers he’d recognize in a heartbeat.

“Wha– I’ve been looking for these for ages! They’re sold out every time I try to catch up on ‘em.”

A short glance at Bakugou is answered with a shrug and an eye-roll: It’s Bakugou-speak for do whatever the hell you want. Kirishima pulls out the volume he stopped at and leafs through it.

It’s meant as a distraction for Bakugou, a space for him to drop the put-together façade and breathe without people constantly fussing over him. It’s honestly what Kirishima would rather be doing right now (exploring his best bro’s room be damned) but it’s not what Bakugou needs. Well, what Kirishima thinks he needs.

It’s hard to get a read on him without the constant snark and pointed glares. With some dinner in their bellies and Bakugou’s parents now safely downstairs, the expression that fits nowhere on the Angry Bakugou Face catalogue is back. Kind of uncomfortable and so… absent.

Kirishima is really starting to hate that expression.

It’s entirely accidental that Kirishima actually gets into reading. One chapter turns to three, turns to five, and the troubles and worries whirling ever-tighter in his chest ease for a bit until–

Woosh. A soft, balled-up something knocks against the back of his head. Kirishima startles and almost drops the manga, a vaguely alarmed noise stopped short by the sight of Bakugou in sweats and a well-worn, black shirt. His hair is wet. Wild as ever. At Kirishima’s feet: A similar outfit including a towel.

“Bathroom’s that way. Leave your clothes out by the door, I got special detergent for the nitro. Shampoo and shit’s in the shower, there’s a toothbrush for you by the sink. Use it.”

Kirishima opens his mouth.

Bakugou sighs. “It’s just a fucking toothbrush, Kiri. Wreck it for all I care.”

Kirishima closes his mouth. He nods. His phone is quickly dug out of his pocket and set aside, then he slips out to shower.

A good fifteen minutes later, he opens the door to let out a gust of steam and sees his clothes are gone. The hallway is empty, half-lit by the light coming from downstairs. The Bakugous have been as nonchalant about their spontaneous guest as Bakugou himself; even so, Kirishima tries not to linger or make too much noise as he sneaks back to Bakugou’s room.

“Baku. I’m back.”

Bakugou gives him a grunt of acknowledgement from where he’s fitting some sheets over the couch, folded out to provide a decently sized bed. There’s a pillow and a pile of blankets next to him, wrapped in fresh linen as well. It’s unlikely he’s stopped doing stuff since Kirishima left and if he is about ready to crash in five to ten minutes, he can’t imagine how Bakugou is doing right now.

Y’know, the guy who just survived being kidnapped by Japan’s newest and most notorious villain menace. No amount of pretense can make that simple fact undone.

Kirishima pads over to help, the offer to take over already on his lips but– Too late. The last corner is already being tucked in and laid flat with grim-faced efficiency. Left with nothing else to do, Kirishima sits down on the very edge, eyes downcast and fingers fiddling with the hem of his borrowed shirt. There’s some sort of band logo on it, an English word written in that typical death-metal-font that looks like someone dumped a bunch of white sticks in a pile and called it a day.

It’s soft. A little loose and frayed around the edges.

“Hey, Baku?”

Taking the blankets, Bakugou dumps them in Kirishima’s lap. “Mh?” He makes to step away and Kirishima doesn’t think, just reaches out and catches the back of his shirt.

“Dude, seriously. Just… sit down for a minute. Please?”

And Bakugou… listens. He stops, he frowns at Kirishima for a moment like he’s trying to figure out what his deal is, he sighs like he’s been presented with the world’s most aggravating puzzle – and then he tells Kirishima to scooch. “What? I’m not gonna sit on the fucking floor”, he says.

Kirishima can’t keep the relief off his face as he gladly makes room on the couch, leaning against its arm and tucking his legs in. Once Bakugou has settled, cross-legged with an elbow propped on the backrest, Kirishima throws the blanket over both of ‘em. Might as well get comfortable while they still can.

“Okay.” He steels himself with a long, slow breath. “I know you hate this kinda thing and we’re both tired and… stuff. Still, though: Are you okay?”

Bakugou gives him a look, which– Okay, fair. It’s a dumb question with an obvious answer. Kirishima doesn’t back down, though, humming to buy himself some time to rephrase.

“Like… It’s fine if you’re not. Okay, I mean. And if you’d rather go the fuck to bed and not think about this for a while that’s fine, too. But that was pretty rough and you’ve been, um, quiet. And stuff. So, I’m kinda worried. Y’know?”

Kirishima pauses. A bit lower, he mumbles: “And I missed you. So yeah.”

At some point, he dropped his gaze to his hands, limp and useless in his lap. Kirishima swore not to be a coward anymore but it’s hard, to speak and ask about things in full awareness he has no fucking clue what he’s doing.

All he wants is for Bakugou to be okay. That’s all that matters, at the end of a day like this.

“I’m not”, Bakugou says, tentatively. Like he’s making up his mind as he goes. “I’m not gonna waste your time with ‘I’m fine’. I’m not. This shit’s fucked up.” And again he sighs, sounding so fucking tired Kirishima’s heart squeezes in sympathy.

“I haven’t slept in three fucking days; my shoulders are killing me from using my quirk and sitting chained to that stupid chair and whatever the fuck else. The League scouted me specifically because they thought I’d make a good villain and fuck them for that. Fuck them. But it’s just… It’s whatever. It doesn’t matter.”

Whatever Kirishima expected, it’s not that. He looks up and into Bakugou’s eyes and–

He can’t mean that, can he? Kirishima searches his face for evidence to the contrary, traces the tension around Bakugou’s mouth and the exhaustion smudged under his eyes and the line between his brows, growing deeper under Kirishima’s scrutiny. It all reads defeat. It hurts.

They won, right? A childish voice within Kirishima can’t help but cling to that even as he looks back down. They won, and things are supposed to get better when you win.

“People got hurt. People died, Kiri. Heroes, too.” Bakugou takes a shaky breath, a hand going to his hair and rubbing it roughly. “Fucking… Best Jeanist was there and nobody at the precinct wanted to tell me if he’s alive or dead or what. All of Kamino Ward is fucking gone and All Might–”

Bakugou’s voice cracks right down the middle and it hurts. Like there’s a beast tearing through Kirishima’s chest to rip out his heart and throw it to the floor, stubbornly beating as it bleeds out.

Kirishima wants to say something. Anything. All he can hear is Bakugou’s breathing but it’s all wrong, off-rhythm and thread-bare and upset, and any doubt what that means is erased as Bakugou’s hand clenches on the sheets and he sniffs, wet on the exhale.

“Baku–”

“Don’t. Kiri, don’t–”

He’s always been like that, ordering him around and demanding things when politeness dictates to ask for them instead. His tone is as close to pleading as Kirishima’s ever heard from Bakugou, though, and it twists him up inside to the point he feels distantly nauseous.

“Don’t look.” Bakugou isn’t supposed to sound like that. Not now, not ever. “Okay? Don’t f-fucking– Don’t look at me right now.”

“Okay”, Kirishima says. “I won’t.” His own voice is a mess as well, trembling all over the place. “I won’t, Nitro. I won’t.”

You’re safe, is what he wants to tell him. It’s okay, you’re safe now. That’s not what Bakugou is asking of him. Kirishima can’t stop himself from crying because it’s always been hard not to when the people he loves are doing it, but… He tries. For Bakugou, he’ll always try.

Through eyes heavily clouded by tears, he sees Bakugou’s hand tighten, knuckles going white and bloodless. Painfully tense, and Kirishima can’t stand the sight of that, either.

He shuffles a little closer to place his hand over that fist, careful to only touch the back of Bakugou’s hand. Kirishima whispers, “I’m here”, and Bakugou audibly swallows. He lets him slip his fingers in-between his own.

Holding on, just as he did in the car and when they met in mid-air, that desperate instance that decided whether he would make it out alive or not.

Bakugou holds on even as he breaks for good and his shoulders shake with his sobs. As he continues to breathe in gulps of air that sound strangled and desperate, through tears that leave a pattern of uneven dots on the blanket. By morning they will be gone without a trace: The sun will come up, the world will continue to travel around it, and time will reveal the road they walk on as they walk it, step by step by step.

Just because it’s meant to pass doesn’t make this moment any less real. Any less important. Kirishima sits there and listens to his best friend cry. He remembers days spent without him and the mad dash to save him. He thinks of dumb questions and obvious answers.

It’s hard to tell if this is one of them, so he gathers all his courage and asks: “Katsuki. Can I hug you?”

Just like last time, Bakugou doesn’t say anything. He laughs, a watery, humorless thing – and he pulls at Kirishima’s shirt to crush him to his chest. His arms wind around Kirishima’s neck, Bakugou’s face pressing against his hair where Kirishima won’t be able to see him.

It’s fine. Kirishima’s great at hugs; he can totally work with that. Clenching his eyes shut, he adjusts his grip around Bakugou’s waist so he can rub his back, following the bumps of his spine. Up and down, over and over. Bakugou goes boneless in their embrace, not about to let go anytime soon and neither will Kirishima.

Eventually, Kirishima tucks his head against Bakugou’s shoulder, blinking sleep from his eyes. Safe. He doesn’t fight the sharp-toothed smile on his lips. Bakugou mumbles, “Fucking sap”, nearly drowned out by their collective sniffling.

It sounds a whole lot like thank you. Kirishima’s smile only grows.

>>Chapter 5

[reeesea]

Something Sweet: Part Seven

~sweet home~

one ~ two ~ three ~ four ~ five ~ six ~ seven ~ eight ~ nine

pairing: minsung, han jisung/lee minho

warning: mild language

words: 4.7k

summary:  Home is where your bros at right? right.

a/n: I actually like this chapter, shocker. i hope you enjoy 

ao3

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

Minho stared at the video file sitting on his computer, on the familiar application site that had been haunting his mind for the past couple years. The debate he found himself in with himself on whether or not to submit another application, had become his default subject of thought for much of the past few weeks. All building up to right now. Something had tipped the scale though. Something that reminded him if he didn't submit an entry this year, that he might as well have given up on his one dream. His one goal. The only thing that had been keeping him motivated through university. So once again he found himself rationalizing, and knew that if anything he had to try, at least just one last time. 

Upload complete, Thank you for your entry!

Minho sighed loudly. He had sent it in. The first part of the application. It was just a basic dance routine supplied by the academy. He had practice and recorded it all within one sitting. Having been a part of a dance crew for much of the past year had allowed him to quickly pick up choreography and perfect it. The other reason being that he wanted more than anything to get the overbearing presence of the audition tape out of his head space as soon as possible. A heavy sigh left his lips as he laid back down on the studio floor, not too long after a ping of his phone revived just enough for him to check his messages.

[Rich Boy Han Jisung]

2:50 pm

Minho-hyung!

I hope your day has been going well~

Sadly, no updates on when ill be free :/ 

They’re working us hard for the debut

It’s alright Ji, work hard!

You better be taking care of yourself tho...

4:03 pm (new)

Have you heard this song? Made me think of you :)

{link attached}

I hope you like it!!!!

Oh, no i havent

I’ll give it a listen ^-^

As of late it wasn’t uncommon for Jisung to send the older songs he thought he would like. Always saying some cheesy line that was so blatantly sweet it made Minho flustered everytime. This time of course was no exception. 

Ping.

HYUNG THAT EMOJI

Asjdnjsfma

I knew I was rubbin goffon you 

Kkkkk

Dont get too ahead of yourself 

atleast I can still type coherent sentences

~goffon~ 

Boo :p

Why Jisung was so persistent about sending him songs was lost on the older, but it was a sweet reminder that someone was thinking about him. It had been a while since Minho had even imagined that someone took a few minutes of their day to actually consider how he was doing. It didn't quite make sense to him that suddenly out of nowhere, there was his boy, man, person, who purposefully took the time to dedicate brain cells to his existence. Wild. 

Minho hurriedly clicked the link to the song that Jisung had sent. It was an upbeat song, with a strong but subtle strumming of a guitar to keep the song’s pace just quick enough to be comfortable. “There's no one else that could ever hold me like you do.” The lyrics were in the realm of positive longing and companionship, but the dips into minor chords and tone of the singer created a mood of desperation. More than anything, the song brought forth a story to Minho. One that he could see with his eyes close and feel his body wanting to move to. 

A smile stretched across his face, as he rose from his spot on the floor, dusting off the dull ache and pressure in his shoulders from having just finished a routine not even 10 minutes ago. 

“But I know that I'd be crazy, Not to wanna be the one to keep you up all night”

Woah there Jisung, at least take me out to dinner first. He made a mental note to tease the younger later about his “Made me think of you :)” line later. Already stretching and drawing a plan in his head, Minho took his phone and saved the song, pressing the repeat button twice, to allow the guitar chords and chorus harmonies to carry on endlessly. A smirk stretched into an excited smile. Not wanting to jinx himself, a shy “finally” was whispered in the back of Minho’s mind at the surge of inspiration, but not spoken aloud just yet.

---

Flashing lights, heavy makeup, hot clothing, and too much fog from the smoke machine is all Jisung had thought about for the last couple hours. 3RAHCHA was in their last photo shoot for their debut. The concept photos would be released later through the week, slowly revealing the three members and their group as officially signed with JJP ent. 

The multicolor lights had been running through his vision for so long that as soon as he walked into their Green Room, he had almost forgotten what color everything actually was. Looking in the mirror he saw the blonde highlighted streaks in his hair had settled nicely, slightly slicked back. The stylist had surely done their jobs well. Painting the three rappers up to look less like the nightcrawlers they were, and into something that leather and fishnet clad superstars might look like was definitely a challenge. Jisung had his makeup done just enough to give his eyes a smoky look to them, and grey contacts to emphasize his gaze. The ensemble he had on looked like something that had come straight from a catwalk. Fishnets crawling up his arms from his gloved hands and an asymmetrical shit he for sure would not have been able to put on without the help of his stylist-noona. All that plus some leather pants and combat boots, he definitely looked more like his persona J.One than the notorious hoodie clad couch potato named Jisung he usually found himself as. 

Having just finished his own solo shoot, he signaled Changbin to head on to the set as he returned. The older nodded from his chair in front of the makeup station, as the artist finished the final touches to his eyeliner. Jisung watched as the shorter rapper walked out to the set in a white puffer jacket that he somehow pulled off, even with the bright red pants he wore. A part of Jisung was thankful his stylist hadn’t taken that many liberties with his outfit, but the makeup and outfit Changbin wore really only emphasized his intimidating stare and the wideness of his shoulders. It was undeniable that their concept photos would come out well. 

Chan, who was seated on a couch, eating some of the provided sandwiches, was already hunched over his computer and mixing equipment again, airpods in. Probably working on tracks for their third comeback knowing him. Not wanting to jump right back into work Jisung snagged a few snacks from the buffet and found a chair he could lay on. Listening to music that wasn't work had become a rarity for Jisung in the years he had been with 3RACHA. Of course he always tried to stay on top of the recent pop and hip hop trends, but straying any farther than his trusty morning and workout playlists was more than unlikely. 

Lately though, Jisung found himself looking through a lot of random indie, alternative, “western” pop, and especially dance music. The versatility of the genres was comforting to Jisung in the rather turbulent state his emotions and mental state have been in, as the debut approached. Also Minho. Meeting Minho definitely had introduced a whole new set of feelings Jisung was still working on navigating. As he listened to the different songs that populated this radio, he told himself he was just looking for some inspiration for his lyrics and 3RACHA’s new music, but even he knew that was mostly a lie. 

Ever since that night at the bar with Minho he found himself always considering the older and what he would think of a song or how he would dance to it, or if he would even like it. After pointing out that he liked a particularly upbeat pop song with melancholic lyrics, during their impromptu karaoke session, Jisung had been delvinging into all related categories to find songs he thought the older might enjoy. He wanted more than anything to inspire his older companion? Partner? (that was a later Jisung question.) but he wanted to repay the man who had allowed him to get out of his creative slump. That night, as soon as the youngest rapper had returned to the 3RACHA “house” he felt the start of at least 5 separate tracks and choruses appear in his brain. His two hyungs jumped into action along with him as Jisung desperately tried to write and record everything that was jumping out of his brain at once. 

Jisung remembered Chan’s smile and encouraging words as he fitted a few of his new verses to songs they had previously put on the shelf. After finding a particularly emotional but upbeat song he immediately wanted to send it to Minho. He always got hung up on what to say with the link. Other than the thought vomit that occurred every time he chooses to send him a potentially good song: “Found this song? U Like???” No Jisung, what are you five?? “I think you will enjoy this song. Please give it a listen? :0” No that just sounds desperate. 

“You doing alright there Ji, I can hear you sighing through my earbuds?” Chan peeked out from under his styled bangs with a raised eyebrow, sending Jisung into a red embarrassed mess that he had been caught. He hoped his layers of foundation would cover it up. 

“Yeah fine fine, don't worry. I’m FINE.” Attempting to hide Jisung curled up tighter into his arm chair. Just be casual Jisung it's a song not a marriage proposal dear god. “Have you heard this song? Made me think of you :)” Good, yes fine. Send.

Minho responded immediately and cutely with an emoji that made his heart jump a little. Minho would respond always with a variation of a “Thanks! I’ll go listen”, but Jisung had yet to receive any confirmation that the older actually enjoyed the links he sent, much less had found some inspiration in them. At this point the only thing he could do was hope. He wanted nothing more than Minho to be smiling because of him.

--

Officially exhausted, it wasn’t until late when the 3RACHA boys had finally made it back to their apartment. The day Jisung had, had been anything but short. Almost collapsing immediately on the couch. Sana notified them that she had already ordered food to be delivered for dinner and that they should go to bed as soon as they had finished eating. Chan looked like he was about to pass out on the couch before the food even arrived, which was more than likely at this point. After their shoot they were immediately sent to a few other meetings laying out their marketing and schedule plans for the upcoming weeks. Although glad they were able to part with their artistic and career decisions with their company, it did add a lot of work and responsibilities to the trio. 

Jisung’s phone had died somewhere after meeting 3 of 5 and he had submitted to having to carry the lifeless brick with him anyway. Not ideal for his wandering mind and anxiety that comes with a few too many stressful meetings. Once finally arriving home he went and plugged his phone in at the charger on the kitchen counter. Lighting up with notification buzzes as it rebooted back to life. 

[ 5 new messages from Lee Minho hyungie]

Immediately cursing himself internally for not bringing his charger with him, he opened his messages from Minho ignoring all others. 

[Lee Minho hyungie]

5:45 pm

Hey Jisungie, just finished up practice!

Actually may or may not have danced to the song u sent…

Maybe I’ll show you some day hehehehehehehehe ;)

7:21 pm

Han Jisung, did you forget your charger again >:/ 

Well I’m off to my late shift, I hope you have a good night~

Jisung always found himself smiling at Minho’s before work texts. They were always so cute. Either some sort of sweet well wishing or some other Minho-esque goodbye, along the lines of “don’t die mysteriously while i'm gone ;p” or “Have a good night, try not to miss my WONDERFUL company too much <3”. (The hearts always made Jisung grin hard, even if they were sarcastic)

This night though, Jisung found him almost jumping in victory at Minho’s text. 

[Lee Minho hyungie]

12:35 am

YOU DANCED TO THE SONG

Really?!?!?!

What did you like about it? 

When can I see????

You better not leave me on read after work!

Jisung tried to imagine what kind of dance Minho would do to the track he sent,and suddenly found himself flush at the thought of watching the other dance. Somehow, watching Minho dance, felt more intimate than any other situation that they’ve shared. Thankfully Minho seemed to want to hold off, so at least of the time being Jisung’s heart was safe. The exhaustion and stress from the day faded ever so slightly as soon as he thought of Minho with coordinating blush to match. 

Jisung you lovestruck fool.

“Jisung! Food’s here!!! If you don't hurry Chan’ll eat your portion again.”

“HEY! It was one time.” Laughter filled the apartment gently as they all respectively fought gravity to get up and make their way to collect the food from the delivery man.  

---

Minho tore up the stairs and through their apartment door as quickly as he could without spilling the carry out food he had in his arms. The clock was ticking a little past midnight and fear set in that the older would miss their planned celebrations. 

Bursting through the door, “Did I beat him?!” The oldest was frazzled from rushing in order to beat their third roommate home from work.

“Barely! I was afraid you wouldn’t make it, with having to bring the carry out.” Hyunjin’s sigh of relief was visible throughout the boy's now relaxed body. He had spent the last ten minutes hoping that they would still be able to pull off their surprise party for the youngest. Pacing around and failing to come up with any backup plans if Minho had been later than Felix. Thankfully for them both, Minho had a way of always being on time. 

“Hey all that matters is I made it. Is everything else ready?” Looking around Minho could see that Hyunjin’s bed was transitioned back into the couch setting and that the floors had been tidied up. A couple stray balloons littered the floor as well as a home made “happy birthday felix” sign hung from their living room screen divider. 

“Yep, I've just been waiting anxiously for you to get home for the past half hour.”

The door handle of their apartment began to jiggle, signaling the two boys to spring into action. Minho setting down the carry out, and Hyunjin frantically lights candles on the small cake on the coffee table. The door swung open, revealing a disheveled after-work Felix wandering through the door. As soon as the boy turned toward their living room, he was accosted with shouts and the flailing limbs of his hyungs. 

“Surprise!!!” “Happy Birthday!!!” 

Felix’s smile erased any of the signs of exhaustion off his face immediately as soon as he spotted his hyungs excited expressions. The cake, the streamers, the balloons, and sign all sparked some joyful tearing of his eyes as he set down his things and made his way to the small cake with a few random lit candles on top. The clock had crossed over into the next day as Felix had made his way home, that he had almost forgotten that it was now technically the early morning hours of his birthday. Coming home to joyful cheers instead of their usual exhausted silence had given him a certain happiness that he hadn’t realized he was missing. 

For all of three of the roommates this was their first time having a celebration in their small home together. By now the sense of home was undeniable and without realizing it all of them had begun to consider each other and their shared 3 room apartment, home. 

The disjointed singing of happy birthday followed by the laughter and conversation surrounded their coffee table as the three enjoyed their small carryout feast and cake. The warmth that their company gave each other lasted well into the night.

“Hyung! It's my birthday, stop eating all the cake!!!” 

“I have no idea what youre talking about Lixie.” Minho says while actively taking another bite of their 2 person sized cake. 

“Hyung!” The laughter of the oldest filled the room followed by the other two’s not too long after.

“Happy Birthday Lixie~” The smile hadn’t left the freckled boys faces since he had sat down, and remained as he pulled his two roommates into a forceful hug. It was his birthday so the boys both submitted to the clingy nature of their third roommate, as always.

---

It was late into the early morning by the time Minho had checked his phone. 

[ 5 new messages from Rich Boy Han Jisung]

A soft pang of guilt hits his chest after reading the younger’s texts and realizing that he did in fact leave the other on read for the better part of the last two hours.  

2:43 am 

I’m so sorry Sungie!

We were celebrating Felix’s birthday, and I didnt check my phone…. 

Look at the cute cake we got him!

{photo attached}

Minho sent the selfie of the three of them with Felix’s cake, if anything just to lessen the guilt in his chest. Hoping that the cuteness of Felix’s smile would be enough to forgive him for low key ghosting him for a few hours. Minho knows that on the days Jisung has the most schedules are the hardest for him mentally, and he always tries his best to be there for him and send him a message or two to lessen the load on those nights. The fact that he hadn’t been there tonight filled him with some worry. A part of him hoped that the younger would’ve been asleep by now but their late night track record did not exactly support that. 

---

Jisung had been lying painfully awake in his bed for an hour when he heard the buzz of his phone. Slightly upset with his body for not giving into the exhaustion he had gathered from the day, and just letting him sleep, he turned to the side table to check the messages. Awake fully ,but only mentally half conscious, he read through his messages:

Minho. Oh, yay, it's Minho.

Felix’s Birthday. Oh right he had mentioned that coming up.

Cute cake. Aw that cake is really cute… wait. 

Birthday.

I have one of those, around this time to- 

I missed my birthday. I forgot my birthday. Everyone forgot.

The cute picture Minho had sent was so filled with happiness that Jisung almost let the pain slide and pass the moment by. But something just didn't feel right in letting himself forget his own birthday. The fact that the others hadn’t remembered didn’t bother him too much. Chan, Changbin, they were all busy with schedules and he can't blame them. Especially since he, himself had forgotten. No birthday text from his family either. Unsurprising though since he rarely got in contact with them since moving to Korea in high school. He forgot though. 

He wasn’t quite sure why this was bothering him so much. Some people don't even celebrate their birthday, or remember how old they are, but Jisung had always prided himself on never letting his work take over entirely who he was. To exhausted-Jisung, he couldn’t help but feel like this was one step toward losing the grip on who he was, and that was in itself, terrifying. 

The coldness of his bed and the dark expanse of his room seemed to only perpetuate the way Jisung felt. Floating, alone, lost. His insecurity was starting to come into focus, and no wonder it had been keeping him up. He had been spiraling for days probably, without even knowing it. The buzz of his phone lit up his face, snapping him out of his own thoughts for a moment. 

[Lee Minho hyungie]

2:50 pm 

You okay Jisung? 

I hope I didn't wake you

Jisung noticed that the app had revealed that he had read the messages and was indeed awake. Unfortunately, exhausted-and--spirling-Jisung was the only one present enough to send a response. Hopefully Minho wouldn’t mind him too much. 

You didn’t wake me, was already up :/ 

It looks really fun hyung

I just realized something too

My birthday was yesterday

I forgot it

Jisung found himself fighting the watering of his eyes as he sent those messages. Why was he crying? He just forgot, he was busy. It was okay. Right? The tears seemed to only cloud his vision more, blocking him from reading the messages from Minho that were buzzing and populating the screen. Not bothering to wipe his eyes, he let them blurr.

Wh- do you- mea- ???

Jis--ng ar- y-- ok--?

I-- sorry i- di-nt -----

---- wa-t --- ca-l?

--sung?

A few moments passed, without him realizing it, as his phone buzzed some more, screen changing to the incoming call screen. Sucking up his tears and drying his damp screen, it took a few tries before answering the call.

---

“Jisung!?” Jisung nearly flinched, just nearly. 

“Hi hyung, How was work?” hoping to cover up his tears by changing the subject. Jisung thought it was a pretty good attempt.

“How wa- what, no. Jisung are you okay?” There it was again. The undeniable worry in Minho’s voice. Ow. 

“Yeah I’m okay.” Despite Jisung’s efforts it was obvious to Minho that the other had in fact been crying. Not wanting to push the younger though, he allowed him to change the subject

“.... okay, I just want to check in on you. I worry you know, Sung!” 

“About me? that's silly hyung.” The distance in his tone replaced Jisung’s usual brightness, and it hurt Minho to hear it. 

“I don't think so. How am I to know what my favorite customer is up to? You may be a soon to be rap star but that doesn’t keep you from ignoring your hyung.” Even though Jisung giggled at that, the irony of the statement wasn’t lost on Minho. A wave of guilt washed over his chest as soon as he said it. 

“I am sorry though. For not answering sooner and everything.” 

And for reminding you of your birthday, and making you cry, and not being there to make you smile.

“No don’t be sorry! That’ll only make me feel worse for bothering you… I think the exhaustion was just making me delirious, I haven't been sleeping well these past few nights.” Minho had to fight his initial protective instincts that told him to scold the younger for not taking care of himself, because a part of him knew that the younger was certainly trying his best to do so. 

“Well if you can’t sleep ever, just call me okay? I’m usually up from my shifts anyway. Plus if I'm not up surely one of my roommates is. Felix will probably never let go of you once he finds your birthday brothers." Hearing Minho's laugh lightened the tight pressure that Jisung hadn't realized had been settled in his chest.

"Okay hyung, i'd like that I think."

"You better. My time rarely comes free, and this is a limited time offer." Jisung’s laugh is a little bit more enthusiastic this time. 

“Of course hyung.” A silence came over them for a moment. Not an awkward one, more of a point of realization and relief. Like the feeling after having a good cry, in Jisung’s case. 

“Happy belated birthday Jisung.” 

“Thanks hyung… Did you have a fun time with Felix?” 

“Yeah! It was actually a lot of fun. Just some carry out and cake after work, but it was good to relax with them. We don't always have free time together, and haven’t had the chance to celebrate anything until now. Hyunnie luckily found a cake on sale at the mart today, sparking this whole thing.” 

Minho remembered the frantic call from the younger as he delved into his plans for giving Felix the “perfect surprise birthday celebration” because he had “found the perfect cake to match Felix’s cuteness.” It was on sale. Also because “Come on Min-hyung Felix would absolutely do the same for us.” Explaining the situation to Jisung really did solidify the fact that Minho knew Felix, would in fact, plan some adorable birthday celebration for the older two if given the opportunity. 

“What would you guys have done if he hadn't found the cake?”

“I’m not sure maybe it would’ve just been a carry-out celebration.”

“Still sounds really nice hyungie. You and your roommates seem so close.” 

“I suppose shared rent does that to people.” Minho laughed it off but he had begun to cherish the brotherly bond that had grown between his roommates. 

Not having ever considered it before, the fact that the roommates were only able to buy a cake because it happened to be on sale, revealed to Jisung that their financial situations may have been farther apart than he realized. Money had never been a barrier that Jisung had to face, always having family (or honestly Changbin) help pay for his living and pursuit of his dreams. Sure he’s had part time jobs in the past but he never found himself worrying about not making enough each month. Not going to university definitely was a large factor in maintaining his “affordable” lifestyle.

“It's nice you do things for each other. I can't remember the last time my hyungs and I have done something together that didn't have to do with our music.” Jisung started to feel some sort of jealousy at the closeness that Minho and his roommate had found in each other. Financial guilt and emotional jealousy are a strange combination for a half conscious Jisung to say the least. 

“Are those fools not taking care of my Sung properly? Illegal, tell them to call me I have to yell at them too. They better not be working you too hard.” 

‘My Sung’ Jisung almost choked. Almost. 

“Nonono Hyung! They take care of me fine, we're all just exhausted with work.”

“Hmmmm okay they get a pass this time, but please relay my threat.”

“Okay okay I will.” 

“You should probably get some rest soon. You're busy tomorrow right?” 

Jisung yawned in response, which was enough convincing for Minho that he needed to rest. 

“Okay looks like it's sleepy time for hardworking Jisung~”

“Wait hyung!” Jisung wasn’t quite ready to sleep yet, even though his body was actively fighting him.

“Yes belated birthday boy?”

“Thank you for not letting me be a sad gremlin all night. It would've been nice to have spent my birthday with you, but you still made me feel better.”

The musings of sleepy Jisung were just about enough to let the fondness burst from Minho’s chest. As much as he continues to hide it, the fondness still seeps into his voice, “Of course, Jisung we always have next year.” A promise he wasn’t sure he could keep but Jisung always made him want to try new things. 

“Next year?” The sleepiness had definitely taken over, making his voice much softer than his usual bright edge. 

“Yes next year... Goodnight Sungie, call me back if you can't sleep okay.”

“Mmkay, G’night hyungie.” Already half asleep by the time he hung up, Minho was glad that the younger was finally able to rest. Glancing at his roommates huddled together on the couch already drifting off, Minho accepted that it was his turn to finally rest knowing that all his younger companions were all safely sleeping. Hyung instincts he supposes.

-----

one ~ two ~ three ~ four ~ five ~ six ~ seven ~ eight ~ nine

[artificialqueens]

Bet You Look Good On The Dancefloor, 2 (Branjie) (and background everyone) - Ortega

a/n: thank u for being so lovely to me about this rewrite! this chapter was tricky to rework but i solved it in the end wOO! as always love will always be appreciated so if it’s ur first time reading (or even if it’s not!) feel free to shoot some my way!! here we go with chapter 2 of strictly au 2: electric boogaloo (yes i will be making that joke every time i resubmit a new chapter xo)

fic summary: Strictly Come Dancing enters its 18th series and its producers, after being goaded by a rival dance show on its inclusivity, commission it to be an all-female cast. Unlike Akeria who’s just here to bone her potential dance partner, dancer Vanessa is ready to act like a professional.

And then TV presenter Brooke Lynn walks into the rehearsal room.

***

26th September 2020

Vanessa checks herself out in one of the full-length mirrors, her outfit a blur of red sequins and fringing and the flecks of glitter she’s spread across her collarbones and shoulders popping under the lights of the dressing room. She blinks slowly and carefully once, twice, then gives a little flutter of her immaculately-applied fake eyelashes.

“Makeup did a great job tonight,” she smiles appreciatively at herself. Akeria appears from behind her, squeezes her in a hug.

“Mm. Although I guess it helps when they get a canvas like mine to paint on,” she flutters her own falsies whilst framing her face with her hands, and Vanessa bats her away playfully. Suddenly they are nudged out of the way by Aja.

“Do you clowns mind? Some of us have to actually use these mirrors.”

“Yeah, let Aja in. She needs all the help she can get,” Shea calls from across the room, the girls giving a laugh and Aja giving a faux-wounded cry and dashing back across the room to whack Shea. Vanessa has missed this- the dressing room camaraderie, the gossiping and the occasional catfight. She’d marked out her territory in the long, white-and-metal room a few years ago when she’d befriended Akeria and Monique, and the three girls sit at the same three white vanity tables in the same three only-slightly-uncomfortable tan-stained white chairs, with their crushed water bottles and makeup bits and bobs and packets of dried fruit snacks scattered over the area like a bomb has gone off. The blast of hairdryers, hisses of hairspray cans, excited chatter and the playlist the dancers have all cultivated together combine to create one chaotic, noisy sound that Vanessa thinks is a little bit magical. It’s even more magical, more exciting and thrilling, now that she’s actually going to be partnered up with someone and have a proper Strictly journey.

“What’re y’all gonna teach as your first dance?” Monique asks, already touching up her eyeliner despite the fact she doesn’t need to.

“Hmph. Depends who I get,” Vanessa shrugs, a little thrum in her heart. “I wanna get some ballroom out of the way first though. Then it’s one less to choreograph.”

Monique hums in agreement. She knows Vanessa has limited ballroom experience, having competed almost exclusively in Latin competitions. Vanessa looks over at Jan and Jaida who are chatting excitedly with Plastique. They all knew each other from the ballroom circuit before they started on the show and Vanessa knows she’ll never be one of those dancers that exudes grace and poise, little paper dolls that float across the floor practically on tiptoe. Then again, those girls will never be a dancer like she is, all hips and curves, sass and fiery passion and playfulness. Well. Jaida probably could if she wanted to, but Vanessa remembers when the pros all did the Cell Block Tango number last year and Jaida kept getting the giggles at the sexiest parts and setting all the other girls off laughing. For one of the most attractive girls on the circuit, she balances it out with being a bit of a dork.    

“You sure you don’t wanna lead with your strong suit? Arrive with a bang, that sorta thing,” Akeria muses, and Vanessa shakes her head.

“It’s a long game, girl, you can’t peak too early.”

“Well my plan is to peak on the first night and then plateau. Tens across the board right through to the final,” Monique pipes up, touching her lashes and pulling a face at the mirror. Vanessa and Akeria share a long-suffering look and roll their eyes.

“Of course,” Akeria indulges her. “I’ll maybe do a Cha Cha Cha or somethin’.”

“Hey! I was gonna do a Cha Cha Cha!” Monique cries, appalled. Vanessa bursts out laughing.

“Bitch! There’s only about four dances you can pick from at the start anyway, if you wanted to be the only one doin’ it then lower your expectations,” she laughs at her friend. Monique narrows her eyes, turns around in her chair and calls on Crystal, hairspraying her long, dark wavy ponytail in place at her own vanity table. “Crys! What’re you doing for the first dance?”

Crystal turns around excitedly, looks to the ceiling in thought. “Oooh…some sort of samba, maybe? Start out difficult.”

Monique pouts, halfway to satisfied. “You heard what any of the other girls are doing?”

“Jaida’s undecided. Aja keeps talking about this vision she’s got for this rhumba to Chan Chan…oh! Jan’s doing a Cha Cha Cha.”

Vanessa stifles a laugh as Monique gives a wounded groan. “Damn it, Jan!”

Crystal laughs, shakes her ponytail out and shrugs. “To be fair, I think Jan’s planned out all her dances until she gets to the final. Nobody’s thought to tell her she might not get that far.”

“Hey! Heard that, asshole,” shouts Jan, a few tables down.

“Love you!” Crystal calls back, her voice typically high and sweet and ensuring nobody can ever get mad at her.

Talk turns to partners. It turns out Crystal’s got her eye on Jackie or Gigi, and Vanessa swears she can see a bit more blush appear on her cheeks when she tells her that Gigi was gunning for her as well. As some of the other girls who’re finished getting ready around them join in, Vanessa sneaks a look at her phone and idly scrolls to Instagram to find a certain comment that’s been running through her mind for the past month. A photo of her in the studio, it’s not even that cute; she’s got her old dance school hoodie on and a pair of black Primark leggings paired with her obnoxiously bright blue trainers, and she’s sitting on the floor fresh from her warmup holding her phone up to the mirror. Vanessa scrolls down, feels her heart give a little excited jump when she reaches the comment she was looking for.

bhytes:  😍😍😍

It’s dumb and embarrassing how much she’s scrolled Brooke Lynn’s profile since the girl followed her all those weeks ago. Vanessa had felt something inside her burst when she’d first seen the notification, and she still tries to tell herself she wasn’t disappointed when she saw that Brooke had followed most of the other pros too. Vanessa is only hung up on the girl because she’d be such a good partner. It’s not like they really flirted when they met, anyway- Brooke had just been joking around, and Vanessa had followed suit. Some jokes between two girls that had just met and had hit it off with each other stupidly well. It wasn’t anything more than that. Vanessa can’t take her eye off the ball this season; she’s in it to win, just like all the other girls. Being benched for two years has struck a determination in her that she’s not ready to let die. She remembers how confident Brooke was, how easily the moves came to her, how she dipped Vanessa safely and carefully but with such skill and how close they were pressed together when Vanessa came back up-

Alright, bitch. That’s enough of that.

Akeria yelling her name makes Vanessa jerk her head up from her screen, the other girls laughing at the surprise on her face.

“What are you even doing, Jesus,” Akeria mutters, grabbing her phone out of her hand. Vanessa gives a little squeak of outrage, trying not to blush as a shit-eating grin spreads across her friend’s face as she looks at Vanessa’s phone and the other dancers ask what she’s seen.

“Well, let’s just say we know who Vanjie wants to be partnered with,” Akeria smirks, the other girls descending into excited squawks as Vanessa clamours for her phone back and Akeria relents.

“Don’t make it weird, bitch, God,” Vanessa murmurs, trying not to be stung with embarrassment. Crystal pulls a sympathetic face, reaches out to place a comforting hand on Vanessa’s arm.

“Aw, Vanjie! It’s normal to get a lil’ crush on one of the celebrities, they’re all so beautiful and airbrushed.”

“Is it, though? Or are you just hung up on a certain model that you’ve not been able to stop mentioning every five minutes since you danced with her?” Jan quirks an eyebrow, the girls all laughing and screaming again. Vanessa thinks about bringing up Jan’s obvious infatuation with Jackie but then decides against it, remembering that her Mom always tells her people in glass homes shouldn’t throw rocks. Or whatever the saying was. Even though they moved here when Vanessa was two and she probably should be used to them by now she still hates figures of speech with a passion.

“Okay I don’t mind admitting it- whoever gets Asia O’Hara, you’re a lucky son of a bitch,” Akeria throws her hands up, and Monique rolls her eyes so hard that Vanessa momentarily worries for her vision.

“My God, Keeks! Mention it one more time, maybe there’s somebody livin’ in a fuckin’…croft in the Scottish Highlands that ain’t still aware you wanna climb Miss Asia like a tree.”

Vanessa bursts out laughing, joining the other girls. Shea whips her head around from her own mirror, her high, sleek ponytail tossing itself over her shoulder as she fixes them all with an unimpressed glare. “Oh my God, will you all stop being so horny on main for like, two goddamn minutes? Jeez. When was the last time y’all got laid, two thousand and fuckin’ ten?”

Aja laughs in outrage as she points an accusatory finger Shea’s way. “Hey, not all of us could marry a contestant, okay? Let these girls get laid already!”

As the girls all hoot and Shea looks ready to fire a playful comeback at her, one of the runners comes into the dressing room and shouts up a five minute warning. The dancers all explode with excited squeals and they all rush back to their dressing tables to do a last touch up of their makeup and strap themselves into their dance shoes. Vanessa feels her heart thrumming so loud and heavy in her chest that she regrets the Red Bull she’d sank earlier, her nerves suddenly consuming her. She walks into the corridor where some of the other girls are waiting, digs her feet into the soles of her shoes and takes two big deep, calming breaths like her first ever dance teacher taught her to do when the butterflies got all too much. They’re not getting their partners straight away- they’ve got the group dance to complete first, but after that they’ll be changing into uniform little white sparkly dresses and standing on the raised steps beside the dancefloor, ready for the celebrities to come out one by one. The very thought of seeing Brooke Lynn again, in person and all fake-tanned with a full face of makeup, is making Vanessa’s hands shake a little.

“Hey,” Courtney smiles at her, coming out to stand behind her in the corridor. “Good luck. You’ll be amazing.”

“Thanks, girl,” Vanessa smiles. Courtney is the Mom of the dancers, always looking out for the other girls and keeping the peace. Vanessa is appreciative of her calm presence just now.

“How’re you feeling?” Courtney asks, a little frown of concern on her face. She rolls her eyes at herself quickly as soon as the words are out of her mouth. “God. Sorry. Silly question.”

“I’m nervous as shit right now, I ain’t gon’ lie.”

Courtney smiles, takes her hand and squeezes it. “You’ll be fine. I’d be worried if you weren’t nervous to be honest. I still remember my first show. Just remember the dancing is the easy bit. It’s what you know. You’ve done it for two seasons already anyway, all that’s changed is that you get a partner! And that’s the best bit!”

Vanessa swallows, takes another deep breath. She looks at Courtney again. “You know before you get partnered? You ever get your hopes up for one particular celebrity?”

“God, obviously. It’s like when teachers say they don’t have favourites, but you know they do. Why?” Courtney gives her a wink which makes her blush out of embarrassment. “You got your eye on anyone specific?”

“Nah. It’s my first season competing, I’ll be happy with anyone! Can’t get too choosy.”

Courtney cocks a disbelieving eyebrow at her. “Hmm. You’re a bad liar, Vanjie, but I’ll leave you alone. Have fun out there! Break a leg.”

Vanessa’s stomach gives a dip as she throws Courtney a supportive smile and turns around in the line. Monique reaches back, squeezes her hand and whispers a good luck to her, and before she can get a chance to compose herself they’re all off snaking their way in single file through yellow strobe-lit corridors, then through a dark maze of black curtains and cables and electrical tape, and finally out into the muffled excitement of the audience and the hot glow of the stage lights from the rigging overhead. As the producers and runners dash about like panicked mice, Vanessa takes another shuddery deep breath and takes her place beside Vixen, thanking God the show isn’t live but also knowing they’re about to do the dance in one whole take. She’s done this before, it’s not new. She can do this. It’s what she loves.

“Right, ladies and gentlemen! Are we ready to make history? First same-sex series of Strictly Come Dancing?” a producer yells out, the audience whooping and cheering and stamping their feet. “And five…four…three…two…one…”  

The lights go up, the smile is plastered onto Vanessa’s face, and when she starts to dance everything she has been worrying about melts away. It sounds cheesy, Vanessa knows it, but when she dances her mind literally cannot think about a single thing other than the music and the rhythm and the moves unfolding as if she’s telling a story. Vanessa remembers days spent on the couch with her Mom and a bowl of popcorn watching Billy Elliot, Dance With Me, Dirty Dancing (even though that one was a 12 and Vanessa’s Mom always told her not to tell her Abuela she was allowing her to watch it) and falling in love with dancing. As the pros finish off their dance to rapturous applause, Vanessa wonders what eight-year-old her would make of it all. She’s on the biggest dancing show on UK TV and she’s about to actually compete in it. Jesus.

Backstage, Vanessa’s hands are shaking so much that they fumble with the zip at the back of her costume change. She is a bundle of nerves now that the dance is done- that’s the only part about tonight she can control, and it’s over. Shea sees her struggling, bats Vanessa’s hands out of the way firmly and hoists the zip up her spine. Vanessa feels like a six year old who’s just had to ask their teacher to help them get dressed after a P.E. lesson.

“Thanks,” she mutters, Shea giving her a tight smile in return.

“Stop worrying. You’ll just get yourself in a flap. What’re you scared of?” Shea asks her, her stern voice turning soft at the end of her sentence. Shea doesn’t have a lot of time for nonsense, but the time she does have is precious, so Vanessa sighs.

“I’m just…God, I don’t even know. Worried I get a dud on my first year, I guess. I want to showcase myself just as much as I want to showcase my teaching abilities, if that makes sense,” she shrugs, looking in the mirror and making sure none of her dark brown baby hairs are breaking free from their hairspray prison.

“If I can give you any advice for your first year, I’ll say this,” Shea continues, checking her own reflection out until a runner shoos them back into line with the other girls. “Don’t take it too serious. Establish yourself, yeah, but it’s more about having fun with whoever you’re partnered with. When I let go and did that I ended up winning. Now, shit, don’t tell anyone I’m giving you advice.”

Vanessa tries not to focus on the fact Shea has just mentioned winning. The thought makes her heart give a thud she’s convinced could land her in hospital. She thanks Shea, gives her a squeeze on her shoulder before the girls are led out onto the stage again. Vanessa is positioned on one of the upper levels in between Akeria and Jan. They give each other a smile of encouragement, and Vanessa reaches over to take Akeria’s hand.

“I hope you get who you want, Keeks,” she whispers, as the producers look ready to begin. Akeria squeezes her hand as a thank you and drops it just as the lights go up. Vanessa feels her stomach churn as she looks down. There’s Michelle, contestant-turned-presenter ready to look into the camera and start reading from the autocue, and she’s beside the table of four judges. Vanessa hasn’t had many dealings with the judges before- she hasn’t had to, but the four friendly-ish faces she’s only so much as smiled at backstage now seem so scary to her.

“Ready to go in three,” a producer calls out, and a hush falls over the audience. Vanessa feels herself wobble in her shoes, wonders if she’d get fired if she fainted on the first take. Before she can think too much about it, the lights flood the stage and Michelle is announcing the first celebrity to be partnered- Heidi Cheek, or, to her listeners, Heidi Nina Closet. She’s dressed in a black sparkly dress which contrasts those of the dancers, and Vanessa realises the costume designers’ vision straight away. Vanessa remembers Heidi- she’d been one of the girls she’d danced with after Brooke, and she was sweet and funny and approached learning with a cheerful sense of enthusiasm, even if it had taken her a couple of tries to get the moves right. Michelle asks her how she’s feeling.

“Excited! It’s so different to doin’ my radio show, you know? I’m not used to bein’ on camera. They didn’t tell me I’d be goin’ through makeup at all. Everyone wore their joggers and gym clothes in rehearsals so I just thought we’d all be wearin’ the same things,” Heidi begins, the audience laughing already. “Also these heels! I barely even wear shoes at work, Lord. I can’t walk in these so how I’ll dance in them I’ll never know. Least I don’t need to fake tan like some of these other girls. That whole dressin’ room smells like a pack of biscuits.”

As the audience give another laugh, Vanessa can feel her heart hammer frantically as Michelle turns to Heidi. “Okay, Heidi. This…is…it.”

The lights go down, and Vanessa wants nothing more than to squeeze her eyes shut but she knows the cameras will be giving close-ups and so she stands, poised and ready, practising her not-looking-disappointed face in case she gets partnered with her.

“Your Strictly Come Dancing 2020 pro is…”

Breathe, don’t forget to breathe. Don’t close your eyes. Stop clenching your fists.

“Antonia ‘Vixen’ Taylor!”

Vanessa lets out a massive sigh of relief, her smile huge and genuine as she claps for the newly paired couple. Vixen races across the stage and lets out an excited squeal, Heidi crushing her in a tight hug. Both girls are clearly happy about who they’ve been partnered up with. They give a short post-pairing interview where they both squeal about how enthused and excited they are and Michelle sends them up to the auditorium. Vanessa claps them again then lets out another sigh. One couple down, eleven to go.

Michelle, a seasoned professional, copes well with the stop-start way that pre-recorded TV is usually filmed. Vanessa, however, stands and frets and wobbles in her heels through the next five pairings. Blair St Clair is paired up with Courtney next, and both girls are content with their partner. Blair just seems happy she’s got somebody who won’t eat her for breakfast if she makes a mistake.

“I’m so happy I got paired up with a winner!” she beams in her interview, her arm linked with Courtney’s. “And we had so much fun on the induction day, she put up with me so well. Even though she had to re-teach me the steps about twelve times.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself! It wasn’t twelve!” Courtney soothes, then gives Michelle a cheeky smile. “More like ten.”

A clearly satisfied Peppermint is given to an equally happy Shea and, to her obvious delight, Akeria is paired with Asia. Jan gives an over-the-top display of sheer unadulterated celebration when she’s paired with Jackie and almost gives Vanessa tinnitus with the amount she screeches, and Vanessa finds herself beaming with joy when Gigi is paired with Crystal, both girls behaving like Care Bears when they reach each other, all soft cuddles and squeezing hands.

Michelle takes a quick drink of water, announces some special guest singer that nobody cares about to perform at the halfway point. The girls who’re waiting to be partnered are called off the stage and the fiftysomething country singer last relevant in 2006 begins setting up. Vanessa scans her eyes over the pros that are left. There’s her, Monique, Plastique, Aja, Phi Phi and Jaida.

“Who’s still not been partnered up?” Phi Phi hisses urgently, her face determined as she addresses the other girls.

“Yvie Oddly hasn’t got anyone yet,” Plastique mentions calmly. “Or the Love Island girl.”

“Farrah,” Aja corrects her, then pulls a face. “Scarlet Envy’s not got anyone yet either.”

“Has Brooke Lynn been given anyone?” Vanessa asks rhetorically, as if she hasn’t been waiting with every embryo she possesses for the girl to come out onto the stage.

“No,” Jaida shakes her head, oblivious to the fact Vanessa already knows the answer. “And there’s Monet and Willam. So there’s three…maybe four girls still left that we can win with.”

“Hey, Scarlet has potential,” Monique shrugs kindly. Plastique snorts.

“Potential to what? Earn the lowest scores ever recorded?”

Phi Phi covers her hand with her mouth as she giggles, and Vanessa frowns at them both.

“Nobody’s winning with Willam either. The woman’s treating the whole thing as a huge joke,” Phi Phi continues.

Vanessa can’t help but send a barb her way. “I don’t know, girl, she seemed pretty clued-up when she was with me. But I guess a bad teacher always blames her students.”

Plastique and Jaida let out a squeal which they muffle behind their hands. Monique grabs Vanessa for support as she splutters a laugh, and Phi Phi scowls at her. “Well I’m not the one that was-”

“Would y’all just shut the fuck up for, like, two minutes?” Aja hisses, lowering the rapidly escalating volume of the conversation. “Unless we wanna be picked up by the mic and get round two of the half-decaying Darius Rucker impersonator that’s out there.”

Aja is friendly and funny but she’s scary when she wants to be, so the girls take a telling and fall silent as the song is finished. It’s not long until they’re led back out onto stage and are assembled onto the same podium as last time, and the cameras are rolling again. Next out is Willam. It says a lot that the stage makeup manages to tone her down, the gentle grey smoke across her eyelids a far cry from the riot of glitter that had been scattered over them on induction day. Michelle begins the interview.

“Now, Willam, you starred in Brittania High a few years ago, that was a bit dance-y - do you think that’ll come in handy during your Strictly journey?” Michelle is asking her. Willam brushes a stray hair out of her face and shrugs.

“I mean, I didn’t do too much of the dancing? I was a leading lady so I got most of the ballads. And most of the lines. More a main character than a backing dancer, really. No shade to any of my ex castmates, of course. Except Detox. Rotted bitch.”

“CUT!”

Vanessa bites her lip hard to try to stop a laugh coming out. Willam looks amused, if a little perturbed. “Is that not allowed? It was just a joke, she knows I love her really. Family show? Oh, okay.”

Vanessa can’t help it and lets out a laugh along with some of the audience. Phi Phi’s face doesn’t move.

“Okay Willam, time to see who your partner will be.”

The lights go down again. Even though it’s now the seventh time this has happened, Vanessa still feels as if she’s surviving a near-death experience every time someone new is paired up. It would be good to be paired with Willam. She’d be fun. She’s got potential. She’d work hard. She wouldn’t be disappointed at all.

“…It’s Phi Phi O’Hara!”

Oh, fuck. Vanessa sucks her lips into her mouth, tries not to laugh as the fake smile takes hold on Phi Phi’s face like a mask as she runs over to Willam, gives her a polite hug. She is raging. Serves her right for being mean.

“Willam Belli! What an enormous…” Phi Phi tails off, gesturing at the woman beside her as she searches for the right word. “…pleasure…it is to be paired up with her!”

Vanessa catches eyes with Monique, almost splutters a laugh. Phi Phi’s delivering everything through gritted teeth. Willam is smiling beside her, although her gaze keeps darting up to someone in the auditorium. Vanessa wonders if there’s someone she would rather have been partnered with.

Phi Phi is led off smiling demonically, and then Yvie appears by Michelle’s side to be paired up next. She is given to Jaida, and both girls seem happy with their pairing. Next out is Farrah. Vanessa’s heart lifts. She didn’t get paired up with Farrah at all on induction day- they’re both too small to be each others’ partners and so far there’s been at least a little bit of a height difference to each pairing. Still, though…Vanessa can’t get too complacent. She puts her hands behind her back and crosses her fingers and hopes she won’t get chosen, feeling like she’s on her first day at Hogwarts and Michelle is holding the sorting hat.

“…Aja Rivera!”

Vanessa is almost sick with relief, but as Michelle interviews the new partners she can’t help but feel almost a little dizzy with nerves. There are only three celebrities left: Scarlet, Monet and, of course, Brooke Lynn. The producers stop filming and arrange Vanessa, Plastique and Monique on the same level so as they’re not too scattered across the stage.

“You look like you’re about to throw up. Or faint. Or maybe die,” Monique whispers to her, concerned. Plastique rolls her eyes.

“Leave her alone, Mo, it’s her first partner,” she chastises her. Vanessa is grateful for the sympathy and doesn’t acknowledge how right Monique is. She does feel as if she’s about to do all three of those things, possibly all at the same time. Just as she thinks things can’t get any more nervewracking, the lights go up, Michelle announces the next celebrity, and Brooke Lynn appears.

Vanessa feels as if all the air has been sucked out of the room. Brooke’s hair is tousled and swept over one shoulder, the black smoke of eyeshadow the makeup department blended onto her eyelids makes the green of her eyes pop, and the character heels and the fringing on her black sparkly dress means that Vanessa’s eyes can’t help but be drawn to her legs. This is the girl she’s been waiting for. If she gets Brooke, she knows she can go far, she knows she can do a lot. She hardly hears a word Brooke says in her interview, all Vanessa is doing is repeating prayer after prayer- she’s not even that religious but her Mom, Tia and Abuela combined have probably said enough Hail Marys on her behalf to garner her a decent amount of favour with whoever’s up there, so she gives it a go.

“Okay, Brooke, let’s see who is going to be partnered with you for your Strictly journey.”

The lights go down. Vanessa swears her heart stops beating. She casts her eyes to the ceiling, not daring to meet Brooke’s. Her palms are way too sweaty to be normal. She clasps them together but they’re still shaking like crazy. The room is silent save from the single drum beat that’s serving to build tension. It’s doing its job too well, Vanessa thinks. She swears this pause is longer than all the others put together. She can hear the catch in Michelle’s throat as she’s about to speak, her heart soaring high with anticipation.

“It’s-”

“Cut!”

There’s a groan from the audience. Vanessa is going to faint right here, right now, filming be damned.

“Sorry, we’ve got a problem with the lights, it’s hitting Plastique’s face all weird. Can we sort that?…Okay. Thanks.”

Vanessa is no longer nervous. She’s now just impatient. As she taps her foot frustratedly and sweeps a glance over the room, she’s determined not to look at Brooke. She wonders if she’s looking at her already. Unable to help herself, she sneaks a look and instantly meets Brooke’s eyes with her own. Her heart leaps as if someone’s just turned the key in its ignition. Brooke unsuccessfully stifles a smile, sends her a wink as if they’re the only two people in the room. Vanessa waggles her fingers in a wave, then snaps her gaze away as the producer silences the audience again. Michelle repeats her line, the lights go down again, and Vanessa’s not scared this time. She’s thinking it into existence. She knows it’s going to be her. Michelle just has to say it.

“…it’s Vanessa Mateo!”

Vanessa screams. She knows her face must be an absolute picture as she sinks to the ground in shock, gripping her face with both her hands. She can hear Monique and Plastique laughing and clapping above her, and she can barely walk in a straight line as she rises back up and dashes across to hug Brooke. Brooke’s smile is almost splitting her face, and she breaks away from Michelle and runs towards her, picking her up and twirling her round in a tight hug that Vanessa never wants to break free from. She’s done it. She and Brooke are partners. She gets to work with her for as long as they’re in the competition together. Maybe Vanessa will start going to mass after all.

“Oh my God,” Vanessa eventually says, as Brooke carries her in the hug for as long as she can manage then deposits her down beside Michelle who is laughing so hard Vanessa wonders if they’ll have to do another take. They do not. Instead, Brooke drapes an arm around Vanessa’s shoulder and pulls her close. Without knowing what possesses her, Vanessa takes her hand. She looks up at Brooke who’s looking down at her and they laugh together, sharing a ridiculously huge smile.

“Sorry. That was too much,” Brooke says apologetically. The audience laughs along with Vanessa.

“Uh, Vanessa,” Michelle starts, laughing a little through her question. “It’s your first year with a partner, I probably- well I don’t- need an answer, but I have to ask…how do you feel about being partnered with Brooke?”

“Listen,” Vanessa composes herself. She’s out of breath and her voice is hoarse from screeching, but she’s getting this out. “If you knew what this girl can do, you’d be screamin’ like a banshee too, Michelle. She’s so talented, I know she’s gonna be incredible…God, I can’t wait to win this whole thing with her.”

Everyone laughs again, but Vanessa’s only looking at Brooke. The girl’s eyes crinkle up when she smiles, and it only makes her look ten times more beautiful than she already is. Not that that’s weird. Just an observation.

“Brooke, how do you feel?”

Brooke looks back down at Vanessa, still smiling. “No, I’m the exact same. I know we kind of look like a bar chart together, but we just work. I knew I wanted to be her partner since induction day.”

Vanessa gives a happy sigh. She wants to wrap both her arms around Brooke and to not let go. Part of her feels like she’s lifting the glitterball already. Brooke is a trophy and Vanessa feels like a winner.

“Well, congratulations to the pair of you. One last time, give it up for Vanessa and Brooke Lynn!”

Vanessa drops her hand down and Brooke catches it in hers, the pair of them running past the audience and upstairs to the auditorium where the other girls are ready with excited squeals and hugs for them both. Vanessa accepts them all gladly, and when she is finally released she is positioned at the bannister beside her new dance partner. She turns to her and smiles, Brooke easily returning it, and Vanessa is suddenly bashful.

“Hey,” Brooke smiles at her cheekily.

“Hey,” Vanessa grins, looking to the floor awkwardly. “Sorry. If I freaked you out. Guess my reaction was kinda too much.”

“Girl, did you see me? I was spinning you round like a fucking windmill. If anyone should be apologising it should be me.”

They both laugh softly. Vanessa shrugs a little. “Least we know we’ll be good at lifts.”

Brooke raises her eyebrows and concedes, and Vanessa tries not to get too excited about the fact she can say the word we. They fall quiet as the producers call for hush and Scarlet is led out. As Vanessa listens to Scarlet’s interview, she can feel Brooke’s eyes on her and she turns to face her, unable to stop the smile creeping back onto her face. Brooke looks caught out for a second before she leans in close to Vanessa to whisper to her.

“I meant it, you know. I’m so happy I got you. I wasn’t just saying it for the cameras.”

Vanessa gives a happy sigh, places her hand over Brooke’s that’s clinging to the bannister. “Me too, girl. This is where it all begins. Let’s win this damn thing.”

They don’t let go of each others’ hands until the final pairing is announced.

[yehet-me-up]

Frozen North ~ Night Four

PAIRING: Chanyeol x reader

GENRE: Horror/Suspense/SPOOP in general/light romance (because who else would I be?)

WORD COUNT: 2,164

RATING: PG13 (nothing gruesome, but knowing me there will be swearing)

SUMMARY: You run a late night radio show dedicated to telling scary stories and urban legends, the creepier the better. Listeners call in and share their own, creating a small but loyal community of folks like you who love this sort of thing. One night, a man calls in with what sounds like an all-too-real story and before you know it, you’ll do anything to make sure he’s safe.

Frozen North Masterlist

You and Yoora agree to meet up for coffee on campus before your first class of the day. The winter morning is icy cold and you bundle yourself up in your North Face parka, knit beanie, and gloves and head off for the cafe at Suzzallo.

She looks almost exactly like her photos - perfectly groomed bob of shiny black hair, high cheekbones. A nervous smile plays on her lips as she looks around the room, clutching her mug of coffee. You give her a small wave and thread your way through the mass of students and she sags with relief.

'Thank you so much for meeting me,' she starts before you've even sat down.

You take off your hat and gloves and shove them in your bag, pulling out your phone and placing it face up. There's not been a second in the last few hours that you haven't had it close. Sleep didn't come easy, in fits and spurts. Wild dreams tormented you, of Chanyeol and what he was going through. 

How you wished you could reach through the phone and pull him into the warmth and safety of your bed.

The thought makes you blush in the heat of the cafe. 'Of course, I want to help.'

Yoora pulls out her own phone and shows you the call log. 'I've been trying him for days. We just had lunch on Sunday. Monday he didn't answer which, knowing how he works like a man possessed, isn't unusual. By Tuesday I was worried and by Wednesday I knew something was wrong.'

You nod in agreement. 'The first call on Tuesday sounded almost like a joke or, I don't know, a new twist on a story. It would hardly be the strangest thing that's happened on my show.' You unlock your phone and look through the call log. 'He called me before that, actually. But I didn't think anything of it.'

Her brows pull together. 'Really?'

Turning it so she can see you point out the FaceTime call that came through just before you started on Tuesday. 'Yeah, it's weird - I don't know Chanyeol. Even though we both go to U dub we've never crossed paths.'

'Why on earth would he be calling from an Alaska number?' she asks, distraught. 'What is going on here?'

You sigh and rub your forehead. 'I could try calling him, see if it goes through? I've tried a lot over the last few days. It seems there's no predicting when he'll call. He never answers.'

Yoora nods. 'You go first, with your Alaska number. Then I'll try his cell. If neither go through, I'm going to the police.'

Dread curdles in your stomach and you agree. Hitting the call button, you squeeze your eyes together and pray that this is all some sort of horrible dream. But it rings, endlessly like always, before giving the same message about a voicemail box.

With a shake of your head you watch Yoora do the same. She chews on her lip, looking as haunted and sad as you feel. After a minute she hangs up. Looking resolved, she slides her phone back into her purse. 

'I'll let you know what happens. Thank you, for letting me know. The recordings will help I'm sure.' She reaches across the table and rests her hands on top of yours. 

'The show is on at eight. I'll have my phone with me the whole time. If something happens, I'll be there.'

With a nod she grabs her still-full coffee and strides off. 

For long minutes you sit there, spinning your phone around on the table. The noise in the cafe is endless but you don’t hear it. All you can think about is this man who came into your life, who feels connected to you by the thinnest of ropes. But it matters. Even if you don’t know why, he matters more than anything.

Determined, you stand up. With a grunt you knock into someone standing right behind you. A male voice curses softly. When you turn to apologize you gasp, embarrassment turning your cheeks red.

‘Professor Langford? I’m so sorry,’ you start.

He gives you a friendly wave and shakes his head, gesturing to the coffee spilled across his wool coat. ‘It’s nothing, truly. I should have been looking where I was going.’

You grab some napkins from the condiments station and hand them to him. He good-naturedly blots at it and gives you a reassuring smile. But there’s something off. Tension radiates off him, a nervous energy that makes you step back, bumping the back of your chair.

‘What are you doing in this fine cafe today?’ he asks, a hungry look in his eye.

Swallowing, you try to not let your confusion show. ‘Just meeting a friend for coffee.’

He scans you up and down, assessing. ‘You seem upset, is everything alright? Is this thing with Chanyeol getting to you?’

Something dangerous hovers in the air, an unease you can almost taste. ‘Why do you ask?’

Professor Langford blinks, coming back to himself. He coughs and dabs the coffee once more before balling the napkins and depositing them in the trash can next to him. When he faces you again he seems almost like himself. 

‘Just curious, that’s all. It is my area of interest, after all,’ he says with a half smile.

‘Yeah, you’re right.’

He gives you an awkward nod. ‘Well, see you in class.’

You stand there and watch as he hurries out of the cafe, pushing out into the light snow that falls in Red Square. With a shake of your head you carry on with your day.

The text you’re hoping for finally comes in while you’re walking to your last class of the day.

Yoora 3:47PM: the police won’t do anything You 3:47PM: oh my god, really? Did you play them the recordings? Yoora 3:47PM: yes, i was there for hours. They say it’s nothing conclusive. That he’s 27 years old and there’s nothing but our word to say there’s something wrong with him You 3:48PM: unbelievable Yoora 3:48PM: hopefully he’ll call in tonight. I can’t take much more of this. You 3:48PM: he will. I know it. We’re going to figure this out

An anxious energy eats away at you as you bustle into the station. Plans, questions, anything you think might help all swirl in your mind. Maybe someone will call in who knows him? Maybe he’ll be able to tell you where he is?

Suse gives you a sympathetic hug when you swap out at the turn of the hour. ‘No luck?’

You sigh and run your hand through your hair. ‘Nothing. His sister and I met up and tried calling again. No answer. She took everything to the police and they refuse to help. They said there’s not enough evidence.’

‘What the fuck.’ She looks to the ceiling, hesitating and chewing her lip. ‘Okay I have an idea. It might be nuts but-’

‘I’m desperate Suse,’ you say, holding her shoulders. ‘I’ll do anything. I know in my gut this is real.’

Something she sees in your face convinces her and she nods, pulling out her phone. After shooting off a text she slips it back in her purse. ‘He’ll be here in twenty.’

‘Who will?’

She leans in and whispers. ‘Jimmy’s sister had this sketchy ass boyfriend who kept calling and harassing her so he downloaded this program that traces calls. It’s not exactly… legal. But I think if your Chanyeol calls in tonight we should be able to get it hooked up to the computer and figure out where he is.’

You nearly crush her you hug her so tight. ‘Oh my god, Suse. I don’t even - that would be incredible.’

She hugs you back before smacking your butt padded by your parka. ‘Don’t thank me until we find him. Now get in there, you have a show to run.’

It takes some convincing before Daniel allows Jimmy to set up his laptop in the listening booth, but eventually he caves. He wants this resolved as badly as any of you. For over an hour you and Jimmy wait anxiously while you attempt to carry on your show as normally as possible.

Several people call in saying they wish they could help with Chanyeol. A few people know him - from class, from the underground rock scene in Seattle, from various jobs over the years. No one has a bad thing to say about him and you wish over and over that you could hear his voice again. That you could see him in person. You wonder if he lives up to the hype, something within you says that he will exceed it.

When the calls taper off you transition to your prepared content. Two people call in with snippets from stories they’re working on. You do a piece on the rumored Thirteen Steps to Hell in Maltby, Washington’s cemetery. When you wrote it you felt the familiar thrill in your veins. Of excitement. Of wonder. Of fear, licking up your spine and reminding you of the terrifying and unknown myths and legends of the world.

But now, in the cold studio with your cell phone clutched in your hand, it doesn’t feel anything like you’d planned. The only thing you feel is afraid and full of want. For relief and for this to be over and for him to be safe.

Through intermission and on into the usual Friday open hour discussion on favorite international urban legends your phone is deadly silent and you want to scream and throw it at the wall. Suse and Daniel in the booth give you tight-lipped smiles and nods of encouragement whenever you turn to them, dread inhabiting your stiff movements.

But just before the end of the night, at 11:45, your phone buzzes.

CHANYEOL WOULD LIKE TO FACETIME

‘Fuck -’ you say on the air, trying to hit the accept button with frozen shaking fingers.

Jimmy does his best to recover as well, unplugging his link from the computer and pulling out an iphone cord from his bag. Frantically you lift the phone to your ear and motion for someone to come take over the mic while you answer. Suse bustles into the room and says something about taking a break.

You hardly hear her. Every atom of your being leans towards the phone, grasping for a sound - his voice, wind, wolves, anything.

‘Chanyeol? Are you there?’

A scuffling comes through and then: ‘I’m here.’

‘Oh, thank God,’ you practically sob.

Hands brush against yours where it holds the phone and then Jimmy sits back, giving you a thumbs up. He types frantically on his computer and Suse breathes against your other ear, resting a reassuring arm over your shoulder.

‘How are you?’

He grunts. ‘It’s so cold here. I feel like I’m losing myself. It’s so dark and I just - all I dream about is ice. And wolves. Red eyes. Blood. I just want to be warm.’

You ask him the first question that comes to mind, anything to keep him on longer, to bring him back to himself. ‘What’s your favorite Radiohead song?’

‘Radiohead...? How did you know I like them?’

‘It’s a long story, Chanyeol,’ you sigh. ‘Tell me, please.’

‘I guess… Creep. Definitely my favorite.’

You smile. It’s yours as well. That spark of energy in your chest ignites again. Something like fate and just as insistent. ‘Why do you like it?’

More shuffling. ‘I like how I feel when I sing it. I need words, lyrics, to know how I feel. It’s the only language that makes sense to me sometimes.’

‘I know what you mean,’ you says softly, looking around that the booth. In the cocoon you’ve built from the world over the past few years.

‘What’s your favorite?’ he asks, the low rumble of his voice crossing your skin all the way through the phone, wherever he is.

‘Mine is-’ you start, but your words are interrupted.

‘Enough!’ someone says near the phone. A female voice this time.

Chanyeol grunts and you hear a crash. The line goes dead and you want to scream. The silence in the room is so pervasive and heavy you can feel the air vibrating. Jimmy next to you is still and you nervously look at him.

‘Anything?’ Suse asks, saying the words you can’t bring yourself to.

He nods, unable to look away from the computer. ‘You’re not going to believe this. It’s coming from fucking Seattle. Three blocks from here.’

~~~~~~~~~~~

Tagging @yeoldontknow​ @enthusiastt​ @itskindofafairything​ @gogh-suck-it​@nshitae​ <3

[fiction-in-my-blood]

Switching Sides: Part 9 (HLITF)

if anyone possibly wants to get on a tag list I’d be happy to make one

👉 @theshove 👈

If you wanna catch up, Part 8 is right here! Happy reading :)

Premise: Growing up in a life of crime in a Japanese mafia, Atsuko Motomori has seen enough injustice to last her a lifetime. To try and give back to the universe her family has taken so much from, she dreams of being a detective from a young age. Her twin, sharing her disgust for her father and many uncles, just wants an ordinary life away from the crime, paing and suffering. Instead, she wants to be in the spotlight with the soft notes she makes with her cello. In their escape of 2015, on their coming of age birthday, they must split ways, never to be together ever again. If one was found, they didn’t want the other dragged down with them. Atsuko, having changed her name and appearance as best she can without a scalpel, sets off to start her life of car chases and arrests.

Four years in a seemingly dead-end police station in the middle of nowhere, being passed over time after time for promotion, Atsuko finally gets a shot at her dream, having been sent to an academy for the best candidates in the country by her boss who had always kept an eye out for her. After discovering her boss may have made her bite off more than she could chew, Atsuko must become the slave of a dominating instructor!? Who so just happens to be the captain of the most famous police unit in Japan? Not to mention a total knockout! Will Atsuko finally achieve her dream? Or will her new instructor put her through the wringer?

Warnings: Language, Reference to sexual activity, Forceful nature.

~~~~~~

In what my sister said was a safe house, I flopped on a couch of extraordinary quality, my mind racing with thoughts. Was Kaga okay? Would everyone think I was dead? Hopefully, there weren't any security cameras in that alleyway, otherwise, I would’ve gotten caught out. 

"That was a close call." Juna sighed out a laugh, handing me a bottle of water for my dried throat. I didn't want to go to the hospital, too nervous the academy would be notified if I was seen or identified. The gorse the paramedic stuck to my head was still there and the bleeding in my mouth had stopped. Although, I could feel my jaw start to swell up. My chest was burning a little from the limited amount of smoke I inhaled, but I would be fine. Hopefully...

I was unresponsive to her comment, nervously rubbing the cloudy plastic in my hand. "You should take a shower. You stink." Noticing I wasn’t really in the mood to talk, Juna showed me an encouraging smile, nudging my arm to kick me out of my own world.

Looking around the apartment as I walked to the door she pointed at, I noticed many picture frames and trinkets from around the world. There were miniature figures of monuments, postcards and handmade jewelry, all presented on the bookshelves. I remembered the sheets of music she used to store in our room as kids and noticed that there were books of scores tucked closely together.

"You really got around, huh?" I commented, crouching in front of the bookcase to see a group photo of her old orchestra. She had a bright smile on her face and looked especially close with the man standing next to her with a horn type of instrument. I was somewhat jealous. I had no memories like this. No friends. No outings. Too scared to let anyone close. Too scared to show people the real me in case they got scared and left me broken. Hell, I didn't even own any sort of camera, not even on my phone. All I had were the memories I held onto. And those were few and far between.

Juna walked up beside me, peering at it. "Yeah." She showed a said smile and her voice croaked. It's hard to leave behind the people in your life after lying to them for so long. I could tell she felt guilty for disappearing out of the blue, but I was just trying to forget all about it. 

"It's for their protection, Juna. If they knew..." I led off, not knowing to the full extent what could happen. However, I did know it wouldn't be good.

"I'll get you a change of close." She got up, turning away from the memory before she let her feelings get the better of her.

~~~~~~

After my shower, I wrapped a towel around my body and dried my hair with another. 

"Hey, Juna, do you have a toothbrush I can borrow?" I called through the door, settling back into the sisterly comfort we had years ago. 

When she didn't respond, however, I furrowed my brows, expecting her to be just outside. Suspicious thoughts flooded my brain and I grabbed the clay soap dish in case I needed to pound someone’s head concave. It wasn't much, but all I had. Her interior design was surprisingly minimalistic. 

Slowly, I opened the door, peering into her living room. In the middle of the room, I spotted Juna hugging a man, tears flowing down her face. I sighed at her closed eyes, clutching the man like she might fall off a 60 story building if she even loosened her grip. ‘She knew not to call anyone. What was she thinking?’

"Juna," I growled, lowering my makeshift weapon when I knew there are no threats. She spun around quickly, not expecting me to be there. The man looked just as shocked, looking from my face to hers. 

"Katsu, I can explain!" She panicked as I eyed him suspiciously. It was the man from the photo. I crossed my arms.

"You the guy that called me?" I nodded towards the handsome man. He had fluffy, wavy hair and dressed rather lavishly in his white dress shirt and black pants. His long beige coat, although it was still kind of warm out, made his shoulders look quite broad. Despite my trepidation, he looked kind. 

"You're the woman from the payphone?" He gasped. I assumed he didn't know Juna had a twin sister.

"Does he know?" I turned my gaze back to Juna, wondering if he knew about our past. The look on her face told me he did. Enough to understand her disappearance, that is. 

"U-Um, Katsumi, this is Kanto. She's my twin sister." Juna was uneasy as she introduced us, but I was wary to step forward and shake his hand while he was too shocked to move. 

"And, um, Kanto is my b-boyfriend..." She led off, as if this was a shock to me. I raised an eyebrow. I could tell she was going to add to his title when she took in another deep breath. "And... well... he's also the father of my baby." She smiled brightly at me, but I could tell she was nervous about what I would say.

The words made me freeze and my breathing stopped. I looked down at her belly and I guessed there could be a bit of a bump, but nothing to cause suspicion. 

"I'm... gonna go change." I quickly grabbed the clothes left for me on the back of the couch and charged back into the bathroom.

~~~~~~

"Mikara... Your sister's a twin?" The father-to-be turned to the woman he loved, shocked he had just seen two of her, not used to calling her by her birth name. She had told him all about the past she had escaped from on a drunken night when she was missing her sister the most. She told him all about the older sister who had shielded her from so much hurt and abuse. She told him how her father had killed her mother. About the crimes she had witnessed. Juna had forgotten to mention when that sister had the identical features.

"I-I wasn't even supposed to tell you in the first place!" She teared up, worried what thoughts were going on in her sister's head. 

"You didn't tell her about me?" Kanto pouted, something Juna wouldn't usually be able to resist. 

"I didn't exactly have time." She frowned in response, sitting on the couch to wait for her sister to emerge again.

~~~~~~

Once I’d taken a breather to process the information I'd just taken in, I walked out of the bathroom and into the tense atmosphere of the living room. Kanto was standing on one side while I saw Juna stressing out on the couch. When I walked through their silent contemplation, my sister jumped up, expecting me to speak. I looked at both of them, trying to get the image of my sister fooling around out of my mind and I grimaced. Rubbing my temples, I went to the fridge, looking for food to cook something with. Neither of them had said anything yet and I was sure Juna felt like she was going to get lectured. 

"Sit," I ordered, pointing to the counter that had stools. They both ran over, sitting down as I got ingredients out. I needed to keep my hands full in case I fekt like strangling her. 

"Katsu-." I cut off Juna by lifting my knife in a shushing motion. I started chopping onions strictly, making them jump every time the blade hit the chopping board. 

"So, let me just ask." I suddenly looked up, finally knowing what I was going to say. "While I was working my ass off trying to become a detective so I can make both of us safe, you're off getting knocked up and spreading your secret like it's the New Testament?" I started chopping more vegetables more violently, throwing them into the pot I was heating up for some sort of stew. 

"H-Hey! You make me sound like a slut!" Juna argued back, face flushing darkly. I sighed, rubbing the area between my eyebrows to somehow get the information into my brain. There was still a pounding pain in my head from the smoke and the head injury, so the added stress of thinking was not welcomed.

As the sizzling of vegetable oils sounded in the silent room, I casted my gaze to her. "How far along?" One hand on my hip and one holding my face, I couldn't turn my whole body to look at her, too worried I'd pounce on the man that got my sister pregnant without knowing the whole situation. 

"A-About six weeks. It was shortly before dad kidnapped me." She shied away, looking at her lap as she reported. This Kanto guy was too scared to even look me in the eye. 

"Have you had a check-up since the shooting?" The question made the man's gaze shoot up, worry painted on his face. 

"Y-You were in a shooting?" He shrieked, jumping up and grabbing her shoulders to force her to look at him. In a way, his overreactions reminded me a little of Naruko. 

"I didn't want to say anything to him. I was too scared of what he'd do..." She continued talking to me, avoiding her partner's intense gaze. I could tell she was talking about our father. Who knew what he would do if he found out she was pregnant. What he would do the with baby...

Biting the tip of my thumb, I sighed. "I'll see what I can do about an appointment. We might have to go a little out of the city. I just..." I led off, a little disappointed in my sister. With the way we grew up, why would she want to put another human being into this world? 

"...We barely had a childhood. Just about made it out alive. How do you think you're going to protect that child? What if they find us again? What if they kidnap the kid?" I pestered whatever plan she had and the man stood up to me. 

"I'm going to protect her! I don't know you, but I know Mikara is the strongest woman I've ever met!" He yelled, his expression was enraged. 

"You don't even know her real name. I'm trying to be realistic. If you're going to have this baby, it's going to have the same enclosed life we did. They're not going to stop looking for us. Not after seeing me at the scene. Not after I..." I led off, praying and hoping that I had killed my father in that fire. With the head of the snake gone, it would take the gang some time to regroup and decide on their next course of action. Maybe it would even scare them off? 

"They won't have the same childhood as us, Katsumi. Because we will love them with all our hearts. We will cherish and raise them the way we were meant to be raised. Because that's what they deserve..." Juna grabbed Kanto's hand, smiling brightly at him. It was an expression full of love and hope. Nothing I had ever seen on either of my parents' faces. "...And we'll do it together. Please, Katsumi, I wouldn't be able to live with myself if they didn't know their Auntie Katsu!" She turned to me with a look that almost broke my heart.

"Why do you have to be so damn optimistic all the time?" I frowned, turning away from the loving couple and towards the burning food. 

"Does that mean you accept us?" Juna pleaded and her voice sounded frail. 

"Don't get ahead of yourself, I'm not going to disown you. But, I'm still not happy about this." I didn't need to turn around to know that she was ecstatic. I even heard the stool slide back as she jumped to hold her lover. 

~~~~~~

Once dinner was served up, I began to ask Juna if she knew anyone that could get us new identities. 

"Why would you need that?" Kanto asked, obviously out of his depth. 

"I'm probably going to be presumed dead if they can't find me at the scene. I'll need a new license to be able to get a job. You should be fine as long as you stay out of the spotlight." I explained, knowing this wasn't at all common knowledge. The first guy I used to get me a new persona went missing shortly after we made our escape. He was likely dead. 

"Can't you use your original passport? It shouldn't be too risky, seeing as you..." Juna led off, not wanting to bring the possible murder of our father into the conversation over our meal. I had filled her in before we got here. 

"That's all in my old dorm. I wouldn't be able to get in there without being spotted." I scratched my head trying to think of a way to get by in this modern society without any means of identifying myself. 

"It's an open-campus, right? I could go there to collect your belongings. Even Kanto can say he's your cousin." Pretending like he wasn't even here, Juna and I started to plan a break-in into the academy. 

"I had a friend who knows I have a twin sister... But my instructors are trained in interrogation, I wouldn't want to put you through that. Could I go myself?" I questioned the liability of using my sister's ID as my own in order to infiltrate without putting her in harm's way. 

"You have the same face." Kanto tried to put his limited input, which I didn't appreciate. He didn't seem like a bad guy, but I wasn’t  very trusting when it came to the people around my sister. 

"Yeah, but can you act like you just lost your sister?" Juna laughed, however morbid that may seem. 

"I've gotten good at lying. Surprisingly." I smiled slyly, both of us knowing how ironic it was for a cop to get good at deceiving other cops. 

"Oh, yeah, I forgot to mention." I sighed. When I remembered what was in the box under my bed, I remembered the letter of evidence I wasn't able to give to the detectives. I explained this to them both and Juna looked anxious. 

"They have no chance of catching them without it." She mumbled, pinching her chin as she thought about a way to get the evidence to them anonymously. 

"We might have to wait for things to die down before I make a move on the police department. There's no way they won't have some sort of software on their security cameras..." 

"That reminds me. We need to get some hair dye." With a mouth full of food, Juna spoke up. 

"Why does this feel so much more complicated than last time?" I dropped my head into my hand, adding every task to my todo list.

~~~~~~

Meanwhile, in a hospital near where the bombing took place, a team of doctors were working hard to save a certain crack detective. His coworkers were pacing back and forth, making calls and planning their next steps, having sent every student they had back to the academy.

"There's no cameras in that alley. The closest thing we have is a street cam down Main Street and we don't even know if they went that way." Shinonone raked an hand through his hair, laptop in hand, squinting at the map with pinpoints on it showing all the cameras they had access to in the city. 

"And you saw nothing about their faces. No hair colour, eye colour? What about their clothes?" The Chief, finally getting involved once one of his men was in the ER, pointed out, making some of the men that were already irritated, far more so than before.

"They were both wearing black. The one in the suit may have had black hair, but what good will that do? They both had their helmets on before we turned the corner." Ayumu complained, the one that had seen the most of the women on the motorcycle before they made their quick escape.

"Kurosawa is out making the rounds, but it's unlikely he'll find anything with everyone's attention on the building." Soma sighed to himself, pinching his chin in deep thought.

"Has anyone heard from Motomori yet?" Goto finally spoke up, wording everyone's suspicions they didn't want to be having. She had gone through those huge hotel doors and never came out. She didn't respond to her ear-piece; her only female friend had found it on the floor shortly after she ran in. 

The room went quiet and cold. The group of six had been allowed a private conference room in the hospital so they could work and be the first to hear of any changes in Captain Kaga's condition, so the only sounds that could be heard were small, distance noises of shuffling hallways and a squeaking from a trolley being pushed just outside the door.

"She wouldn't have left without finding him..." Soma was the first to speak, further exclaiming everyone's collective thoughts. Shortly after Kaga was found, the entire building collapsed, even if the young officer was still in there, there was little to no chance she'd still be alive. Between all that fire taking oxygen out of the air and the crumbling structure of the building trapping her in the one room that might have been saved from the blasts and the likelihood of being crushed to death by rubble, there was no way. They knew of her persistence by now, but she wasn't a god. She couldn't tire out death.

Suddenly, a light knock rapped the door, sounding like a thundering clap in the still air. Everyone turned when a nurse poked her head through and, for a moment, everyone was reminded of that same girl that they had all been thinking about. But, alas, the black-haired young woman explained that Captain Kaga was asking to speak to someone who knew about the situation, and they needed to hurry. 

With a heavy sigh, Ishigami put himself forward to speak. Then Chief Namba. Then even Shinonome stood up. 

"Sit down, all of you." The Chief exclaimed and everyone stepped back, knowing now was not the time to act strong. With that command, the subordinates got back to work and Namba followed the nurse to Kaga's hospital room.

~~~~~~

Several days later, I was out grocery shopping in Juna's neighbourhood, on my way to collect my belongings from the academy, under the assumed identity of my twin sister. You know, the one Shinonome found a missing report on. I wouldn't lie, my knees were weak and my palms were sweaty. I was so nervous I felt like I was going to throw up. I didn't know if Instructor Kaga made it to the hospital, or out of it, and I didn't know how Naruko was feeling. I didn't know if my father's body was found or if the uncle with the device was caught. I had so many loose ends to tie up, I felt like my whole life was going to unravel the second I stepped through those gates. 

"Katsumi." A man's voice spoke up and I turned to see Kanto, my sister's boyfriend. Juna had gone to a job interview and sent him with me so I didn't get overwhelmed. 

"Don't go calling me that in the academy." I frowned at his forgetfulness and turned back to the array of snacks in front of me. 

Juna had... interesting cravings. And, since she was the pregnant one, I had to go out and find the rare candy she wanted. "I didn't even know they made pickle-flavoured pop rocks." I felt like I was going to crumble under the pressure of the rage of a pregnant woman. I had been looking for days, but apparently they only sell them in small stocks. 

"We should get going or we'll be late to pick up Mika... Juna." Still not used to using my sister's birth name in public, Kanto took the basket hanging on my arm. 

"I'm perfectly fine carrying this myself." I snatched it back, narrowing my eyes at him before heading to the checkout point.

"How long is it going to take you to trust me? I'm trying really hard here!" Once we get out of the shop, Kanto followed me down the street, begging. 

"We'll see how well you do and then I'll decide. For all I know, you're a flight risk." I explained, truly believing he could leave at any time if he wanted. I was sure that didn't make him feel good, to not be trusted by your lover's family, but I couldn't afford to be friendly. "It was just us for so long. I can't just go around handing out friendship tickets to anyone. It's my job to keep her safe." I glanced at his defeated stature beside me. 

"...But, I'll be willing to give you a chance... After this, of course." I softened at the puppy dog eyes he showed me and a bright smile appeared on his face. 

"I won't let you down, Katsumi!" He cheered, showing me a cartoonish salute. "I-I mean, Mikara." He stuttered out my fake name and my sister's former name once he saw the serious glare on my face.

~~~~~~

In front of the looming school gates of the Public Safety Academy, I took a deep brreath, sighing it out while trying to calm my racing heart. This would be the biggest, most important undercover operation I would ever be on, and I didn't know if I was ready for it yet. 

"Are you nervous?" Kanto peered into my face and I opened my eyes from concentrating on my breathing.

"I was meant to start my life here. So, yeah, I'm a little depressed about it." I frowned and started walking to the administration office.

~~~~~~~

"Excuse me, I'm here to collect my sister's belongings," I announced at the desk, pulling a saddened expression when I gave my fake name, handing over the identification she asked for. 

"You're not on any emergency contacts. How did you find out?" The woman, after looking at my details, looked up suspiciously. 

"Her old boss called me and told me what happened... We... We weren't that close..." I looked away guiltily, secretly annoyed I hadn't planned for any of this. I should have at least bought another phone and registered that as an emergency contact. 

When the receptionist noticed the similarities between my face now and the one on their system, she quickly made a call to get me and Kanto a guide. 

We waited for a little while before I heard a familiar voice, shrieking, behind me. "Atsuko?" 

Both of us turned, me unbelievably stressed and nervous, to see my closest ally wide eyed and ready to cry. Too uncomfortable to keep eye contact, I looked at Kanto in an effort to distract myself.

"M-Miss Harada, I'm so sorry for your loss." 

Naruko, red-eyed and looking withered, smiled at me to pretend nothing was wrong. My heart shattered as I saw her expression, but I forced myself to look back. Naruko took us to the dorm, where she left us to look through my stuff. 

Once I knew the door was closed, I darted to the box under my bed.

"This is a pretty sweet gig." Kanto looked around at the nicely styled room. 

"Good, it's still here." I sighed in relief, sliding my old passport into my jacket pocket, along with all the childhood memories. Then, I noticed my mother's ring rocking around in the bottom. 

"What's that?" Kanto seemed to share the interruptive nature Naruko couldn't seem help. 

"My mother's. I think. She left it on my pillow the night she left." I sighed, not wanting to look at it anymore. "You take it. Juna always wanted it more than me." I closed my eyes and forced it into Kanto's hands. 

Moving on, I started to pack the clothes I had left hanging on the wardrobe. I found the uniform we were given when we arrived and my fingers grazed them, having left them here when we went undercover in the hotel. My brows furrowed as I looked at it, knowing I would never be able to wear my badge again. Before I knew it, I was crying. 

"Do you want me to finish for you?" Kanto spoke up and I bit my lip, trying not to let my voice sound frail.

"I'll leave it here. It's too painful to bring it with me." I turned away from the closet, just like I had with that life. 

~~~~~~

Before long, I had packed up anything I needed for my new life. I took a deep sigh, not expecting to be so emotional about the whole fiasco. 

"We should get going, Juna will be finished soon." I looked up at the clock on my wall for the very last time. As I packed, I had been ingraining the room into my memory, not wanting to leave this stage of my life behind. I had worked so hard, only for it to result in nothing. I broke down at my thoughts, turning to hide my face in Kanto's chest. 

"Shut up," I whispered before he could make a comment on how I was already warming up to him.

~~~~~~

After I cried myself to where I thought I would be able to leave without looking a mess, I stepped back from the man. 

"Thank you for coming with me... I know I'm difficult." I mumbled, embarrassed with how rude I had been to such a great guy. 

"Don't apologise with tears in your eyes! You're gonna make me feel guilty." Kanto laughed and I glared at him. 

"That's not an apology. It's a thank you for never talking about this again." I threatened, finding myself less of a mess than before. It was easy to communicate with him, I could see why Juna fell for him.

Taking a step out of my dorm for the very last time, I saw Naruko crying in the corner and being consoled by one of our classmates. 

"I-I just miss her so much. We were supposed to graduate together!" She wailed and I had to look away to stop myself from crying again. Pulling out the picture she had picked up that night when we were new friends from my jacket pocket, I reminisced on all the memories we had here. We weren't together for a long time, but she made life under Kaga's rule bearable.

Then, I remembered the one picture we took together was pinned to my fridge. Running back into my room, I ripped it from the magnet. 

"Can you give this to the girl? I don't think I'll be able to keep my cool." I handed it to Kanto once I walked back out of the apartment and he looked a little stunned by my request but did it without another word to me. 

When he approached the two, Naruko looked up in fear of an instructor reprimanding her for being so emotional in the hallway. His voice was rather deep. I was honestly surprised she wasn’t fawning over him. He gave her the picture, saying he was sure I would want her to have it, and her gaze darted to me. With tears in her eyes, she ran up and gave me a big hug. For a moment, I was worried she had noticed it was really me. 

"Your sister was a great friend and an even better cop. She would have made an amazing detective!" She tried to calm herself down as she pulled back, gripping my shoulders like a vice. My eyes widened a little and I could tell she really believed that. 

"Thank you... You don't know what that means to hear you say that." I tried to keep my distance, not wanting to trigger something in her memory that would make her realise that it was me for a second time. 

"U-Um, before I forget, the instructors that taught Atsuko want to talk to you." She straightened up, realising how uncomfortable I was with the close contact. 

Now I was seriously nervous. I gulped, nodding and calling Kanto back over from his conversation with the classmate and we made our way to the Instructor's Staff Room. 

~~~~~~

Naruko knocked, announcing both herself and us. She invited us in with a smile and I spotted Instructor Ishigami, Soma and Shinonome standing up from the table in the centre of the room. I was stunned silent, too afraid I might admit everything to them right there and then. I could tell Kanto straightened his back as well, likely intimidated by the handsome men in front of us. 

"Miss Motomori, we're very sorry for your loss." Soma stepped forward and grabbed my hand to give me a gentle handshake. I curtly bowed my head, not wanting to stutter if I spoke.

"It's Harada." Kanto, seemingly overtaken by some sort of confident spirit, snaked and arm around my waist and pulled me close to his side. Too shocked to hide how thrown off I was, I furrowed my brows at him. He was smiling, although it was a little strained, so I could tell he' was just as uncomfortable about this as I was. 

When I turned back to Soma, his expression quickly changed from something surprisingly stern to his usual smile. "If you have any questions, we will be happy to answer them." He showed me a kind but sad smile and I instantly panicked. 

‘Was it normal for loved ones to have questions? I guess if they hadn't found a body, I should be wondering if I had really died.’

I turned to look up at Kanto, trying to see if he had any ideas. He asked whether they had, in fact, found a body and the tension in the room skyrocketed. 

"Shortly after Officer Atsuko went into the building, a bomb went off, destroying a part of the hotel. We haven't been able to search the rubble yet." Ayumu answered as Soma guided me to a seat and I hesitantly complied. From here, I could see inside Kaga's office, and he was nowhere to be seen. I grew anxious and couldn't help but speak up. 

"I heard she went in after another detective? Did...Did he make it out alive?" I peered at Ishigami, knowing he would be the only one to give me a straight answer. His brows furrowed for a moment, maybe taken aback by my similarities to the girl he knew. I grabbed Kanto's hand for support when he took a considerably time to respond. 

"He was sent to the hospital shortly after he was found outside of the building." His response was vague and I felt my heartbreak. 

‘He's dead. I went through all that trouble to save him, and he died.’ I could feel tears collect in my eyes again. 

"Mrs Harada, there is one more thing." Soma, who had been standing by my chair, put a hand on my shoulder. I looked into his other hand to see a long, flat box. I could memorise that black box from anywhere. "This is her officer's badge. It was found in her room after the incident." I hadn't worn my badge to the hotel because we were supposed to inconspicuously round up the criminals, a badge would completely defy the point of wearing casual clothes. I took great care of it and put it in that box whenever I wasn't wearing it. It showed how, even when I hit a rocky road, I could accomplish my dreams. It was my most cherished possession.

Looking at the metal glinting in the sunlight when he opened the lid, I was so mesmerised I didn't even realise it when tears started falling down my face. I had completely forgotten to look for it in my dorm. Slowly, I reached up and took the box, swiping my thumb over the badge number I had grown to ingrain in my memory. 

"Thank you," I whispered, my voice frail with pain. “It was all she ever wanted; to be cop. Thank you.”

~~~~~~

Once we had collected everything we needed, we had to leave to pick Juna up from her job interview. As we walked to the door, Ayumu called out my fake name. 

"How long has it been since you've seen your sister?" He asked and I took a moment to respond, trying to think of something that wouldn't make him question me further. It was obvious he remembered the name from the missing person's file, I was honestly astounded he didn't ask about it until now. I guess he thought it would be a good time to bring it up.

"It's been a few years. I wish I could have made up with her sooner..." I sighed, pretending to think back to an argument that might have made us distant. Watching Ayumu's reaction, I could tell he was somewhat annoyed. Had he expected me to say something else? Had he wanted me to say we had talked more recently? 

When he didn't respond at all, I turned back to the door Kanto had already escaped through, as, I’m sure, he was as scared as I was when trying to lie. 

Suddenly, the door flew open. There, I saw a man practically walking around with a storm cloud above his head, but I was overjoyed. 

‘H-He's alive!’ My eyes widened at Instructor Kaga, breathing right in front of me. It took me a moment to register that I shouldn't be staring so noticeably and I redirected my gaze to the open door, walking away for good.