#you guys are from italy so let's ask questions about food instead of the music

[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.”

[hotchscvm]

love me, hate me - part two

Warnings: explicit sexual content, swearing

Word count: 3.3k

Summary: Christmas comes around and Ransom wants you more than ever.

part one

"You're telling me you actually want to date this guy? The one who can't even make you cum?" you asked, licking the remaining frosting from your finger. You placed the messy bowl in the sink, watching your best friend trying—and failing—to get the egg shells out of the mixture.

Meg gave up, dumping the brownie batter down the sink with the water running, fed up with the shells. "Yeah, but sex isn't everything, you know. I don't know—it's just this guy isn't like my exes. He genuinely cares about my feelings, and doesn't control me. Besides, he made me cum a few times. He's nice."

With Mariah Carey's Christmas music playing in the background, the miniature Christmas tree on the table, and the snow falling, the Thrombey household felt festive. Although, the people bundled up and arguing in the next room—not so much. Yet, neither of you cared while you continued to work, helping Martha out, on the desserts. It wasn't going as well as planned, but you took it as a positive considering you hadn't started a fire. Yet.

"Ah, yes, nice. Can't relate. I'm currently attracted to assholes who have anger issues." you commented, passing Meg the flour once again. Your creation was in the oven, and all you hoped was that no one got food poisoning because of it. Even you couldn't live with the guilt of Ransom, or his touchy father, throwing up Christmas morning.

"Currently?" Meg asked, raising an eyebrow, getting eggs out of the fridge for the hundredth time. She glanced at the direction of the door, the sound of it opening drawing both of your attention. "I'm pretty sure your daddy issues didn't just happen recently. Speaking of which, you may be the main reason Ransom decided to come back for Christmas instead chasing a model around."

You rolled your eyes, sitting back in your chair while contemplating whether or not it's too late to ditch. While Ransom was hot, his spoiled attitude wasn't worth tolerating for a quick fuck. With sarcasm dripping, you sighed. "Oh, how wonderful. 'Cause, that's exactly what I need right now."

Meg chuckled, focusing on the task at hand, trying not get shells in the mixture again. She had held off on mixing the dry stuff, much to your dismay, but to her it made sense to get the hard part out of the way so it wouldn't fuck everything up. Your best friend had just finished cracking her last egg when Harlan walked into the kitchen, Ransom trailing a few feet behind him. The playboy's eyes immediately landed on you, yet you didn't meet his, too preoccupied with the phone in your hands.

Harlan's slight frown lifted into a smile, surveying how messy the kitchen had gotten. "My, my, I wasn't aware a cake had exploded in my kitchen."

Looking up, you grinned at the old man, the smile reaching your eyes until you saw who was behind him. Ignoring Ransom, you giggled at Harlan's remark. "You call it a mess, we call it baking."

"As long as you ladies are having fun." Harlan replied, patting your shoulder before heading off towards his office, too tired to deal with his dysfunctional family at the moment.

Ransom lingered, walking up to you, a smirk impended on his face. Yet, you refocused you're attention back on your phone while Meg left the room, her apron still attached to her. You didn't question her sudden disappearance, knowing she was just as annoyed at Ransom's presence. The man in question peeked over you shoulder to see your screen showing off another man's dick, the words right below it explicit.

His jaw clenched in jealousy. Much to his chagrin, the man's dick was just as big as his own. But, he kept the icy exterior up. "Would it be offensive to ask whether or not your baking will make me sick this evening?"

You scoffed without looking up, tapping out of the dick pic your previous hook up had sent. "Since when do you care if you're offensive or not? Who are you, and what have you done to Ransom Drysdale?"

Ransom shrugged, leaning against the kitchen island while facing your annoyed expression. His smug behavior got under your skin, and the bastard was well aware. "Maybe all this Christmas spirit got into me. Or maybe I'm trying to be nice."

You raised an eyebrow, getting off your chair, rushing to the window, pretending to be looking for something. After a few seconds, Ransom's curiosity got the best of him and he joined you, looking for anything unusual outside. The snow-covered land showed nothing out of the ordinary, furthering Ransom's confusion.

"What are you looking at? I can't see anything." he said, squinting at the general direction you had look at.

Shrugging, you moved back to your seat, propping your elbows on the back of the chair, allowing a smug smirk lift your lips. "I thought pigs were flying. Ransom Drysdale isn't capable of being nice, yet alone say the word. I'm shocked hell hadn't freeze over. Yet."

The playboy rolled his eyes, crossing his arms as he took your body in, wrapped in his favorite color, the dress hugging your curves. "What's a guy have to do to be taken seriously with you? You and I both know I can give you everything you want, and more."

"Are you trying to buy me right now?" you asked, half teasing, half annoyed. Ransom could not take a hint, and you hated the fact that he didn't back off despite the sarcasm and insults you threw his way.

"I'm trying to be nice but you're making it really hard." Ransom answered, his cockiness wearing off. He was growing frustrated the more you looked at him like he was a piece of trash. All you wanted him to be was nice, now that he was trying to be, you wouldn't believe his intentions, despite wanting to prove it to you.

Pursing your lips, you tapped your finger against the table, the acrylic nail making a clicking noise. "You wanna prove it? Fine. You've got til midnight tonight. If you're unable to change my mind, you have to buy me my spring break vacation, all the fees and expenses."

"And if I do change your mind..." Ransom smirked, brushing a stray hair behind your ear, earning a half-hearted glare. "... you have to go on a date with me."

Ransom nearly burst out laughing from your shocked expression, the genuine look of surprised slapped on your face with the words. You shut your hanging jaw, still not processing what he was saying. "Excuse me?"

"You have to go on a date with me if I convince you that I'm willing to change my, and I quote, 'bratty and douchebag ways.' An actual date where we sit down, eat dinner, talk about our feelings, and get drunk. Whatever happens, happens." Ransom purred, placing a finger on your bottom lip. You slapped his hand away, and his smirked grew. "Are you going to back out of this already, princess?"

It was your stubborn side that made agree, pressing your lips into a thin line, you grabbed Ransom's hand, shaking it. He raised an eyebrow while you sighed. "You're on. Hope you have enough money to pay for a lengthy trip. I plan on drinking every bottle of wine in Italy."

Despite your baking debacle, you left the kitchen, leaving Meg's monstrous creation on the counter along with Ransom. You went into the living room, trying to find the girl in question when you happened to stumble upon Richard. He barely got to say a word before you turned around, and left the pervert behind. It was always a puzzle how Ransom turned out so hot with Richard and Linda as parents.

Climbing the stairs, you heard the family arguing growing quieter with each step. The second floor was almost a safe haven considering Harlan didn't let anyone raise their voice in the upper level, making it the only quiet place in the house, safe from any Thrombey fights. It was a wonder how the family hadn't murdered each other yet; it was only a matter of time.

Unable to find Meg in your shared room, you sighed, patting your body to find your phone only to realize you left it in the kitchen. With Ransom.

"Looking for this?" Ransom held out your phone, coming up behind you. His usual smirk was gone, a small, genuine smile in its place. It made him look less arrogant.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear.

You took your phone back, half expecting him to take it back just as you wrapped your fingers around it. But he didn't. You realized he was pulling out all the stops, all the little things that you found annoying was gone. He was acting. Eyes narrowing, you unlocked your phone, studying him. "Thanks. I think."

"Meg is helping the Brazilian maid." Ransom answered your silent question. Your thumb hovered her contact, going back to the home screen. Your eyebrows had risen by his mis-categorization of Martha's race and employment. "Pretty sure they went to the grocery store or something."

"Oh, okay." you replied lamely, putting your phone in your back pocket, the tight jeans making it nearly impossible. Opening the door to your room, you stepped in, not giving Ransom another look. But he followed inside, making you turn around. "Do you need something?"

Ransom stuffed his hands in his pockets, the cream-colored sweater shifting with the gesture. "You didn't exactly give me much time to prove myself. And looking around, we're all alone. I can't think of a better time."

As much as you hated to admit it, he had a point. The bet was a bit unfair considering how stubborn you were, and the amount of time he had to convince you. But it was a bit unsettling seeing Ransom try so hard, let alone being nice. You nodded, agreeing. "Fine, but can I change first? I'd rather not be covered in flour while you try to seduce me."

"You and I both know I wouldn't seduce you before dinner. There's no way in hell I'd treat you like the others." he mumbled to himself, but you heard it. Clearing his throat, he stepped out of the room. "Yeah, I'll be outside. Waiting. Take your time."

As soon as the door closed, you looked around the room to check if you were being pranked, expecting Ashton Kutcher to burst out of the closet along with a bunch of cameramen. After a few seconds, you came to the conclusion that Supernatural was in this universe, deciding "Ransom" was a shapeshifter or a demon possessed him. It was the only reasonable explanation.

Reaching for the hem of your top, pulling it off in one swift move, dropping it on the bed. Your jeans piling on top, allowing your legs to breathe. Despite Joni's hippie side, she had let Meg sneak in a few joints, the smell becoming stronger as you neared both your suitcases. You didn't think Harlan would be too please to have weed in his house, no matter how lenient he is.

You took your time, a little baffled by what to wear. Ransom hadn't exactly given you an agenda on his plans, leaving you to grab a clean pair of black jeans, and a classy, yet simple, red top. You looked decent enough to fit in a nice restaurant, but casual in case Ransom decided he wanted McDonald's, and most importantly: warm. If he wanted to take you to the North Pole, then he'd have to give you his cozy-looking sweater.

You opened the door, the sight of Ransom rocking on his heels greeting you. His back was to you, his hands inside his pockets as he looked out the window, frost crawling along the edges. It genuinely concerned you how much this man was acting; if you didn't know better, you'd think it was real.

Clearing your throat, you watched him jump in surprise, quickly turning to you. Raising an eyebrow, you tucked your phone in your pocket, meeting his warm, blue eyes. "I'm ready."

"Okay." said Ransom, motioning for you to follow him. You walked down the stairs without a word, the air becoming thick as you walked behind him. The sweater did little to no good disguising his broad shoulders, the muscles somehow still visible under the clothing.

As soon as you reached the bottom, you glanced around, the Thrombey fighting becoming louder with each second. It wouldn't be long before one of them stormed out of the room, muttering a curse under their breath. You'd seen all of them do it at least once. You crossed your arms, wary of whatever Ransom was planning. "Be honest, you're not just going to drive me off to the middle of the woods and murder me, are you?"

Ransom chuckled, giving you a wink as he held his hand out. Without hesitation, you took it. "If I was planning to murder you, I wouldn't do it in the woods. If you're going to die, it's going to be epic."

"Oh, well, that makes me feel better." you sneered sarcastically, instantly rolling your eyes. In the back of your mind, you pondered how long it would take for your eyes to get stuck in your brain with the amount of times you rolled them at Ransom.

He led you towards the door, smirking. "You ready?"

"No. Let's go."

—

"Fuck, baby."

He spent a few moments just staring at your spread pussy, amazed and aching for you more than he ever ached for anything.

"Don't you know why I want you to see it, Ransom?"

Ransom just shook his head without taking his eyes off the your pneumatic body.

"Because it's yours," you sighed. "All yours, baby. You're the one I've been keeping it nice and fresh for."

"Fuck," he muttered.

He kept staring at you, waiting for you to rub you pussy again, but you didn't. You just kept holding it spread.

"Don't you wanna taste me, Ransom?" you purred, barely above a whisper. "C'mon, baby, please. I want you to lick it so bad. I love you so much and I want to give you everything that belongs to you."

The playboy was all but paralyzed by your words. He finally dragged his eyes off your open pussy and looked at your face. You were staring back at him with a glazed look in your eyes. His solid cock was pulsing hard in the tight grip of his fist. No girl had ever looked at him the way you were at that very moment, yet at the same time, he knew you were playing with the hottest kind of fire there was.

"Sweetheart, you know this wasn't the deal." he whispered, distracted.

You smirked. "But you still won."

He finished the thought by leaning down and sliding his tongue up and over your generously offered pussy. You pulled in a sharp gasp when Ransom's tongue lit up your heavily tingling pussy. Your hips rolled instantly in response, your gasps turning to moans while Ransom eagerly slathered his tongue all around your creamily delicious slit. He soon focused his attention on your clit and slipped a finger up inside your hole at the same time.

The man's finger curled and twisted inside you, searching for you g spot while he suckled and lapped at your fully swollen clit. You could barely form words as you gasped and moaned, your luscious body now writhing with desire.

Your pussy oozed heavily the more he licked and fingered you. Your cream was sweet, tangy and intensely intoxicating. Ransom probed at your hole with his finger and the tip of his tongue at the same time, but he soon drew his soaking wet finger out of your hole and wedged it between your ass cheeks, searching for your puckered rimhole.

You gasped deeply and lifted your legs up higher, giving Ransom better access to your asshole. He massaged your tight bud with his honey-coated finger and made deep, hungry love to your pussy with his mouth.

"God god god god, Ransom!" you cried, your hips rolling harder and harder against the man's mouth and finger.

Your body went tense for a few moments and then relaxed. Ransom backed off and watched you languish after your orgasm, pausing briefly to catch your breath. Then you shifted your body and took the hem of your outfit into your hands and peeled it off over your head. Ransom pulled off his T shirt and slid over on top of your luscious body, grinding his rock-hard cock against your pussy as he lowered himself to kiss you.

You whimpered while Ransom's chest mashed down against your heavy, naked tits. They felt amazing against his body, and he was beyond reason when the your mouth opened and set your tongue into motion against his.

Ransom had never kissed any girl so hard or hungrily in his life. Nor had any kissed him back the way you had. At the same time, you were grinding your slick, wet pussy against his cock as hard as he was grinding against you. Then he squeezed his hands in between them and grasped at your tits, kneading them eagerly with his strong hands.

He released your mouth and said," Baby girl, reach down there and put my cock inside you for me. I need that pussy bad, but I can't bring myself to let go of these fantastic tits now that I finally have my hands on them."

You giggled happily and kissed him again while you worked your hands down between your naked bodies. Finally, you got one hand on your pussy and spreading yourself open while you wrapped the other around Ransom's thick cock.

"Oh geezus, fuck, Ransom, you're so fucking hard," you cooed. "Oh god fuck me deep."

You tucked Ransom's cock head into your wet maw and he began grinding his shaft deeper into your sheath. Your pussy felt so tight and creamy, and you both groaned as his rock-hard flesh gradually filled your body. You looked at each other in disbelief, even though nothing had ever felt more right or natural.

Ransom growled as he began to pump his cock in and out of your spectacular body with long strokes. His grip on your tits went tighter and he lowered his head to suck and lick on your swollen nipples.

You whimpered with pleasure, wrapping your legs around his hips and grinding your pussy hard against his thrusting cock. It wasn't long before he was straining to hold on and keep fucking you deep and hard. You didn't make it any easier because of the way you were moaning and your cunt squeezed his pounding cock every time you came.

Finally, Ransom raised himself up on his hands while he pumped your succulent pussy hole as hard and fast as he could, watching your pretty face twist with pleasure while your tits heaved with the force of his lunging body.

"Gimme your cum, baby. I want it in me...fuck!"

With a final, frenzied volley of full body thrusts, Ransom's pulsing cock exploded in your pussy, filling you with a hot flow of jetting spunk.

After, they spent a long time kissing while Ransom caressed the your beautiful tits. He kept his cock buried inside you until his flesh finally started to relax.

You fell asleep in each other's arms, and Ransom knew he had the girl he always needed right there with him. He had been right, all the sarcastic comments and stupid fights had been worth it.

In the morning, Ransom awoke from a haze of dreams to look down and find you lying between his legs with your lips sliding up and down his swollen cock. When you realized he was awake and watching you, you released his big cock from your mouth, giving his shaft a long lick before greeting him.

"Merry Christmas, Ransom."

[yutahoes]

Otou-Chan

Yuta Nakamoto x Reader (Y/N) Smut

(Chapter Nineteen)

Summary: 𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐝𝐮𝐥𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐡𝐰𝐚 𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐘𝐮𝐭𝐚’𝐬 𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐬.

Warning: Fluff, Teasing

Word Count: 2.1k

Masterlist

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ ❤️❤️

19. First Date

Yuta woke up once again without her by his side. Why is she such an early riser? And why is he nervous every time he would wake up without her by his side? Shouldn't he be used to it? Especially when she gets back in living at Jungwoo's apartment. Maybe he can just ask her to live with him instead.

He found her seated on the couch nursing a cup of coffee. "Did you sleep well?" He asked sitting next to her, head leaning by her shoulder.

(Y/N) had to giggle then nodded. "You? Why did you sleep so late?" 

The guy had to smile. "I think I was too excited." He hugged her by the waist, nuzzling his head on her shoulder. She feels so warm. "We can just stay at home like this and continue what we planned to do." He suggested that made her laugh.

His right hand cupped her clothed breast, surprised that she isn't wearing a bra under her clothes, his clothes rather. His thumb rubbed her nipple which perked up at the sensation and a breathy moan escaped her lips. "You're turned on with just that?" He breathed against her neck, kissing and sucking that soft spot that made the moans louder. 

"Yuta…" she called. He hummed in response, lips still on her neck. "Han river…"

He smirked at that. "We can't do this there, sweetheart. Are you an exhibitionist now?" She rolled her eyes at that and his eyes darken in lust. The things he wanted to do to this brat. He kept on attacking her neck, hand moving south until the hem of her underwear.

She whimpered at the thought of him taking her on this couch but Yuta sat properly, inching away from her leaving the girl in a confused state. Why did he suddenly stop? She's already in the mood. "Let's go to Han river." He grinned like a small child that made her pissed. This guy really. 

"Otou-chan…" she whined, batting her eyelashes at him. "Let's just be quick." (Y/N) pulled the strings of his waistband closer, palming his erect member. 

"I'm telling you, I don't do quickies (Y/N)," Yuta claimed, stepping backward to move away from her. She only pouted at that. "Later. Let's do this date first."

--

They had breakfast in a coffee shop and (Y/N) was heavily reminded of their encounter in Paris. It's still a mystery how Yuta found her that time and she confirmed it when he said that he saw her entering that shop back then. "I honestly didn't believe in destiny back then but I was convinced when I saw you." A blush crept her cheeks at how Yuta was staring at her. How can he say those words so effortlessly? "You're really adorable, (Y/N)." And he badly wanted to pinch her cheeks at that.

Her eyes widened in surprise. When was the last time someone told her that? Her mom, she remembered, she used to say it to her. Her mom? She was the reason why she wanted to go to Paris honestly. How can that mission bring Yuta to her life? "I'm glad I came to Paris," she said while beaming at him. 

Yuta had to smile. The effects of this girl on him are really hard to shake off. Didn't she just regret going to Paris? "At least I get to meet you." she continued while rubbing the rim of her cup. "I hope we can still be like this for years," she said absent-mindedly. 

The guy smirked when she took a sip of her hot chocolate. "Then do you want to get married?" The girl choked on her drink at the sudden question. She didn't mean it that way. But they seemed like a married couple now anyway. Will something change if she says yes? "Why do you look so serious? We're still at breakfast." he teased then took a sip of his coffee. "At this rate, we'll probably talk about our children at lunch and divorce at dinner." He joked that made her chuckle. 

At least he still has some humor about this, she thought. 

Too early, she might not be ready, Yuta thought.

--

They were walking along Han River after their late breakfast. Luckily, the weather isn't too hot and the breeze is refreshing. "This is my first time here, honestly," Yuta claimed that surprised (Y/N).

She then remembered that he's Japanese, a foreigner. Maybe he's too busy to have time to go to this place. "Taeyong and Jaehyun would always just bring me to Myeongdong and Gangnam."

"How long have you been staying here in Korea?"

"Four years?" That long? Maybe that's why he's fluent with the language already. "But I kept going to other countries so I don't really stay here that long," he explained. 

It must have been tough for Yuta. Imagine living in a foreign country, away from your family for years. "You must have missed your family," she noted sitting on a vacant bench, overlooking the river. "Do you have siblings?" 

He shook his head, smiling. "I'm an only child." That made her nod. "My dad would sometimes visit me here in Korea. I visit my mom in Japan." That made her confused, is his parents separated? "My mother died when I was in my second year at university. Cancer." 

She didn't know Yuta's life can be this sad. He only has his father now? Same as her. Yet, she's bitching about it all the time. "I'm sorry." But he shook his head, claiming that it happened a long time ago. "It must have been hard staying here alone." 

"Well, Taeyong, Jaehyun, and Doyoung were of great help. They made sure I can adapt well here in Korea," he answered then slipped his hand to hold hers. "Besides, I'm happier here." He smiled at her and she smiled back. "Especially when you came." 

(Y/N) had to giggle at that. How can Yuta do that? She stood up then tugged their held hands to make her stand. "Come on, otou-chan. Let's talk about our children already." 

Yuta grinned. How adorable.

--

The two decided to eat late lunch in an Italian restaurant inside a mall. (Y/N) was just amazed at how Yuta said the dishes on the menu, sounding like a true Italian. "Have you been to Italy before?" She asked and he nodded claiming that it's just a train ride from France. Again, she was amazed. Yuta is indeed rich. 

"Do you want to go to Italy? We can do a quick stop from New Zealand." He said casually that surprised her. But she didn't even have enough savings for that. She's still struggling from the Paris trip. How can she go to those two places? "Just bring your passport, I'll take care of it." But she just glared at him. Yuta really is in another world as her.

When the food came, (Y/N) remained quiet and just enjoyed the risotto she ordered. Sensing the stillness, Yuta took some vongole pasta on his fork and fed the girl in front of him. She hummed at the taste, staring at Yuta's dish with a lot of want on her eyes. She should have ordered that. "You're really easy to read." He said while exchanging their plates. "We can order some more if you want." But she shook her head, grinning at the food in front of her. 

They were in desserts, an affogato that Yuta suggested she should try since she liked ice cream and coffee, when a young boy came to their table. He handed (Y/N) a red rose that surprised her. "I found this on my table noona, do you like it?" The young boy asked and she nodded, thanking him. "When I grow up, I'm going to marry you noona." And it surprised her. What's with the sudden proposal? 

"Hey, kid. She's going to be an old woman when you grow up." Yuta claimed that made her glare. "I'm going to marry her first." He said while pouting. That was really cute, (Y/N) thought. 

She only smiled at the young boy, ruffling his hair. "Meet me when you grow up, arasso?" And the young boy grinned, running to his mom. (Y/N) giggled at that encounter, staring at the single red rose and smiling to herself. 

"You like it?" Yuta asked, obviously annoyed. 

She nodded as an answer. "It's not every day that you get a cute proposal like that." Then she went back to the ice cream that made him glare. 

He rolled his eyes, calling for the waiter to ask for the bill and she whined that she's not done with her ice cream. "It's because you rejected my proposal earlier." He mumbled to himself but she just smiled. Yuta is really cute.

--

The Japanese guy remained quiet the whole ride home, only giving glances to the girl who was watching the scenery from the passenger seat. At one stoplight, she caught him staring at her but he looked away as if not doing anything that made her giggle. He opened the radio to at least have some background noise between them. "Are you mad?" But he didn't answer. "Otou-chan, are you mad?" She asked cutely. 

Yuta sighed heavily then sang along the music on the radio that made her pout. He belted out a high note from the said song that made (Y/N) gasp in awe. Yuta has such a heavenly voice. Why is this guy so perfect? It makes her feel less and less once again. Johnny is wrong, whatever she does she can't really reach this guy. 

She leaned her back on the passenger seat as Yuta drove on the highway, humming to a lovesong in the radio. "Do you want to drink, Yuta?" She asked and he turned to her. What's with the sudden invitation to drink? "Let's not have divorce today, let's drink." Her smile looked so forced yet he nodded. If that's what she wants then let it be. 

They found themselves in a soju tent near his apartment. How they manage to get here is a mystery, Yuta doesn't even know that this place exists. (Y/N) quickly downed two glasses of soju that surprised Yuta. Does she always drink like this? "Why are you planning to get drunk?" He asked that made the glass stop midair. "Are you planning to forget me again?" 

(Y/N) laughed at that. She remembered the last time she got drunk, the first time they saw each other after the Paris escapade. When she wanted to badly forget about him. Now, look at them.

But what surprised her is that he knew that she wanted to forget him that time? Jungwoo is right, she's talking in her sleep whenever she's drunk. "Do you think I can forget you?" 

He chuckled at that. She's getting red already and it's not even dark yet. Another thing, she hasn't finished the whole bottle of soju yet. "You are a terrible drinker, (Y/N)." She just smiled at him, finishing another shot of soju. 

But she is cute like this, Yuta thought, another vulnerable side of (Y/N) in front of him. The more he watched her drink and get redder by the second, the more he wanted to take care of her. He hoped she cannot forget about him. He hoped they can be like this even if she doesn't return his feelings. He's willing to love her without asking for anything in return. 

Damn, Yuta realized, he's falling deeply in love with this girl.

--

Yuta was just falling asleep on the couch. His paperwork took some time to finish that it was already almost midnight. He badly wanted to check on her, to see if she's sleeping well. He decided not to sleep with her on the bed even if she was whining. (Y/N) is drunk, too drunk for her own good. And although they shared really intimate moments before, it will still be wrong to lay down beside her in her state. So here he is, lying by himself on the couch. 

He wasn't that deep in sleep when he felt a certain weight next to him. Instinctively, he opened his eyes to see (Y/N) lying down beside him, hugging him. "You feel warm." She commented, making him smile.

"How are you feeling?" He asked, caressing her hair. "Is your head hurting?"

Her hug on him got tighter that they're compressed on the sofa. Yuta now realized how big his couch is that the two of them can fit here. "Johahae." She muttered all of a sudden. Is she still drunk? "I like how warm you are. I like how safe I feel whenever I'm next to you." Is she sleeptalking? "I like how you take care of me." She probably is.

"Yuta…" she called, staring at him. "Johahae."

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ ❤️❤️

Chapter 18 / Chapter 20

[morepeachyogurt]

we are good people (and we've suffered enough)

word count- 2.5k      Pairing- Temily

Summary- After Scratch, Tara and Emily run away to Italy to start a new life, ft. cats, cafes, and gardening. Based on this post, and this prompt. 

Part 2 of my, maybe we’re from the same star, series, work is a standalone, part 1

read here on ao3

tw’s- very minor mentions of substances and ptsd

Things were never the same after Mr. Scratch. The two of them were filled with more trauma than they had room for in their hearts to still hold each other in. Nights were no longer filled with a movie and cuddling, or talking about philosophy but tense sentences, paranoia, and nightmares. Tara knew that something needed to change, anything to stop the monotony of desolation. But still, they went to work every day and drowned their sorrows in killers like that would bring back the part of her that died when Scratch took Emily. There are only so many times one can be held captive and wait for death before something inside them breaks.

One night they get wine drunk, Emily laying sidewise on their black couch, and Tara sitting on the table staring at the ceiling.

“I miss being young, god, that’s such a weird thing to say. I mean, I spent my youth hating it. Hated my mother, and all of our traveling, never could make friends. I hated that I never belonged, hated not being in control of my own life, and here I am 50 years old working for the government that I used to despise trying not to cry myself to sleep every night,” her voice takes on a bitter tone.

“We love in our old age the things we hated as children. Does that make us matured or foolish?”

“Both, I think.”

“What was your favorite place to live? I mean it sounds like hell to keep moving between places but there must have been someplace you loved, right,” Tara’s voice fills with a tang of desperation as she searches for a way to help her lover.

“Rome. The weather and the scenery,” her voice takes on a dreamy tone, “and the food! Man, the food is good, don’t tell Rossi but his carbonara tastes like Olive Garden compared to the real thing,” they both chuckled at that, knowing it would have sent Rossi in a fit if he were to hear that.

“That sounds really nice honey.”

“I miss it sometimes you know? I think about how gorgeous everything was. It feels like home in my distant memories.”

“Then let’s do it. Lets, go move to Rome. You aren’t happy here Emily, I know you say you are, but you do this job for our team, not the position now. I miss when you laughed,” both of them sobered up by now, knowing that it has taken a turn for the more serious.

“No, no we can’t. I, I can’t keep leaving this team and our friends. And, people need us. You love this job Tara I can’t take that away from you, not for me.”

“They’d understand Emily, they all love you so much. Yeah, I love this job, I won’t lie. But, I love you more, and I’m not happy if you aren’t. So let’s do it. Let’s fucking run away to Rome together and be happy .” The two sit in silence for a minute, the unanswered question still hanging in the air.

“Okay. Let’s do it. Maybe I’ll fulfill my long-lost dream to have a nice, big garden.”

The team took it surprisingly well, they’d all noticed a change in Emily in the months following Scratch and knew that Tara had Emily’s best interest at heart. Of course, they were sad to lose two of the best members of their team, but Emily was family, and family looks out for each other.

“I’m going to miss you my favorite dynamic duo and your guys’ jokes. Ugh, it’s going to be so quiet without you two lovely ladies,” her eyes are welling with unshed tears as she says goodbye to more of her family, “Send me things from Rome or I will install a virus in your phones,” they both laughed at Penelope’s antics and promised her that they’d send as much stuff as they could. The last two weeks of their stay in the United States were filled with mixed emotions. They were excited to start the next chapter of their lives together. Away from all the serial killers and monstrous people out there. They could finally live with a fraction of the naivety that most people carry. On the other hand, Tara only speaks minimal Italian, and now they’re going to be living in a brand-new country, surrounded by strangers. A fresh start, but one filled with anxiety.

“Okay 4:30 is way too early for a flight,” Emily grumbled as they made their way to the airport. The pair had woken up at three, knowing that Tara can’t sleep on planes they tried to go to bed early and were now making their way to the airport in the dead of morning.

“Wait, babe, look! It’s a full moon,” they pulled over just for a moment and got out of the car to sit on the hood. The silence between the two is peaceful, the wind was the only whisper in the air. Moonlight shone on Tara’s face and Emily knew that there was no sight in the world as beautiful as this. With the moon reflected in her eyes and a small simple ghosting on her lips. She’s home.

Security was a breeze, they are former FBI agents after all, and they made their way to their gate. Airports always have a certain air to them, a place where time seizes to exist yet completely runs the place. Their gate was quiet, filled with the tired murmuring of people excited to travel.

“Tara, honey, wake up we’re boarding.”

It was odd for the two of them to be flying commercial after all those years on private jets. It was nice to feel normal though, to fade in the background instead of being other . Human desire is both to be noticed and forgotten all at once.

Italy’s airport is very similar to the DC airport, it would seem like they never left. Outside was a whole different story, bustling crowds and hot air hits them as soon as they step outside the building. They had picked out a quaint apartment building a week prior. Yellow walls with a terrace looking out to an alley. The couple's belongings had been shipped and were waiting to be unpacked. Not right then though. Now, it was time to explore.

Hand in hand they walked leisurely down the narrow alley way of the small Italian town they are now calling their home. Vines and every other type of plant that could grow did. Hanging off banisters, and climbing up orange brick walls. The sunlight was close to blinding, and it hit Emily just right. The golden rays hitting her face and illuminating the ghost of the smile now appearing on Emily’s face. That smile told Tara all she needed to know about their decision. Emily catches her staring, “What are you looking at,” humor evident in her voice.

“You, I’m looking at you miss Emily Prentiss. You’re smiling again,” her words come out softer than she intended, but they convey her point.

Happy couples seem to fill the streets, old and new, young and old. The town may be old, but it was filled with a life that they had been lacking. They pass a quaint little bakery. Bread, cupcakes, and assorted pastries fill the windows. There're bookshelves on all the walls filled to the brim with different books. The walls are light blue and there are flowers everywhere. It looks like something from the movies.

“Un Piccolo Angolo di Paradiso,” Emily reads the name of the building in front of them, they’ve since stopped to admire the view in front of them. It reminds the two of them how Emily asked Tara out. With a cupcake and book who had ‘I know there’s plenty of sugar in that cupcake but it’d be even sweeter if you went out with me. Let me take you to dinner Tara? ’ written on the inside.

“As much as I love hearing you speak Italian, what does that mean? Something heaven?”

“Little Slice of Heaven.” It’s truly a perfect name for the place.

“Okay, now we have to go in,” they’re both smiling now. They push open the glass doors, greeted by the high-pitched ringing of a bell and the smell of freshly baked bread.

The woman at the counter finishes the greeting, “Benvenuti nel piccolo angolo di paradiso, cosa posso offrirvi, adorabili signore?” they blush at the compliment and Emily orders them both cupcakes and coffee. Tara busies herself with admiring the books. Some of them have the most beautiful covers she’s seen. She knows not to judge a book by its cover but sometimes the most beautiful things are just as gorgeous on the inside as out. Just like Emily. She buys a book, and they take their drink and desserts to go. They make their way to a waterfront and sit down on the stairs, side by side.

“Rome is just as beautiful as I remembered. I missed it. It really does feel like home, although, anywhere I’m with you is home,” at the end of her sentence, she turns to face Tara, a look of pure love shown clearly on her face. And for that, Tara just has to kiss her.

The next day they unpack their boxes of belongings into their apartment to help rid the homesickness. Paintings go up on the walls and furniture is placed with the best view in mind. After a couple of hours they’re done, their apartment a bit more homey than before. They crack open a bottle of wine, put on an album, and sit out on the terrace. They watch the sun set over the water, the sounds of big band music filter in as the soundtrack for their night. The sky painted yellow, orange, and pink in the way only nature can create. If nature were an artist they’d be in every museum and sold to the wealthy. Instead, they are for the masses, the beauty of nature is for all to enjoy, free of cost, for those who wish to escape and fly into the night sky.

“You know what I’ve always wanted to do?” Tara leans forward on the balcony, not taking her eyes off the view in front of her, even as the colors begin to fade the sky darkens.

“No, tell me, what?”

“I always wanted to open my own bakery. I know it’s stupid, me a baker. But, I don’t know making things, it feels so uncomplicated. Just me and the dough.”

“In this alternate universe, I’d be a gardener. You and your dough and me and my flowers against the world Tara. Wait a second. I think you and I are onto something my dear,” Emily’s joined Tara at the balcony, the two of them leaning against the railing.

“Actually? You’re serious? You want to do this.?”

“Yeah! Why not? We’ve got enough money in the bank for us to last a bit, you can work at Un Piccolo Angolo di Paradiso,” the Italian rolls of her tongue in a way that drives Tara nuts, “I’ll find a gardening place to work at. We’re in fucking Italy let’s make our dreams come true.”

“Okay. Let’s do it.”

Alessia, the owner of the bakery, is pleased to have another employee. Especially one that is actually interested and isn’t in high school. Tara learns the basics of bread and pastry making. She has some skill, she used to bake with her mother before she died, it had been awhile since she had been able to bake without bumming herself out. Now it’s a nice memory of her. Gone but not forgotten, as is the saying. Emily comes in every lunch break for whatever Tara’s whipped up and to get her caffeine fix. One of the things that she still keeps from her law enforcement days.

They aren’t perfect. A move across the country isn’t going to cure PTSD, she has good days, bad days, and worse days, but now they have the time to deal with it. There was never anytime to process things at the FBI. It was always, distract yourself and throw yourself into solving cases. Now they can slow dance in the kitchen and stay up until three am telling stories from college. They fill their days with the happiness that was once stolen from them and bathe in it like perfume.

True to their word, they send Penelope all sorts of things, books from the café, pressed flowers, trinkets from the small shops to adorn her desk. In return, she sends them pictures of Sergio.

“I miss Sergio, his little paws, and his ability to climb on top of anything.”

Emily finds a job at a nearby garden that sells flower arrangements and herbs to local restaurants. It’s convenient, more than they would have thought. Emily now gets to stop into the bakery on occasion to deliver herbs and has plenty of flowers to give her lover. She also sends a few bouquets back to DC. Hoping that the flowers can brighten up the office in a way that fluorescent lights never can.

On one of their late afternoon walks, they hear a rustling by a trash can.

“What’s that noise?”

“I don’t know, let’s go look, it almost sounds like an animal. Could be a mouse,” Emily suggests, absently reaching to where her gun used to rest on her hip. They open the bag to find three small kittens. Seemly abandoned in a corner.

“Oh god, they’re so cute. We have to keep them.” It’s not a question, Tara knows that Emily is thinking the same thing, their minds connected in the way people who love each other’s minds always are. They look up the nearest veterinarian to make sure that their new pets are okay to take home and healthy.

The vet is sterile and a stark reminder of all the hospitals they’ve spent time in. Tara squeezes her girlfriend’s hand to remind her that they are both safe .

“They look fairly health, a bit malnourished but that is to be expected in these circumstances,” the vet is an elderly man with a mustache as thick as his accent,

“I’ve give them the shots they need, for now, come back in few months and let me take another look. Ciao.”

The kittens are fast asleep by the time they make it home. They gently scoop the kittens out of the bag and into their arms and the couch.

“Okay, what are we naming these angels?” Emily’s voice is pitched up as she talks to the kitten in her arms.

“Well, I’ve always been a classics enthusiast, what if we name them Artemis and Apollo?”

“That’s adorable. Little tiny archery kitties, yes, isn’t that right!” she coos, “And I think I’ll name this one Carter.”

“I love it, and you. Come on, sit with me, you look tired,” Tara grabs Emily’s hand and pulls her onto the couch. They fall over a bit and Emily yelps in surprise. They put the old music back on, a sense of peaceful needs for their new lives. The two sit on the couch, Emily’s head in her girlfriend’s lap, a hand playing with her hair. Apollo climbs on Emily’s feet and lays down to rest.

“I love you, Tara,” she doesn’t respond, just lays a gentle kiss to the back of her head.

The world is big and scary but the two of them feel safe in each other's arms.

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[baroquebucky]

Italian days

request: could you write something about going to Italy with timothee? Im just imagining how cute and romantic it would be 🥺

a/n: this is so cute !!! prepare for typical tourist attractions also i have no idea where any of these things are in relation to each other so :-) i literally googled what to do in these places bc I’ve never been sorry guys:-( this ones long so strap in and get ready !!! let me know what y’all think abt it ! i kinda wanna make headcanons about this too hehe >:) I hope you all enjoy it and send me some requests 🥰

You quickly finished packing your last t shirt in the already full suitcase, putting your weight onto it so that you could zip it up fully. You were excited for the trip that timothee had planned for the two of you, giddy to finally spend some alone time with you favorite boy. “ma cherie are you almost done?” you heard timmy call out from the living room. Quickly you grabbed the final bag off the bed and scanned the room, going over a mental checklist to ensure you didn't forget anything. 

“okay i have everything, did you get everything? Do you have all the things you need? What time is it? Are we gonna be late? Oh god what if the plane leaves without us” you began to ramble, going through every worst case scenario possible. Timothee looked at you in awe, he had never seen you this nervous about anything before, he least expected it to come out right before a romantic getaway.

“angel, calm down, it’s fine let’s go to the airport we’re right on time” he smiled at you, giving you a quick kiss before he helped you with your bags and you two headed to the Uber waiting outside your shared apartment. As you helped him squeeze the luggage in you both sat in the backseat, you were so excited for the trip.

“You know we should go to Paris for our next anniversary” timmy spoke offhandedly, mindlessly playing with your hair as the movie you had chose played on the tv. “That would be fun, I’ve never been there” you smiled, looking at him briefly before your eyes settled on the screen again.

“where have you traveled to?” He questioned, curious as to all the places you’ve visited. “mmm i mean I’ve never been to Europe, i left the state a couple times for road trips but that’s about it” you replied, not thinking anything of the question. “You mean to tell me that you’ve never been to Italy?” He gasped and you laughed at his shock.

“We aren’t all stars or rich Chalamet” you suppressed laughter but one look at his facial expression caused you to burst into a fit of laughter. “That’s it im booking a flight to Italy, we can go to venice and oh we could even travel to where we filmed call me by your name! And then we could go to Rome!” He gushed, moving quickly to get his laptop.

You were excited, until you realized you had $20 in your wallet and maybe $67 in you bank account. “Timothée wait no” you spoke, rushing behind him to stop him. He turned around confused as to why you didn’t want to go.

“do you not wanna go? I thought you liked Italy? You show me videos about people going there all the time” he asked, searching your face for an answer. “I do! I’ve always wanted to go there” you stated, sighing as your gazes met. “it’s just- how am i gonna pay for my ticket? I don’t have enough money and-” before you could finish timothée cut you off.

“what makes you think you’re paying?” He grinned, running to the room to get the laptop once again. You messed with your fingers for a second, you didn’t want him to spend money on you, you’ve always felt bad about it.

“timmy no you can’t just buy me a ticket there” you spoke, walking into the room, seeing the boy sitting on the bed, legs crossed with the laptop in his lap. He furrowed his brows and replied without looking up from his screen. “Why not? You’re my girl, think of it as a present” he smiled, you opened your mouth to protest but he quickly stopped you.

“i just bought them so you can’t take it back” he beamed, you frowned for a second before he gave you the puppy eyes. Of course you couldn’t resist, you tackled him with a hug and kissed him, thanking him a million times.

And so here the two of you were, sitting in the backseat on your way to the airport, going over the loose itinerary timothée had made for the two of you once you landedin Venice. He had gone beyond what you expected to make this trip memorable despite telling him to not worry.

When you got to the airport everything went surprisingly smooth despite you being nervous the whole time. The two of you bought breakfast and ate it in the little food court, then headed to the gate which your plane would be in and played games while waiting to board.

Once the plane arrived the two of you got on, of course he had bought first class, you wanted to scold him for spending so much but as soon as you saw how excited he was you couldn’t be mad at him. “look! we get pillows and everything” he giggled, you smiled at him and nodded, equally as excited as him. The two of you ended up watching two movies, falling asleep during the second one.

You woke up first, smiling at the sight of timmy with messy hair, mouth slightly parted and cheeks lightly flushed as he slept. You decided to wait on waking him up, instead you occupied yourself by looking out the window and listening to your music.

The landing woke timothée up and he smiled at you brightly, it took him a couple minutes to really wake up, mumbling incoherently before he came fully to his senses.

As soon as you got off the plane you were excited, pulling timothée along to get out of the airport as soon as possible. When you finally got everything and exited you got into the car timothée had ordered for the two of you and headed to the hotel to unpack.

Timothée posted a picture of you staring out the window in awe onto his Instagram story, “she’s excited right now, just wait until she sees the canals” he wrote, smiling as he thought of all the pictures the two of you would take.

You expected an average hotel room, if timothée really splurged then maybe above average, you did not expect to get the presidential suite at a five star hotel. The smile on your face made everything worth it to timothée, he made sure this trip would be memorable. “Timothée Hal Chalamet! How much did you fucking spend!” You squeaked, rushing around the room to check everything on.

“That doesn’t matter, what matters is that you get changed and get ready, we’re in Venice for two days before our next stop and I have so much for us to do” he smiled, pulling you in for a kiss which you quickly returned. Resting your head on his chest you sighed, taking a Monet to let everything sink in. You’re in Italy with the love of your life. Holy shit.

Timothée had bought multiple disposable cameras for the two of you to use, wanting to develop all of them by the time you guys got back home.

Before you knew it you were wandering the streets of Venice, a permanent smile on your face as you took so many photos of the scenery and of timothée and of course together. The two of you visited the top tourist spots like Saint Marks Basilica, the both of you in awe of its beauty and laughing until your stomach hurt feeding the pidgeons.

Timothée was scared for his life when a pidgeon landed on his shoulder, immediately going stiff and begging for you to help him. You quickly pulled out your phone, recording him and zooming into his face, a face of pure fear. After you posted it you quickly shooed the pidgeon away, holding his hand and a small pidgeon landed on your shoulder and you fed it out of your free hand.

You smiled brightly at timothée who had moved away from you slightly causing you to giggle. “You laugh now but I’m gonna be the one poop free, those things are ruthless” he stated, a serious look on his face which quickly turned soft as you attempted to pet the bird on you. “Look at him he’s so cute!” You gushed, drowning as it flew away.

“Cmon sweet girl, we have a ride to catch, in the canal” he winked and you gasped, pulling him before you stopped, realizing you didn’t know where you were even going.

When the two of you arrived he helped you into the boat, it was only the two of you and the one driving the small boat, you were sitting next to each other, pointing at everything, a constant smile on both of your faces. He held your hand the whole time, most of the time looking at you rather than the sights you were in such awe of. A small smile on his face as he admired how beautiful you looked, you looked so stress free and happy and he knew everything else he had planned was so worth it if he got to see you like this.

After the ride on the canals the two of you ate at a small little restaurant, drinking some wine and talking about the days events.

“I just think it’s funny that you were that scared of the pidgeons” you giggled, and he frowned at you, “i wasn’t scared, i was just- cautious” he smirked, watching you roll your eyes at his remark.

The two of you finished dinner, walking around the now calmer streets, admiring everything at night for about an hour, kissing under streetlights and chasing one another through the streets, laughter bouncing off the buildings.

The two of you showered once you got back to the hotel and absolutely crashed after you had snuggled under the sheets. The two of you exhausted from the plane ride and walking everywhere all day.

You both woke up late in the morning to the sound of timothées alarm, you yawned, burying yourself more into timothées side, wanting ten more minutes. “Wake up mon amour i still have some stuff planned for today before we leave for Florence” he spoke softly into your hair, kissing the top of your head. He had decided to skip on taking you to Crema, deciding it would make for a good excuse to come back.

You woke up slowly, getting ready and waiting for timothée on the bed once you had finished. You were starving but you didn’t want to eat without him. You laid on your stomach and dozed off only to wake up to a now fully dressed timothée, smiling at you and kissing your nose. “let’s go eat and then we can head out” he whispered and you nodded, getting up from the bed and following him out the door.

The two of you spent the day walking around and seeing anything else you wanted, eating much too much food and buying way too many souvenirs. The day seemed to fly by and before you knew it you were headed to Florence, of course shoving all your luggage into the bus that the two of you were taking to the wonderful city. You slept most of the way while timothée read through a script for a new movie. He woke you up gently when you guys arrived, piling out along with everyone else as the two of you found the car timothée had ordered for this city, heading to yet another 5 star hotel with an amazing room.

It was late at night so the two of you only slipped into bed and set an alarm for later tomorrow morning, cuddling through the whole night, waking up once to eat some of the fruit that the hotel had given to the two of you as a gift.

The next morning the alarm went off and you quickly turned it off, placing your head on timothées chest, a smile on your face while he played with your hair.

“let’s get ready, i have something special planned, wear that one outfit you brought, you know the one that you said you’ve always wanted to wear?” He smiled, a mischievous glint in your eye. You gave him a kiss on the cheek and nodded, going to get ready.

After you finished you scrolled through your phone, replying to people and sifting through the pictures from Venice, deleting the ones which turned out bad or way too blurry. You decided to lay on your side, thinking you wouldn’t fall back asleep but you were wrong. Before you knew it you felt a gentle nudge.

“Cmon sleeping beauty i have a picnic for us” he beamed, a twinkle in his eye. You woke up quickly, a giant grin on your face as your mouth fell open. “A picnic? Oh my god this is a dream, angel you’re so amazing oh my god! I love you so much” You gushed, tackling timothée once you got off the bed and hugging him tightly, kissing him all over his face.

“i love you more ma cherie, now lets go” he smiled, opening the door for you and quickly taking your hand while walking down the halls.

You had ended up accidentally falling asleep in the car, head on timothées shoulder, he recorded you, saving it but not posting it, knowing if he did you would get him back and start a full fledged war.

As the car approached the Piazzle Michaelangelo he shook you softly, your eyes fluttered open and a small smile overtook your features. “Oh my god it’s so pretty” you gasped as the two of you stepped out of the car and onto the concrete floor, he got the picnic basket from the car as you went to save a spot on the steps. He quickly found you and opened the basket between the two of you, eating the food and making conversation, laughing and enjoying the fact that both of you were in Italy, overlooking Florence.

After sitting there for a while, cuddling and pointing things out the two of you drove into the city, excited to see everything the city had to offer. The two of you walked down the streets hand in hand, taking pictures once more and in awe of the beauty the city offered.

Of course the two of you drove all over the city visiting museums, seeing all the statues and artworks you had always admired through your phone screen. You almost wanted to cry of happiness seeing everything in person, you walked quickly in the museums, timothée barely keeping up with you as you rushed everywhere, making sure you absorbed every last detail.

Of course timothée took the typical you looking at art picture, and of course he posted it and captioned it “art looking at art” causing his fans to go feral, everyone tweeting and posting about how cute the two of you were. You held timmys hand when you realized he was dragging behind, pulling him along and forcing him to move at your speed.

“oh my god I love this painting, look at the brushstrokes! I read once that when he was painting this-” you began, going into detail about said artists life. Timothée stared at you, his chest swelling with love, a smile on his face as you went on and on about the paintings, he hung onto every word you said, loving the way your eyes lit up and the amount of emotion in your voice as you spoke of what you loved.

After you had visited the museums l, the two of you walked all over the city, taking in the culture and also taking many breaks and calling a cab to go to places he had planned to take you. Of course he set up a reservation at a fancy restaurant, eating to your hearts delight and drinking amazing wine, overseeing the bustling city as the sun set.

“i cannot believe we’re in Florence Italy” you sighed happily, looking out at the city while you sipped on your wine, timothée smiled at you. “I don’t know how I’m ever going to thank you enough angel, you really made my dreams come true” you spoke, turning towards your curly headed boyfriend and he shook his head.

“you don’t have to thank me ma cherie. I love seeing you happy, you deserve the world and I’m going to give everything i can to you, you’ve always supported me through anything and everything, you know me so well, i just love you so much” he answered. “but- you can thank me by letting me post a bunch of pictures of you everywhere” he smiled shyly, blushing slightly. You smiled brightly at him, your love for him growing. “oh baby of course” you giggled.

The next day was just as action packed, going to multiple cathedrals and basilicas which you hadn’t gotten to the day before, and then spending time in the gardens, taking so many pictures of each other, half of them turning out blurry because the two of you couldn’t stop laughing.

He held you hand the whole time, keeping you close to him the whole time, kissing you at times and always looking at you with so much love. All over Twitter and Instagram were pictures of the two of you holding hands and laughing, many of them with one of the two of you pointing at something, many of the ones with you pointing had timothée looking at you with a smile rather than what you were showing him, it gave you butterflies.

That night you headed to the hotel early, packing everything to catch the late night flight to Rome, the last destination on the trip. The two of you packed quickly, racing to see who would finish first. This made timothée sneak up behind you and unfold your tshirts, run back to his area and rush to finish, an attempt to beat you. You were one step ahead, you had hidden his shampoo so you had no problem re folding while he ran around everywhere.

“I’m done!” You announced proudly, smiling at your boyfriend and he rolled his eyes, a pout on his face. “That’s not fair! I finished before you i just lost my shampoo” he responded, you smirked at him. “Check under your pillow” his eyes went wide and raced to get it, jaw dropping when he found it. “y/n i swear one day im gonna beat you at these competitions” he huffed, pushing you playfully and you shoved him back laughing.

The two of you cuddled the whole time in the airport, attached to the hip, and napping until your flight boarded, where the two of you also slept the whole time. When you finally arrived in Rome, you both headed to the hotel, knocking out there too, excited for the next two days in Rome before returning home. The two of you only had two cameras left, it filled you with excitement to get the photos developed, knowing you would have so many pictures of him to post and an endless amount of wallapapers.

When the two of you awoke the next morning you headed out quickly, excited to spend yet another day together.

“timothée oh my god look at that dog! Do you think he speaks Italian?” You questioned, smiling at the small dog that walked past the two of you. “I’m sure he does my angel” he replied, laughing. Pulling you along the busy street, putting his arm around your waist.

The two of you marveled at the colosseum, mind running wild at the thought of people using it. “You think they ever had a concert in there?” You asked your boyfriend who giggled, “im not so sure they did my angel” you thought about someone using it today. “What if someone tried to have on in there today” you smiled and timothée quickly replied, “as soon as the speakers start blasting everything would just crumble” you laughed at the thought of someone wanting to have fun only to ruin one of the most iconic pieces of history.

The two of you walked along the streets, holding hands and swinging them back and forth, debating where to go next. “How about the pantheon?” You suggested and he nodded with a smile, “you read my mind darling.”

The two of you got there surprisingly quickly and sat down for a second, both of your guys’ feet hurting. You put your head on timmys shoulder, closing your eyes for a second, you could hear everyone talking, the sound of cars and the wind. “Are you tired mon amour?” Timothée asked, not wanting to tire you out so much, he wanted you excited and happy not tired.

“just a bit, but I’m sure it’ll leave as soon as we see the Vatican” you spoke, a smile forming on your face as you opened your eyes and looked at the brunette next to you. He kissed your cheek, getting up and extending a hand to help you up. “Let’s go see what all those shops we passed have had to offer later yeah?” He grinned and you nodded, stretching a little before falling into step with him.

The two of you arrived at the Vatican and you swear you had never felt more in awe than staring at everything inside, everything was so adorned and beautiful, even the pillars on the outside when the two of you were waiting (only for like 5 minutes) made you smile in amazement. Timothée and you kept pointing out everything, a smile on both of your faces. Both of your cheeks hurt from smiling so much but neither of you complained, too happy to care.

After the two of you walked around for a bit more you left and entered the busy streets of Rome once again, taking pictures of each other all the time and stopping to look at anything and everything. “Let’s go get something to eat” you suggested. “Oh yeah I’m starving after all that walking” he replied, pulling out his phone to find a nice place to get food.

Soon enough he found a nice spot and the two of you arrived there quickly, excited to eat. After ordering and eating the two of you sat in comfortable silence, taking the time to wind down before going back out. “can we go to the Trevi Fountain? I brought coins for us to throw in” you asked and timothée wanted to kiss you all over and hug you and never let you go because god you were so fucking cute.

“of course we can go mon amour, are you ready to go right now?” He asked and you nodded, he paid quickly before taking his hand in yours, the two of you walking slower than before, you were leaning on him slightly, he was talking about some story that had happened to him in high school. You don’t remember exactly how the story had come up but you were grateful that it had.

As the two of you continued walking hand in hand and smiling at the sights you realized that no one had disturbed the two of you this whole trip which was very surprising, but you were grateful that his fans were respectful of the two of you. “okay i told you am embarrassing story of me in high school you tell me one” he pushed and you groaned, stealing the water bottle from his hands and gulping down the drink.

“i wasn’t really embarrassing in high school, i had like five friends and we always looked out for one another, middle school i was the biggest emo alive” you shuddered thinking back to all the diary entries you had made. “I remember i wrote this one poem that was so cringe and i thought it was the best thing ever written” you cringed at the memory and he bursted our laughing, leaning into you as he did so.

“Do you still have said diary?” He questioned, a mischievous smile forming on his face, “back at my parents house yeah” you replied, narrowing your eyes at him, “but you will never lay your eyes on a single one of those pages Hal” you sternly replied, smiling as he rolled his eyes and pulled you closer to him, putting his arm around you. “We’ll see about that one” he smiled.

“oh my god! Timmy there it is!” You shrieked, energy suddenly overflowing as you ran, pulling timothee with you causing him to almost trip over his feet. You pushed through the crowd, saying excuse me and sorrys until you got the the front of the fountain. Timothée arrived a couple seconds after you, out of breath and amazed at how fast you had ran.

“ma cherie you need to slow down” he spoke, leaning over to catch him breath. You stared at the fountain in awe, a smile sprawled across you face, taking in the beauty of it all. “I can’t believe I’m really here” you whispered, timothée got up, wrapping both his arms around your waist. “Believe in my love” he smiled, kissing you on the cheek.

Suddenly you heard a crack of thunder and soon enough rain started pouring, the once crowded area was now close to empty as everyone ran for shelter, you and timothée didn’t budge, mainly because you didn’t even flinch and refused to move.

you turned to timothée, hair sticking to both of your foreheads a wild smile on your face as you dig into your pocket, looking for the coins you had brought. Quickly you handed one to timothée. “Ready?” You smiled and he nodded. “Okay, 1, 2, 3!” You shouted, the coins flipping into the water at the same time. Turning to timothée you found him smiling at you and you laughed.

“When in Rome” you said before bunching his shirt into your fist and pulling him into a kiss, you eyes shutting as rain fell around the two of you. The kiss was what you imagined the movie ones were like, passionate and loving. You smiled into the kiss before you opened your eyes and pulled away.

“you drive me crazy y/n” he whispered, a giant smile on his face as you wiped away the water from your eyes and pushed the hair out of your face. “Should we get out of the rain?” You giggled and he nodded, “probably, we don’t wanna get sick” he joked and you punched him. “Don’t fucking jinx it!” You yelled, running to the nearest shelter you could find, which so happened to be a tourist shop.

Shopping with timothée was always fun, shopping with timothée in another country was another level. He wanted to buy you everything you looked at, he would buy you at $50 shirt if you really wanted it. The two of you were dripping wet and needed to buy new clothes or else you would definitely get sick. You ended up wearing tacky tourist shirts, getting matching ones of course and buying souvenirs for everyone back home as well as a few things to decorate and to keep for yourselves.

Considering how hard it was pouring and the fact that the two of you now had wet socks you decide to call it a day and go back to the hotel room, not wanting to get sick considering tomorrow was the last day. You were glad that it was already 5 pm, you wouldn’t have missed that much that you had planned and you could easilh get to them tomorrow.

You guys quickly got into a car and made your way back to the hotel, opting on showering together. As the two of you stepped in you let out a sigh at the feeling of the warm water. You let the water rinse the two of you off before shutting it off and getting timothées shampoo, telling him to turn around so you could wash his hair.

“thank you for this whole trip baby, it’s really been a dream come true” you spoke, massaging the shampoo into his hair. “Im sorry that it rained sweetheart, i really wanted us to be able to do everything because this was supposed to be perfect and-” you frowned at him despite his back being to you. “Timothée you can’t control the weather! And even then this trip is already perfect because I’m here with you. I’m in Italy with the love of my life dammit, ive drank so much good wine and eaten even more good food! We haven’t gotten this much time alone in god knows how long, you’ve literally had a chauffeur in every city so that we didn’t have to worry about parking and you made us an itinerary! Everything about this trip has been perfect, even the hiccups in the road.” You stated, smiling at the memories the two of you had already made.

You turned the water back on to rinse the shampoo out of his hair and he smiled at you, kissing you on the forehead. “And plus, i finally got my kiss in the rain AND it was infront of the trevi fountain, how am i supposed to complain again ever?” You smiled up at him, he laughed and quickly closed his eyes as shampoo rinsed from his hair. He grabbed your shampoo and began to wash your hair, you relaxed at his touch and closed your eyes.

“I love you so much angel, you don’t even understand” he whispered, you hummed in response. He gave you a soft kiss to your neck, giving you goosebumps.

Soon enough you guys hopped out of the shower, warm and clean and changed into some pijamas, snuggling into bed and looking out of the giant window next to you. Between the sound of the rain hitting the window and timothées soft breathing, you quickly dozed off, not caring that it was only 6:30 pm and you’d probably wake up at 2 am with an insane amount of energy. Timothée asked you something,confused as to why you weren’t replying until he looked at you, a bashful smile on his face when he saw you sleeping.

“you know i love you so much, you mean the world to me mon amour, there isn’t anything i wouldn’t do for you” he whispered, brushing your hair lightly to get it out of your face. He placed a gentle kiss on your forehead, turning the lights off in the room before closing his eyes and drifting off the sleep alongside you.

You ended up not even waking up throughout the night, instead sleeping until early the next morning. You hadn’t realized how tired you had been until now since you were more energetic than ever, excited to get as much in on the last day.

Timothée was the one dragging you around everywhere today, determined to get through the list had made, you smiled at him as he explained everything to you, surprised at how much he knew. “When did you make this list anyway?” You asked over lunch, looking up at him after you chewed your food. “I woke up at 2am and i couldn’t sleep but i didn’t wanna wake you up so i made this list and researched everything so i can give you the full tour guide experience” he replied, a giant smile on his face as you gawked at him.

“yeah that’s it, I’m gonna marry you” you shrugged, continuing to eat as timothée blushed and kept eating. The conversation flowing easily between the two of you and a comfortable silence falling into place at times.

The day continued quickly, visiting many more sites and before you knew it your disposable camera came to an end, and 30 minutes later so did timothées as the sunset. The two of you sat down on a bench, waiting on your guys’ driver to arrive so the two of you could pack up and head home.

“i can’t believe it’s over” you smiled softly, sad that it was over but happy that it happened. “Don’t worry mon amour im sure we’ll be back soon enough” he smiled and you put your head on his shoulder. “I love you with everything I have timothée” you spoke, looking up at him from your position. He kissed your forehead gently, “i love you so much more y/n” he smiled.

The two of you once again raced to pack up, you purposefully ‘lost’ your favorite shirt and let him win, although he would always hold it against you, it didn’t matter because you would lose over and over and over again if it meant seeing the amount of joy on his face when he shouted “IM DONE” and looked over at you with an unzipped suitcase.

As the two of you were waiting at the airport gate you had to make the obligatory Instagram post, gathering pictures of the two of you together and of yourself to post, you smiled as you picked out the photos. Searching the internet to see if anyone had caught the two of you kissing in the rain in front of the fountain, which of course they had. You looked over at a napping timothée, smiling as you set the photo as your lockscreen and added it to your post, quickly you typed out your caption.

“Italian days <3”

[welcometophu]

The Meaning of Home, Chapter 1

The Meaning of Home Chapter 1

Tags for all Welcome to PHU novels will be available at the PHU tag list on Pillowfort. This list is under construction as of Sept. 5, 2021.

[ First | Next ]

Even knowing that he’ll see him at the end of the trip, it’s strange for Pawel to be driving to his childhood home without Conor in the car. Usually his son would be requesting music changes, playing videos so loud that Pawel could hear them even with Conor’s headphones in place, or generally talking up a storm. Even after cranking the radio up to fill the silence, Pawel feels alone in a way he hasn’t felt in a long, long time.

He can’t blame it entirely on Conor. Yes, as a single father he hasn’t had much, if any, time to himself in the last nine years. But this past academic year has been chaos to the point where it seems strange not to have one of his students in the car as they head off to save the world.

Students, yes, but he’s not that much older than most of them. Some of them are friends as well.

Rest. Take the summer and rest.

The voice in his mind sounds suspiciously like Mac, and he hears Carolyn’s soft, aggravated huff not long after as she adds, Get normal amounts of sleep. Take a shower. Eat real food.

Spend time with your kid, imaginary Mac adds.

Great. He’s back to being that only child who used to have conversations with invisible friends, except now, as an adult, it’s advice about self-care from real people who aren’t even here.

The thing is, they’re not wrong. He knows he has a tendency to focus intently on the one most important thing at hand and tune out everything else. Since fall semester—for the first time in nine years—that wasn’t Conor, and he still feels guilty about that. He feels the kind of guilty that means there are two brand new games for Conor’s handheld system in a bag on the back seat, along with a cooler holding freshly butchered grass-fed bison steaks as a thank you for his father for helping him out.

Pawel exhales.

Maybe he’s having a little trouble letting go of the chaos. In a way, it felt good to be busy. To fix things.

They saved the world.

Nobody knows it, but it happened. And Pawel knows, so he should be satisfied with a job well-done.

The question is: what can he do now?

Rest.

For all that they’re imaginary, the voices of his students are right, and he knows this. It’s just hard to let it all go, to accept that the chaos has ended and he can do that. But he’s clean-shaven, and his hair is neatly trimmed, even if he didn’t go back to his buzz cut. He looks older in the mirror than he remembers being when the school year began. He might even look his age, which would go a long way to gaining respect from incoming freshmen in the fall.

He just needs something to do with himself while on vacation over the summer.

Maybe his old dojang would let him step into a taekwondo class or two while he’s visiting Dad. It’d be nice to be the student rather than the instructor for once.

You couldn’t let go of control that much.

“Shut up.” He says it as if imaginary Mac would even listen.

One song ends, and for a second, the silence in the car echoes before the next song begins.

This isn’t working.

He reaches out to touch the button on his radio dash for the phone, then presses Mac’s number from his contact list.

“Aren’t you with your family?” She starts speaking without bothering to greet him.

He adjusts the volume so that her voice isn’t quite so loud. “Hello to you, too. I’m almost there now. It’s quiet in the car. No Conor. Not even any grouchy almost adults grumbling about saving the world, or muttering about sparring.”

Mac snorts softly. “I’m only a few years younger than you, Pawel. And out of us all, Rory’s probably got the oldest soul. I take it you’re bored?”

“A little,” he admits. “Pels’s family moved into the house on Friday, then left for Burlington. As far as I know, everything’s gone well up there; they weren’t back before I left the house today. Anita’s got my number in case she needs anything for the house while they’re renting it out this summer. Traffic’s been decent, so I’m maybe fifteen minutes from my Dad’s house now, and the silence is killing me. How’s your summer break going?”

There’s a delay before Mac replies, and her voice sounds determinedly cheerful when she does. “It’s a break. I’m thinking about my research, and the fact that my advisor is in Italy until the end of June and told me I can’t work without him there. Which means Mom thought I should come home for a while, and right now things are… awkward… with me and Dad. So. There’s that.”

When Mac says it, Dad means Senator Delwin Palmer. Pawel knows what that meant to Mac as a part of a secret government training program for Talented children, before she came to PHU. He knows that everything they learned about the government involvement in the creation of the soul-destroying Shadows has only made her relationship with her stepfather more difficult.

He makes a small noise. “Are you going back to PHU soon?”

“Mid June, so I’ll be here about three weeks. I’m going to take my brother to the festival when Rory and Thorne are in DC in a couple of weeks, and I’m spending most of my time in the museums and libraries in DC until then.” She exhales. “I’ve thought about going to see my father, but I think that’ll be the weekend that I drive back up to PHU. I’ll just stop in to visit him in the city while he’s got some time off work.” Mac hesitates, her words more forceful when she asks, “How long are you planning on staying with your dad?”

Fine, Pawel will accept the change of topic, changing conversational directions at the same time as he takes the exit into town that will lead to his childhood home.

Sort of. It’s not the same house he grew up in, but it’s close to the same neighborhood.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “I’m on leave for the summer. It’s not a sabbatical—they don’t do that for less than a year, and right now they won’t let me go for a whole year until the department has more experienced faculty. But it’s a paid leave and I’m supposedly researching my next book. The thing is, Dad doesn’t have a lot of space since he moved into the retirement community. I’m going to be crashing on his couch. Conor’s got the bed in the guest room.”

“Sounds great for your back.” Mac laughs. “You’ll probably still sleep better than you did for most of the spring.”

“Probably,” Pawel agrees. “I think—” He stops abruptly, because that makes it sound like he has a plan in place. “I’m going to play it by ear. Conor’s made friends there, although he’s clearly missing Alan and home, too. Everyone keeps telling me that I need to just stop trying to fix things and take a break. Including a voice in my head that sounds suspiciously like you.”

“Good to know my voice has infected your brain, like the way I hear yours saying ‘commit to the kick’ whenever I’m sparring and going for that head kick against a much taller opponent,” Mac says dryly.

“They’re all taller than you.” Pawel takes a series of turns, remembering to turn left instead of right at the critical intersection. He slows down; there’s no one else on the road behind him to annoy, and he’s not quite ready to arrive yet.

Mac sputters. “Rude.”

“True.”

“Fine. True,” she agrees. “Taekwondo is a sport for tall people. I’m just a good jumper, and before you say it, no, I’m not teleporting to get there. Most of the time.”

He rolls down the road towards a four-way stop. There’s a sign across the way proclaiming the entrance to Hart Acres. If he turned left, he could make his way to the police station where his dad works, and right would loop him back behind his old neighborhood.

Straight takes him into his dad’s new life in a retirement village where half the people who live there aren’t actually retired. His dad’s been living there for a year, and Pawel’s not sure when he’ll finally step down as Police Chief. He likes his work far too much to give it up.

Dad says it’s easier to keep working when he doesn’t have to worry about the little things like mowing the lawn. Hart Acres takes care of that for him.

Pawel’s pretty sure Dad’s going to work until he has both feet in the grave, and then he might just keep going.

“Hey.” Mac’s voice is low. “Did I lose you?”

Right. He was having a conversation.

“I’m just about there,” Pawel admits. “There’s an old lady walking her fluffy dog down the street. I guess I should hang up. Focus on finding the place and not hitting the two people that are in the middle of the road having a conversation.”

No exaggeration. Now that he’s pulled into Hart Acres and is following the first traffic circle he encounters around to the second exit, there are small knots of people gathered everywhere. Including two smack dab in the middle of one of the side streets.

They see him looking and lift their hands in cheerful synchronized waves.

“I am really not ready to see my dad as the kind of guy who needs to be surrounded by old people looking for a social life,” Pawel mutters. He makes a disgruntled noise when Mac snickers.

He’s in front of the house before he can say anything else.

“Go,” Mac says. “Hug Conor for me, and tell him to work hard. He’s still in school, right?”

“Another three weeks, yeah,” Pawel says. “I might take him out for a day on Friday to head up to Buffalo for Rory and Thorne’s tour, though. It’s a holiday weekend, so maybe the school has the day off—they do weird things with snow days sometimes. Although the weather was strange this winter and they might not have the extra days.”

“Nikki would apologize if you need her to,” Mac says. She’s quiet for a moment. “Hey. You really should take the time to rest. Let your dad be the parent for a little while. Enjoy being home, and with your family. You don’t have anything you need to save right now. The world isn’t ending. Just have fun for the summer.”

“Only if you promise me that you’ll rest, too,” he responds. He wants to say that he understands that it’s not that easy. He understands that talking to Delwin Palmer is going to be complicated, and that putting herself back in that environment only brings the PTSD out in full force. “You can always call me if you need someone to talk to.”

“I’ll let you know when I’m back in the area,” she says. “Maybe we can get together and spar. I’m taking a break from organized classes while I’m home.”

Her old dojang isn’t full of happy memories like Pawel’s is.

“Sure, we can do that.” He catches movement out of the corner of his eye; the door to his father’s unit nudges open. “Conor’s coming out. I need to go.”

“Bye, Pawel. Rest.”

“I will,” he promises.

The music blares for a moment after she hangs up; he turns the key and silences it. He manages to get out of the car as Conor races around it and slams into him, hugging him hard. Pawel wraps his arms around him, and exhales as he feels the familiar crackle of Conor’s magic around him.

“I missed you,” Pawel murmurs. His hand is between Conor’s shoulder-blades, and it feels higher than it used to rest in this same position. “Did you grow in the last two months?”

“An inch since he arrived.” Dad stands on the lawn next to a girl about Conor’s age that Pawel doesn’t recognize. Her mouth is pinched and her brows furrowed. She has her arms crossed tight across her chest as she leans forward, a myriad of braids falling forward across her shoulders and down her back. Dad puts a hand on her shoulder, and she straightens up, shoulders relaxing. “I started a growth door for him here. We’ll need to get a mark on it for you so he can see what he’s aiming for.”

There was a piece of trim in Pawel’s childhood house that had marks for every few months of his age, from toddlerhood to adulthood. He wonders if the new owners painted over the careful notes made in his mother’s hand, and the messier ones his father wrote after she passed away.

“I had Dziadziu put Emma on the door, too.” Conor slips from Pawel’s hold and grabs his hand, dragging him towards Dad and the girl who still watches warily. “This is Emma. She’s in my class, and she’s a Weather Witch, and she’s my friend. We’re both new here. She’s talked to Alan with me.”

“I know they’re married,” Emma says with a heavy sigh and an eyeroll. “Conor’s not my boyfriend. I don’t want a boyfriend.”

“You say that like people have been trying to tell you that you can’t be friends because you’re a boy and a girl.” Pawel stops in front of her and holds out his hand solemnly. “Hello, Emma. I’m Pawel. And don’t worry, I understand that most people are full of shit. Right now my best friend is a girl and I can assure you I have no romantic intentions towards her whatsoever. And if I did, she might kick me in the balls.”

Dad makes a strangled sound.

Emma tilts her head, brow still furrowed. “I’m pretty sure you shouldn’t say that people are full of shit.” She takes his hand and looks at their joined hands in some confusion, then drops it again. “But you’re right. They are. Come on, Conor.”

“I think you’d like Mac,” Conor says as he walks by Emma’s side and they disappear into the house. “She’s small but fierce. She used to be a gymnast and now she kicks ass.”

Pawel should say something, but he did just tell them that people are full of shit, so maybe he can cut him some slack for language this time.

“I did say that someday you’d be lucky enough to have a kid just like you,” Dad observes. “That said, Conor’s been a good kid while he’s been here. Getting good grades, getting his work done. He and Emma bonded straight off—her parents disappeared not long before you did, so they had something in common. Except, of course, you’re back and they’re not. She’s living with a foster family here.”

There are a dozen potential things wrong with everything Dad’s just said. Pawel rolls the thoughts around in his mind as he heads back to his car, opening the doors so that he and Dad can both take several things into the house. “Do they know she’s Talented?” he asks.

“You know where the guest room is.” Dad points through the living room and kitchenette to the small hall beyond. “Right at the end there. Just take Conor’s stuff down. We’ll put your things to the side in the living room for now.”

Conor pops his head out of his room just as Pawel arrives. “What do you mean for now? Aren’t we staying all summer? I thought we’d stay here all summer, Dad. Dziadziu said we could.”

There are times when Pawel wonders what their family looks like from the outside: three generations having three separate conversations in tangled instances, answering questions in random order. He can see where Emma sits on the bed, Conor’s tablet in her hands. She doesn’t seem concerned.

“I’m sleeping on the couch, Conor. We’ll stay in town, but we might need to get a hotel room. I’m going to need a bed eventually,” Pawel points out.

“I’ll move in with Emma. Her dads wouldn’t mind.”

“I don’t think they’d even notice,” Emma says dryly. “I like Conor better than Matt.”

“She has four foster siblings,” Conor stage whispers.

Emma looks up, gaze pinning him. “They aren’t my siblings. I’m an only child. We’re all just fosters in the same house, except Nevaeh and Jennie. I think they’re almost as good as adopted. Jennie doesn’t even remember her parents.”

For once, Pawel is the one getting whiplash from the swift turns in conversation.

“Is everyone Talented?” It’s the same question, asked a different way, and this time he throws it out there for anyone to answer. He drops the bag of Conor’s summer clothes on the bed, next to where Emma sits.

“Her dads are both Talented!” Conor bounces up onto the bed, almost knocking the suitcase off. “One’s Clan and one’s—”

“They aren’t my dads,” Emma snaps. She drops Conor’s tablet on the bed and stands up, her body shivering so hard that her braids shake. “My mom and dad are coming back. They aren’t my dads at all. I’m just staying there until—”

“My dad can find them.”

Emma’s mouth is slightly open, her voice a small squeak. “What?”

“My dad is really good at everything about Talented people. He’s an expert.” Conor nods quickly. “He’s so much an expert that he teaches people not to be stupid—uninformed,” he corrects himself, “about what it means to be Talented. He knows everything.”

“Not everything,” Pawel tries to stay, but Conor steamrolls over him.

“He just saved the world, and he’s friends with Clan and with Mages, and we know this entire commune of Mages up in Burlington and if anyone can find your parents, he can,” Conor says firmly. “You’ll do it, Dad, right?”

“I think I’d need a little more information before I can promise that,” Pawel says slowly.

“Your father is supposed to be resting.” Dad stands behind him, and Pawel doesn’t need to turn to know the look Dad gives Conor. He was on the receiving end of that look himself many times as a child. Dad continues, “The last time your father got involved in something, he disappeared and you came here.”

Conor’s mouth snaps shut, lips pressed and his cheeks flushed. “He came back,” he mutters. “He always comes back.”

Emma pats the bed and when Conor sits, she puts her arms around him and holds on. “Maybe mine will come back, just like yours did. Then your dad won’t have to go find them.” Her whisper is too loud to be entirely secret. “I don’t want your dad to disappear again.”

“Me neither,” Conor admits.

“Emma.” 

“Dziadziu!” Conor interrupts him. “Did you ask Emma’s dads—”

“They’re not my dads.”

“—if she can stay over tonight?” The sadness is gone from Conor’s expression as he bounces on the bed. “She’s got stuff in a drawer from the last time she stayed. She can get on the bus with me in the morning, and we can play games with Alan online later.” His gaze skates to Pawel. “If you say it’s okay, of course.”

It’s only been a couple of months, and Conor has somehow built himself a routine here. Pawel isn’t entirely sure how he fits into it.

It’s strange thinking about Conor growing up and growing apart from Pawel when his son is only nine years old.

“I talked to them,” Dad assures them. “But that means sleep tonight. It’s a school night, and I’ll be checking. No magic after dark. No surprise storms. No more rain indoors.”

“That was once!” Conor protests.

“Lights out by half past eight, and I want you asleep by nine,” Dad says in a tone that brooks no argument. “You’ve got plenty of time before then; we haven’t even had dinner yet. You might even be sick of each other by then.”

“Never!” Conor and Emma chorus.

Pawel has to wait for Dad to move before they can both slip out of the room, leaving the door cracked. “I’m glad he’s made friends here,” Pawel says quietly. “He and Alan are—well, I’d almost call them codependent sometimes. I was worried. But they both seem to be doing well.”

“Conor’s fallen on his feet, that’s for sure. He’s a lot like another child I once knew: just starts talking until he finds his spot to fit in. Might even have a bit of a savior complex.”

Pawel gives his father a dark look. “I do not have a savior complex. If I did, I’d have followed you into law enforcement, rather than going into academia.”

Dad smiles. “You’re still saving people. You just go about it in a different way on a daily basis. But it seems to me like you didn’t even hesitate when you found out your students needed your help. You can’t resist a puzzle.”

“Apple didn’t fall far from the tree, I get it,” Pawel mutters. “Fine, fine. We’re all peas in a pod, and a hundred other trite descriptive phrases. The Szczek men have similar traits.”

“Mm.” Dad leads the way outside, so they can retrieve the last few things from Pawel’s car. “Some of us have learned how to ask for help,” he says quietly. “Conor’s made himself at home in Emma’s foster house. He’s spent more than a few nights there, and yes, before you ask, I trust her foster fathers completely. One of them works with me. But that’s something you might want to think about this summer, Pawel.”

Pawel shoulders the backpack with his computer in it, and closes the door to his car. “What’s that, Dad?”

“You don’t have to do everything on your own,” Dad reminds him. “For the summer, you’ve got me. Think about what to do when you get home. The fate of the world doesn’t need to rest on your shoulders alone.”

It seems like everyone’s got something to say about his bad habits. The thing is, Pawel’s got help at home. He’s a single father; he knows he needs assistance sometimes. He’s got Alan’s family next door. Emily’s always willing to help out with Conor. But he’s also got… a lot of responsibility. He’s a professor, and a dean, and he leads Coven and the taekwondo team. 

Who the hell else is he going to rely on? Pawel does the things no one else is available to do.

“Don’t worry, Dad,” he says, because he knows it’s what Dad needs to hear. “I’m not going to overwork myself again. I’ll make sure I’ve got help.”

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[bjnurse]

A Life With Imperatore

I wanted to give Diavolo lovers/fuckers a happier ending. <3 I hope this helps soothe any broken hearts. This is part 1 of 2 (maybe 3?). [Please excuse my poor theory behind GER.]

Read this on A03 here!

Reader x Diavolo 

------

The screen before you shows a happy ending. The good guys won and Italy is safely in the hands of Giorno and Mista. You turn off the TV, but that ending didn’t leave you feeling happy. You’re filled with anxiety and dread over the way your favorite died… is still dying? Constantly? It’s heart-wrenching to see your favorite character die, but to see it in multiples is torture. 

“Thanks, Araki!” you sarcastically mutter as you walk into the kitchen for a snack. 

You glance out of the window to the back yard and see someone laying face down in the grass. Your heart pounds, flooding your veins with panic. Not because how the fuck did someone get into my back yard? But because you recognize him. Purple pants, pink spotted hair, and the tattoos on his arms that’s...

“What the actual fuck?” A cosplayer snuck into your backyard?

Before venturing outside, you grab the bat that you keep by the front door for self defense. Luckily, it’s never been used like that. 

You call out to the man but there’s no response. Nudging him with the bat warrants no response. You can’t help but to look at the muscular body before you and feel something… He does look like your husbando after all. Bending down, you turn him onto his back. You let out a shriek when he’s on his back and you see he looks exactly like Diavolo… You study the person before you. He’s breathing even if barely. 

Just leaving him out here isn’t an option. After thinking for a minute, you run inside of the house and grab a spare comforter. Once back outside, you lay it out next to him. “Sorry.” You plead as you roll him back onto his front onto the comforter then roll him over one more time so he’s in the center of it. With all your might (thank god you recently started going to the gym again), you drag him into the house. Once in the living room, you collapse, sitting next to him and catch your breath. You keep the bat close by you just in case. 

A bit of pink hair is out of place so you reach to move it, as you brush the strand from his forehead, you chuckle to yourself. The popular phrase comes to mind “kono Diavolo da” because after all “this is Diavolo!” You stop yourself… is it though? Is it really? 

As you stand to get a bottle of water, you think of how Gold Experience Requiem works as you understand it… If Gold Experience Requiem prevents Diavolo from reaching his end it could be taking him to alternate universes at each moment of death. That though sends a pang to your heart- all of his deaths. You take a bottle of water from the fridge. Thinking better of it, you grab an extra one. 

You sit down next to the man on the floor. If there is an infinite number of alternate universes then Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure is as real as our universe. If our perception of that universe as an anime or manga is two dimensional then maybe bringing Diavolo into our three dimensional universe breaks Gold Experience Requiem’s loop? It barely makes sense in your head but it’s all you can come up with if this in fact is Diavolo.

Looking at the handsome man again. You swallow hard… how many times have you thought of kissing those lips… how many times have you thought of… you let your eyes trail down his body. You shudder at the inappropriate thought. You reach again to move hair from his face when his eyes flutter open. He starts breathing heavy, his brow furrows, his inhuman green eyes fix on you and he lets out a whimper. He curls into a defensive ball and starts babbling in Italian. 

Fuuuuuck! It is him, but he’s pretty fucked up. You know better than to try to touch him. 

“English?” You say, “do you speak English?” 

He doesn’t respond to you, he continues to babble. You hope he understands, “I’m not going to hurt you. You’re safe here.” 

He looks at you through his hands, “Safe? Nowhere is safe.” He nearly pleads. His Italian accent is thick but you can understand him well enough. 

You want to tell him that you understand what he’s been through… but knowing Diavolo, that is the opposite of comforting. Instead, you sit with him. From what you have seen, death comes for him within minutes. If you can out wait that, maybe he’ll calm down. You can see his mind racing from the continuous torture that he’s been through. He’s exhausted and an absolute emotional mess. He needs time… which is ironic seeing how he’s always ran from time. 

You decide to take the same approach as you would a feral kitten- let them come to you. Stay calm, quiet and be patient. Placing the bottle of water in front of him, you assure him again that you won’t hurt him. You sit back and get out your phone. You open Spotify and find a Frank Sinatra playlist. That’s what a mob boss listens to right? Besides, you don’t want to freak him out with music from the future, but you try not to think about that. 

Absentmindedly, you softly sing some of the songs, as you sit and you wait. About the 5th song in, you see him relax. He moves his hands from his face and he looks at you, he studies you. 

You smile kindly. “Do you like this song? It’s one of my favorites.”  

Although you’re excited out of your mind that your favorite is in front of you, you play it cool as best you can. You drink from your bottle of water and gesture to his. Tentatively, he grabs for it, but he falls short. He tries again and reaches too far and knocks it over. He sits up and tries to take hold of it since it’s on the floor but he misses a few more times. You look at his face and don’t see a man. You see a boy who’s tired, scared and frustrated. You think of Doppio for a moment and feel another deep pain in your heart. You see tears starting to form in his eyes. In an instant the boy is gone and he looks at you with rage in his eyes, as he furiously yells at you in Italian. Although you can’t understand, you assume he’s accusing you of something with the way he’s gesturing. You look at him and put your hands up. “English please, Signore.” 

He blinks at the title and starts over, he takes a moment to recall what he’s learned. His thick accent only makes his voice even more alluring. “What have you done to me?” 

You chose your words carefully and try to speak clearly, “I haven’t done anything to you. I found you outside, you were passed out and I brought you into my house.” 

Diavolo looks at you unbelieving but not untrusting. He looks around at his surroundings then back at you. He tries again for the bottle of water and grasps it. Holding the bottle in front of him, you can see how shaky his hands are. It takes a few attempts, but he manages to get the cap off. He looks at you then back to the bottle as he tries to drink from it. His shaky hand stops short and he spills water onto his lap. He hisses something under his breath in Italian and you assume it’s a swear. 

You fetch a towel for him to clean up with. You reach out to hand it to him and he can’t quite seem to grab it from you. Instead, you take hold of his hand and put it into his palm. He clumsily dabs at himself while you go to the kitchen and return with a straw. Taking hold of the hand with the water bottle, you place the straw in it then sit down a few feet in front of him. 

Awkwardly, you start some small talk. Since you know he’s so uptight about giving details about himself, you tell him about yourself. You try to earn his trust by trusting in him. After an hour of sitting on the floor and talking your stomach grumbles. 

“I’m getting hungry, would you like to eat something?” You ask as you stand. Who knows how long it’s been since the last time the poor guy ate! 

He just nods and attempts to stand. He nearly falls over, but you catch him and help him to his feet. 

“Do you want to just stay here?” The concern is obvious in your voice, but you don’t try to hide it from him either.

Diavolo actually seems to blush, “I don’t want to be alone.” With his arm around your neck and you’re arm around his waist, you help him into a chair at the kitchen table. You place a new water bottle in front of him, but this time you put a straw in it right away to make things easier for him. 

Your one sided conversation picks up again, but he’s more attentive this time and asks questions and comments. Once dinner is ready, you sit a plate and utensils in front of him. He has the same struggle with his fork and his food that he had earlier. 

Without asking, you sit next to him and cut his food and offer it to him. You know if you offered to help like this, he would just turn you down. He’s a proud man who’s had his ego nearly demolished. He accepts your actions and eats with your assistance. You talk more and you can see by the time he asks for seconds that he’s feeling better. 

When you’re both done eating, you place the dishes in the sink. Right now, Diavolo is your concern, you can worry about dirty dishes later. You help your guest to the couch and you sit and talk with him more. The more you talk the more he opens up. By now, he shares little stories or small pieces of his life. You both lose track of time and it’s late before you know it. 

Diavolo said he’d sleep on the couch, but you insist he sleeps in the bed with you. You can tell by the dejected way he made the offered that he honestly does not want to be alone. This is made even more apparent by his insistence to accompany you to make sure all the doors and windows are closed for the night. There’s that Diavolo paranoia that you know so well. 

You help him to sit on the bed. Rummaging through your drawers, you find something comfortable he can sleep in. An ex boyfriend's t-shirt and basketball shorts is all you can manage. You place the items next to him and remove yourself to the bathroom to change yourself. 

Upon returning, Diavolo sits on the bed, shorts/t-shirt in hand with a dejected, pleading look on his face. Getting his bearings here is really straining on him. He went from being an Imperatore in his own eyes to being unable to dress himself or even feed himself. He doesn’t even need to ask for your help. You won’t put him through that. You know there’s nothing wrong with needing help, but if he asked for it, it would be another blow to his already shattered ego. 

With a kind smile, you take the shorts from him. You stay as focused and as platonic as possible as you unbutton his pants. Pull them off of his hips and down his legs, you can feel your face hot as you’re probably blushing against your will. You remove his shoes, pants, and help him step into the shorts. You look up at him as you pull the shorts onto him and he’s blushing as much as you are. You see shame in his eyes. Once so proud, he hates having someone take care of him like this. Once so proud, he hates having someone take care of him, especially like this. In his adult life, he had acquired an incredible social status and influence. He had worked so hard to build his life, but that is all gone now. 

With the shorts pulled up to his thighs, you help him stand and you put them over his hips. Once he’s seated again, you put the shirt on him and adjust the shoulders to sit properly on his muscular form. Your hands rest here and you smile shyly at him. He looks up at you with gratitude tinted with shame. 

You swallow hard and tell him, “It’s alright. I’m going to take care of you. I’ll make sure you’re okay.” You help him into bed. Turning off the light, you hear Diavolo gasp at the darkness. You flip the light on again. “Are you ok?”

“Yes.” he says automatically, but you realize, he’s probably seen a lot of “darkness” lately. Turning on the bathroom light and closing the door over seems like a good enough compromise. A small beam of light streams into the bedroom and Diavolo is calmed enough. 

Walk to the other side of the bed, you get in. You can’t help but feel your heart pound in your chest having this handsome man so close to you in your bed. You smile to yourself but you know nothing can come of it. He’s far too delicate at the moment. You lay there trying to calm the thoughts in your mind to welcome sleep when Diavolo speaks up. 

“Cara?” 

“Hmmm?” You reply sleepily. Turning to him, you see he’s sitting up and looking at you. His green eyes seem to glow in the dim light. 

“Is this okay?” He gently moves your arm as he lays against you with his head on your chest. 

“Of course!” You reply trying not to sound excited. You try to will the pounding in your heart to soften but you know it’s no good. 

He rests his arm around your waist and your hand meets his bicep and you let your thumb rub circles into it. 

“I’m sorry. I just feel so alone.” As he speaks these words, your thoughts go to precious Doppio and that sting of pain stabs your heart again. You hold back the tears that want to weld up in your eyes. 

Trying to keep the shakiness from your voice, you reply, “Don’t worry. You’re not alone.”

[morganamysticblog]

The Royal Romance – Happily Ever After???

It was the evening of their 5th wedding anniversary.  Liam had been gone for several weeks at various meetings and negotiations all over Europe, but he was going to be home tonight.

Hana and Maxwell had taken little Eleanor to Valtoria for a few days.  Heather had given most of the palace staff a couple days off.  She wanted a romantic night for just the two of them to celebrate.

Heather had made dinner herself, even though the kitchen staff protested and offered to help.  She wanted to make tonight as special as possible. She had made her homemade lasagna with garlic bread.  It probably wouldn’t be as good as what he had been eating while he was in Italy, but hopefully he would be impressed that she made it herself.

The house staff questioned Heather when she wanted to decorate the small dining room herself, but again, tonight was going to be for just her and Liam. She set the table with two taper candles, place settings for two, a small radio in the corner with a romantic mix made by Maxwell which included the song they danced their first dance together at their wedding reception.

She had bought some new lingerie from Ana.  It was in a small box in their bedroom, waiting.

Everything was ready. Now, she just needed her husband. She sat on the grand staircase in the front hall.  He would be home any minute according to his itinerary.

20 minutes passed by…the timer for the lasagna went off.  Heather asked one of the few house staff remaining in the palace to wait by the door to greet the King when he arrived so that she could complete the final preparations on dinner.

When Heather returned to the front hall, the staff member was there, but no Liam.  He had not arrived yet.  He was almost an hour late by now.  Heather pulled out her phone and tried to call him.  No answer – just voice mail.  She waited a few minutes, then sent Liam a text message.  “Just checking to make sure you are ok.  I thought you would be home by now.”

After several more minutes, Heather finally receives a reply text message from Liam.  “Sorry, meeting ran late.  Should be home tomorrow.”

Should be home tomorrow? Should be?  Sitting on the steps, tears streaming down her face, Heather picks up her phone and calls Drake.

DRAKE – Hey Heather. Did Liam make it home ok?  I wasn’t expecting to hear from you two for at least a couple days.

HEATHER – He’s not here. He’s still in London or Oslo or somewhere.

DRAKE – What?  But isn’t today your anniversary?

HEATHER – Yeah.  

DRAKE – Remind me to have a chat with him when he gets back.  Did he say when he’ll be back?

HEATHER – His exact words were “should be home tomorrow.”

DRAKE – Ok, so just change the celebration to tomorrow.

HEATHER – And what’s to say he even comes home tomorrow?  He promised. He had a return itinerary and everything.  I just…I’m getting tired of this Drake.

DRAKE – What do you mean?

HEATHER – Just everything. He runs off all over the world for important meetings and negotiations, sometimes for months at a time.  I get stuck here picking out curtains and place settings.  

DRAKE – I’m sorry Heather. Is there anything I can do to help?

HEATHER – Well, if you’re hungry, I have a whole homemade lasagna getting cold in the dining room if you want to help me eat it.

DRAKE – Sure.  Sounds good.  The kitchen staff must be learning some new recipes.  I don’t remember lasagna being on the royal menu.

HEATHER – No, I made it.

DRAKE – You?

HEATHER – I can cook you know.

DRAKE – Oh, right.  I keep forgetting you used to be normal.

HEATHER – Ha ha, very funny. Just for that I may have to just eat this all by myself.

DRAKE – Ok, I take it back. Please, I’m starving here.

HEATHER – Well, get your butt over here and help me eat then.

DRAKE – I’m on my way.

Drake had moved out of the palace and had an apartment in the capitol city.  He had a steady job with a construction company.  He had even started dating a little over the past few years.  But he would always have a place in his heart only for Heather.  Any time she needed him, he would always be there for her. He had made the mistake before not opening up to her, not telling her how he truly felt.  If he ever had the chance again, he would not mess it up.

________

Heather went upstairs to change out of her gown.  She put on her usual, comfortable black tank top and jeans.  She pulled her hair up into a pony tail. How quickly tonight had gone from a romantic, magical evening to a casual hang-out session with a friend.  Emotions within her changed and rolled like a roller coaster.  One second she was sad and heartbroken.  The next she was furious and wanted to punch something. Hopefully Drake could talk her down and help her through this.  Of course Drake could help her through this, he always did.  He was always there for her.

_________

Drake arrived at the palace about 15 minutes later.  One of the palace staff greeted him at the door and escorted him to the closed door to the small dining room.  She handed him a pair of ear plugs before opening the door.  

STAFF – You may need these sir.  The music is quite loud inside.

DRAKE – Uh, thanks.

Drake opens the door. Carrie Underwood’s Undo It blares out.

DRAKE – Heather.  (a little louder) Heather.  (yelling) HEATHER!

Heather turns around startled.  She turns down the music.

HEATHER – Drake.  I’m sorry.  I was jamming out a little.

DRAKE – Totally understandable.  Angry girl music, huh?  I would hate to be Liam when he gets home.

HEATHER – If he ever gets home.  His trips keep getting longer and longer.  The past year he may have been here 4 months of it.  He has missed so much with Ellie, even her last birthday.  I just don’t know what to do.

DRAKE – Well, I’m here if you need to talk.

HEATHER – I know.  I really appreciate that.  You’re probably tired of hearing me vent about all of this by now.

DRAKE – Nah.  Hey, I’m getting free homemade food out of it, so I see it as a win win.

HEATHER – Ha ha ha.  So you’re just in it for the food.

DRAKE – The food is a big bonus, yes.

HEATHER – Well, let’s get to it then.  I hope you like it.  I used to make this all the time back in New York.

DRAKE – It smells great.

Drake and Heather start eating the lasagna and garlic bread.  Heather pours out a couple glasses of whiskey.

DRAKE – This is amazing! Is there anything you can’t do?

HEATHER – Keep my husband’s interest apparently.

DRAKE – Heather, that’s not true and you know it.

HEATHER – I’m beginning to wonder.  

DRAKE – He’s a king. He’s just been busy.  Things should slow down soon.

HEATHER – I hope so. I just…He’s been getting more and more distant the past couple years.  We were so close.  We did everything together.  Now it feels like he doesn’t want me around at all.  Three years ago, I would have been on this trip with him.  Even with a 1 year old.  Now he doesn’t even ask if I want to go, sometimes he doesn’t even tell me he’s leaving.  I find out from the palace staff that he left on another trip.

DRAKE – Ouch.  Yeah, I’m gonna have to have a serious talk with him. That’s not right.

HEATHER – Honestly, lately, I’ve been wondering if I should even stay here anymore.

DRAKE – Well, if you want to get away and don’t want to go to Valtoria, you could always crash on my couch.  Or I could always take you and Ellie to my mom’s ranch for a little bit.  Some fresh air, animals, lots of room for Ellie to run around.

HEATHER – Thanks Drake. I’ll keep that in mind.  Why is it, after everything, you’re the one that always ends up taking care of me?

DRAKE – Isn’t that part of my job as your friend?

HEATHER – You are an amazing friend.

Heather and Drake finish eating their food.  They stand up and Heather walks over to Drake giving him a big, long hug.

HEATHER – You’re the best Drake, you know that?

DRAKE – Well, I’m glad somebody thinks so.

As Heather pulls away a little from the hug, their arms still around each other, Heather looks up into Drake’s face.  He looks down deeply into her eyes.  A small smile on his face.  A sweet sparkle in his eyes.  Heather can’t help herself. The next thing she knows she leans her lips up to his and kisses him.

Drake tightens his hold and kisses her back, soft at first, but then deeply, passionately, with all the pent up love and heat he has held inside him for the past 5 years.

As they part, Heather takes a couple steps back, feeling a little lightheaded after such an amazing kiss. She hadn’t been kissed like that in a very long time.  Still holding each other’s hands, she stares into his eyes.

Drake just stares at her, never taking his eyes off hers.  He wanted to tell her how he felt, how he has felt since they were in Paris…when he lost her because of his own stupidity.  Did she still have any feelings for him?  He didn’t want to make the same mistake again, but at the same time, as much as he wanted her, he didn’t want her to choose him because of Liam’s recent behavior.  He still had that fear of being the rebound guy.  He wanted to be so much more for her.

____________

Heather saw the range of thoughts and emotions go through Drake’s eyes.  She wondered if he could see into her the same way.  She had the chance in Paris to choose him, to run away with him.  She had chosen Liam instead.  Did she make the wrong decision?  She was beginning to think she did.  Especially being here now with Drake.  A part of her still loved him, even after all this time.  And based on the way he kissed her, she was pretty sure he felt the same way.

Heather lets go of Drake’s hands and takes a few steps back.

HEATHER – Drake…I, uh…

DRAKE – Yeah.  Um, I’m sorry about that.  I just…

HEATHER – Yeah.  Maybe we should just talk for a little bit.

DRAKE – That’s probably a good idea.

Heather and Drake sit back down at the table on opposite sides of each other.

DRAKE – So…

HEATHER – Yeah.  We seem to keep finding ourselves in this kind of position, huh?

DRAKE – Well, it has been a while.  I mean, last time, you weren’t married.

HEATHER – True.  I…I do care about you, Drake.  I feel, sometimes, like I keep holding on to you, keeping you from moving on with your life.  Like I want both worlds, you know?  Being queen and all the perks that go along with it, the lavish trips with Liam, but also the simple things with you.  I know it’s not right.  I’m sorry.

DRAKE – Look, this may not come out right, so I’m just going to let you know that up front.  Believe me, I care about you too.  Much more than I should.  And I would love nothing more than for me to be the one you end up with. But at the same time, I know you and I know Liam.  Liam will pull you back in with his usual romance and you’ll forget all about the feelings you may or may not have for me and go back to your happy life.  I…I can’t be the rebound guy or the revenge sex guy or whatever.

HEATHER – Drake, I��ve never…

DRAKE – I just want to know that if you’re with me, you’re with me.  Not because you’re hurt and think you have feelings for me because I’m paying attention to you when Liam’s not, or you’re mad at him and want to get back at him somehow.  

HEATHER – Drake, it’s not like…

DRAKE – I have been holding so much in since that day in Paris.  Going through all the guilt I felt for not telling you how I felt then, for not running after you the second you left.  And every day since then I have been dealing with the fact that there’s nothing I can do about it to change what happened.  That’s why I moved out to the city.  I couldn’t deal with being here every day, looking at you, knowing how I felt and knowing that nothing would ever come of it.  But, I promised myself, I would always be here when you needed me.  I may not be able to have you all to myself, but I could still take care of you when you needed me.

HEATHER – Drake, you are not the rebound guy.  You never have been.  But you may have a point about the feelings based on the situation thing.  Not that I don’t have feelings for you, because I still do, but with the situations we end up in, I do tend to turn to you to fix things and don’t take into consideration how you might feel.  I’m so sorry, Drake.  I’ve been so selfish, keeping you tied to me so that in a way I didn’t lose you, but I held you back all at the same time.

DRAKE – You haven’t held me back.  I want to be here.

HEATHER – I really appreciate that.  But, I flipped on you once when I told you that you were the one I wanted, and then went back to Liam.  I don’t want to do that to you again.  I don’t want to stand here and tell you that I’ll leave him for you, then flip again. I can’t put you through that again.

DRAKE – So what do we do?

HEATHER – I think this time I need to take some serious time to think.  Away from everybody.  I think I just need to be a mom for a little while, focus on Ellie and what’s best for her, and for me.

DRAKE – Well, whatever you decide, just take your time and make sure it’s what you truly want.  I only want what’s best for you, Heather. I always have.

HEATHER – I know.  And that’s what makes all this so much harder. It would be so easy to just tell you to pack up and let’s run away.  Believe me, there’s a part of me that wants to say that so badly.  But I know it’s not right.  Not yet.  Not until I’m sure.  Not until I get out from under this spell Liam has me under.  At least that’s what it feels like.  I think…it’s getting late.  I think maybe you should go.

DRAKE – Ok.  Are you sure you’re going to be ok?  I can stay longer if you need me to.

HEATHER – Thanks, but I think if you stay here any longer my resolve is going to fade rather quickly and I don’t want to do something we may both regret.

DRAKE – Oh, there would be no regrets, but I get what you’re saying.  I’ll talk to you soon, ok?

HEATHER – Definitely.

Drake and Heather walk out of the small dining room and out into the main entrance hall.  They share a quick hug goodbye and Drake leaves.

Heather heads up to her room and puts the small package with the lingerie in it away in her dresser. She pulls out her phone and sends a text message to Hana.

TEXT TO HANA – Hey Hana. If you and Maxwell want to bring Ellie back home tomorrow, you can.  I’m missing my girl.

She checks to see if there were any missed calls or texts – nothing.  She sends a text to Liam.

TEXT TO LIAM – Happy anniversary.

Thinking to herself – “well, let’s see if that gets any response.”  She checks the clock – 10:00 pm.  Might as well get some sleep.  She turns her phone on silent, changes into some pajamas and climbs into bed. Luckily she falls asleep within a few minutes.

[littlesweetchurro]

New to heroes Pt 2

After a month, Xochi tried again, but this time with a small paper cut on her lap. She noticed that she wasn’t healing. Then she ran up to her brother and cut him with the paper “What the fuck is your problem hair ball!” 

“Shut it, I want to practice using my quirk” 

Xochi’s brother didn’t say anything because he had seen how much this meant to her. He saw the day she accidentally killed the dove. He saw his little sister feel like the most distinguishing vile thing to walk the earth. He knew he had to be careful with what he said to her, he didn’t show it but he loved her and he didn’t want his words to hurt her. He knew the power words had over a person, a philosophy that all his family followed.

“Ugh-- fine,but make it quick, I have a date” He said.

So Xochi looked at the small cut on her brother’s arm, the small tinkling of blood, almost inspired her to make sure her brother stayed as handsome as he was. With a deep breath, she brought her hands up to her brother’s skin and let out a diamond colored light. The light was almost holographic, but in that second, her brother’s cut was gone. Both of their golden eyes were open in astonishment, the cut was really gone. “Not bad, hair ball” he said, but they both knew that he was proud of her.  

This is how Xochi began to progress, she would spend months working on paper cuts. Then after getting a handle on how much energy she needed to use and thinking of what she was healing, her quirk began to bloom. She realized that she needed to know how much energy to use and to do that she needed to heal, she needed to recall her mother’s anatomy lessons. Instead of reading story books or watching TV, she would lose herself in medical textbooks. 

One of the few things she enjoyed doing with her brother was exercising. She found out that after she started running with him, she was able to use her quirk longer and the light was usually lighter. (The lighter the color the more effective it is). “ Get lost fur ball, you are so annoying” he would say to her as he slowed his pace so she could keep up with him. 

“Fuck, why are you always following me around, go read a book, you nerd” - brother

“ Yeah, yeah, so where are we going?” -Xochi

“That’s none of your fucken business, now get lost” said his brother as they stopped at the local health center. “Hair ball, go and ask about the gymnastic classes” 

“HUH?! I don’t think splandex looks good on you and your big ego”

“Shut the fuck up and go ask” Xochi just kept looking at her brother, she thought he had a screw loose since his quirk is X-ray vision like dad’s except he is able to amplify his vision rage. Curiosity got the best of her, her brother always had a foul mouth,but today he was extra pissy--which meant he was nervous. Xochi opened the door, and in that instant she saw her. A beautiful girl with short purple hair. She had such an amazing smile, she seemed so nice. But then she realized why her brother was nervous, this girl had an amazing body. She was tall and well-built. She was wearing a tank with some spandex shorts that showed her toned muscles. 

Now it made sense why her brother was suddenly interested in gymnastics. 

“ Well, like you said I should go home and read that book, since you know I am such a nerd”- Xochi

“Where the fuck do you think you are going, I told you to go ask about the classes, and be sure to bring back a flyer”

“HAHA, oh yeah, what do I get out of it?” she asked with a smirk on her face

“ I swear hair ball if you don’t go and ask I am going to---”

“Going to what, huh, big guy, oh yeah I am so scared of you and your threats when you can’t even go talk to a girl” Xochi waved her hands in the air in a mocking way. 

“ Fine,  what do you want?”

A triumph smile decorated Xochi’s face.

“ I want you to pay for my gymnastic classes”

“The fuck you mean--- I ain’t paying for your stupid classes”

With that said Xochi started to walk away, when she felt a tug on her arm, “Fine hair ball, just go and get her info” 

“That’s what I thought, Mr. ‘I am going to-’, pshh take your empty threats elsewhere”

With that said, Xochi walked into the community center and ever since then she’s been in love with gymnastics. 

 Like her older brother Xochi displayed exceptional memory, although with her she could remember a great amount of information using musical mnemonic devices.  For example when her mother was teaching her the names of the bones of the wrist Xochi would sing “Sally Left The Party To Take Cathy Home”.That way she was able to remember the eight bones very quickly. She loved to listen to music dance along while trying to remember all the bones of the body. At some point she even made a silly dance to help her remember the leg bones. It look like a weird version of a shamee. 

Since they lived in a small coastal town, no one questioned when the couple wanted to home-school their daughter. With their eldest going to University, the three of them focused much of their time finishing Xochi’s education. With exceptional memory and the time spent educating her, she was finished with her high school education by the time she was 15. Her father thought it would be a good idea to get her started with her university education. Since Xochi knew she wanted to be a doctor, she enrolled in the medical program. To her surprise she had already learned most of the material they taught in the introduction courses. Her father was able to pull some strings so she could take an exam that would demonstrate where she was academically. After the results came back, they placed her in her third year of undergraduate degree.  

Living with her family in a small town was an adventure. Although she spent most of her time studying, Xochi loved having fun. She had a very adventurous spirit, unlike her parents who liked to stay home. She loved to experience life. So when she had time the young girl would bargain with her neighbors.

“ If you teach me how to ride a motorcycle, I’ll get rid of your skin rash” she negotiated with her biker neighbor.

“ Pshh-- fine” he said without putting up a fight. Although they both knew that she was going to heal that nasty rash either way. And like that Xochi was able to learn all kinds of things, from driving to singing.

The next year flew by, Xochi was able to complete her bachelor’s when she was 16.

 As she prepared to enter her master’s program, her parents told her it would be a good idea to spend some time with her grandma in the mountains. Xochi was thrilled with the idea. She loved her grandma, and she was always open to the idea of learning something new. 

Xochi’s grandma was a well-known herbalist, using her quirk she was able to identify the property of plants and flowers. Using her knowledge of chi channels, she was able to cure most ailments. The townsfolk from around the town where Xochi lived and the villagers from her grandma’s village all agreed that it would be best to keep the women’s abilities secret. You sorta needed to know someone to get in, kinda thing. Xochi thought how it was kinda like a secret society (think White Lotus from Avatar) where exclusivity and privacy were most honored. The locals knew that if others were to know of their abilities, it wouldn’t take too long for ill-willed people to come look for the healers.

The next month Xochi set out to live with her grandmother. The way there was arduous, but it may have been due to the fact the Xochi had zero map awareness. She was not only clumsy, she was easily distracted and got lost frequently. Once her brother had to go look for her in town because she got lost. If it hadn’t been for the nice older gentleman, she would have been bear food by now. Once they got to the secluded village, Xochi thought she would be living with her grandmother, but to her surprise she had her own European-looking cottage. Looking around she noticed how out of style everything was. Her cottage looked like it belonged in Italy, not in the middle of nowhere in Mexico. The whole village had a…. Unique style. Everything was uncoordinated, with unique shaped buildings and odd pairings of colors. She thought she had stepped in a Dr. Seus book. Apparently there was a man whose quirk let him build anything he imagined (as long as he had the materials). 

As her life began to settle down, she appreciated how calm everything was. The life here was more quiet, not that it was loud in her town, but here everything seemed to move slower. She studied under her grandmother. Her grandmother was her inspiration, she thought all the good this woman has done for so many people only using plants and flowers. Xochi never really thought much about herbology. Her focus was on medicine, it wasn’t until she saw her grandmother heal a man’s pulmonary embolism (a condition in which one or more arteries in the lungs become blocked by a blood clot) by using a combination of turmeric and ginger to help act as blood thinners which help break up the clog. Then applying pressure to the femoral vein in the infraction of the lung. Xochi’s world opened up, she realized how much she needed to learn. She burnt up the midnight oil learning about plants and herbs. She learned that by applying a little of her energy to the herbal medicines or teas, it seems to increase their efficiency and potency.

 The most nerve racking part was treating patients. At first she was nervous, but she remembered what her mother had said and she found a new confidence in herself. One by one she started to treat patients with all sorts of ailments. Her confidence began to skyrocket, she naively thought she was ready for anything. It wasn’t until she met a little girl that had a congenital heart problem. Xochi knew she wouldn’t be able to cure the child, but she could try to ease her pain by blocking the nerves around the heart.  Everyday she would spend around an hour in the morning and afternoon trying to ease the little girl’s pain. She would place her hands at the back and front of her chest and send a miniscule amount of energy to the nerves.

Having more experience with her quirk, she was now able to use it as a form of an echocardiogram. She could tell that the heart was chronically damaged and she wouldn’t simply be able to use her quirk to go in and fix the damaged tissue. For her quirk to work she needed at least some healthy tissue. It was useless to use her quirk on something that could not regenerate itself naturally. She thought of her quirk as cell restoration, she in a way helps cells restore or build themselves with the use of her energy. She sat in her chair going through all her medical books, thinking of a way to help this little girl. But alas she found nothing, at least not without a hospital and a cardiologist. The longer she wrapped her head around it the more she thought that she needed to push herself. “ I can’t completely heal the heart, but if I am at least able to heal the aortic valve, the left ventricle should have more blood flow”. With that in mind, she made a plan, she set out everything she needed. She gathered the plants that would help the little girl relax. Xochi had also learned how to block the nerve signals from the body to the brain-- a sort of anesthesia. With that she practiced over and over how to block the nerves with one hand. Now that she had mastered it, she was ready. She would block the nerve signals with her left hand while her right hand would go in to fix the valve. One of the ways she had learned to use her quirk was projecting her quirk on her finger tips, making them look like spiderwebs shooting out of her finger tips. She was able go directly into the organ without having to cut the patient. Doing this was extremely exhausting, it drained her energy so quickly, so she had to work fast.  When the day came, everything was going according to plan, she was right on schedule. As she began to relax one of the arteries in the valve erupted, causing the blood to block the passage to other parts of the heart. Already exhausted Xochi had to find the bleeding artery and cauterized it as soon as possible. Her breathing became intermittent, she felt herself drained. She kept trying to find the artery, but then she felt a hard strong grip on her shoulder. It was her grandmother. She ignored her and kept looking for the artery, now there was blood everywhere, making it harder for her to see. Sweat was dripping off her by liters, she started to lose sensation in her legs and her finger tips. Then she was yanked off the lifeless body of the little girl. She couldn’t register what had happened. She knew the girl had died, and there it was,  feeling like a monster. 

The next few days Xochi kept going over and over what had happened, she still couldn’t process it. The more she thought about it the more she felt like a monster. Once again her quirk had killed. Nothing passed through her mind except that. Days turned into weeks, she didn’t leave her cottage, she wouldn’t eat. The life in her eyes was gone. Every time she closed her eyes she could see the little girl smiling and laughing, thanking her for making her better. The sound of her thanks resonated in her head like a heavy drum. “ She thank me for saving her and I killed her”. It wasn’t until one sunny afternoon she heard a knock at her door, she had learned that if she ignored them, they would go away. “Who wants to be with a monster?”, I am only going to hurt them”. The knocking did stop “thank god she thought”, looking at the ceiling she didn’t realize someone had opened her door. She left herself being pulled into a hug. It was the little girl’s mother. Xochi couldn’t believe it, to the point that her mind went blank “MONSTER, MONSTER”. Then she felt a soft hand on her cheek, with a broken voice the mother said “ Thank you, you don’t know how happy you made us” without sound Xochi opened her mouth to say “What?”. Her heart felt like it was going to break, but the mother continued “for the last weeks that Lucia was with you, she was able to smile more. We knew she didn’t have long, that’s why we decided to go through with the procedure. No offense, you are so young and talented, but you aren’t God. There is a man where we live that has the ability to see a person’s lifespan. He is old and he says he is never wrong. He told us when Lucia would die. So we came to this village looking for you, because we thought it would give Lucia a pain-free ending, we never intended for you to save. It was selfish of us. We just wanted Lucia to be a kid again. And you gave her that.” Xochi leaned against her chair, speechless. She couldn’t process what was happening. “... You are thanking me, but I...I….”. With a kiss on her forehead, she parted ways. A kiss on the forehead meant a way to say thank you, I hope you stay safe and find happiness. The mother’s words kept sounding on Xochi’s head. She layed down, hugged her pillow and cried herself to sleep. As she was sleeping she remembered her mother’s words “with great power comes great responsibility”. When she woke up she touched the spot where the mother had kissed her. When her fingertips touched her skin, she felt like the anchor was cut off and she was finally able to swim.

This tragedy was the most important moment in Xochi’s life. She learned that her quirk could heal, but you can’t fix something that is not meant to be fixed. It was not only her stamina and energy she had to consider, but also her patients. There was something as too much. She realized that the moment she pushed a little extra on the aorta, it was too much for the little girl’s body. By putting extra energy into a body that is not used to it or has undergone trauma you can offset other things. That’s why the artery burst, the extra energy from her quirk was too much. She also learned that you cannot save every person. She learned that hard truth that every doctor has to face at some point in their lives. She also learned that she needed to learn how to cope with loss. As she was getting ready for the day, she heard a knock… on her ceiling. As she stepped out she was a raven with a letter. It took her a second to process “Ahh that’s right, the old man’s quirk lets him send messenger ravens” As she bent her arm so the raven could rest and she could retrieve the message, she smelled sterilizer “mother”. She undid the note attached to the raven’s black. The note read: “ I heard what happened from your grandma, and oh my sweet daughter how I wish I could give you a hug, but I can’t. To lose patients is the life of a doctor, although it is hard you must learn to look and move forward. Every health physician goes through what you are feeling, a feeling of inadequacy of failure. Remember mija, to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived; this is to have succeeded. You may have not saved her life, but you made her last moments pain-free. I will not tell you to forget about it, you should always remember this feeling. Make this a learning experience and become stronger from it. I love you, take care”. Xicho took her mother’s words to heart, from that day on she learned to be more careful  and she learned the fragility of caring for someone. 

A couple of weeks later Xochi went to visit her parents. She loved to hike, but god damn how she hated using maps, so she didn’t. She practically had to beg one of the elders to escort her down the mountain. She felt so nostalgic, she felt like everything was a little more vivid. She took in her parent’s faces, the small crevices that time was leaving. She ran up to them, hugged them and gave them a kiss on the cheek. Ever since Lucia’s passing, Xochi was more appreciative of what she had. She wanted to hug everyone she knew. She enjoyed the physical contact of hug. After Lucia’s mother hugged her, she realized that a hug can really change someone’s day. Every since then she would greet people with a hug (which was the norm where she lived), but she never let go first. This made for some long hugs, but she realized it was because they needed a hug. And hey, who can say no to a nice warm hug. After hugging her parents for what seemed for hours, they let go of her.

Her father said” Honey, we heard tales of  an elder woman that has a quirk similar to yours”

Xochi’s face grew so bright you could swear that was her quirk, human lightbulb.

“No way?! Really where is she? Can I meet her?”

“Mmm no that’s the thing, she isn’t easy to track down. She is always on the move and doesn’t leave much of a trail. The only proof we have of her is the people who she has helped” said her mother.

“ Fuck-- well then how does that help me?” Xochi asked.

Her father grunted in clear disapproval of her foul language. “ Well there is an organization called the White Lotus that works with her, for her, I am not sure. The point is that they are the ones that lead you to her. Similarly to how your grandmother meets people”

“ Again, okay, that’s nice, but how do I meet her?”

Her mother let out a sigh “ The White Lotus contacted us a few months back, apparently, Medusa, the healer woman wants to take you under her wing. Again your grandmother has very strange connections. She told this Medusa woman of your quirk and she became interested in teaching you”

“ NO fu--- way, that’s great, so when is she coming? Am I going to her? That’s so cool someone with a quirk like mine can help me!”

“Thank you for not cussing, but that’s the thing she said you would have to wait 2 years to train under her. Apparently she is under surveillance or what not from villains. Listen me and your mother know that this is very dangerous, but we also understand that this could really be a great opportunity for you”

“ So I have to wait 2 years, it doesn’t seem too bad, then I could go back to school and officially become a surgeon!”

“Did you purposely ignore the fact that she is being chased by villains”

Xochi stood with her hands in her hips “ Well I better learn to kick ass too”

After a long discussion, they decided that it would be best for Xochi to study under someone that understood her quirk, knowing that it had great potential. With that set, they went to bed.

Xochi tried not to think too much about it since a lot could happen in two years. A week later she set out to the mountains.

Xochi eyes slowly opened as she became irritated by the warm yet bright sunshine hitting her eyes. Waking up was by far the worst part of her day. She missed the soft feel of her pillow against her face. The warm cocoon of blankets she built over night had to be disassembled. Fully awake, staring at the ceiling she pondered if she could just stay in bed all day. That’s when she heard her abuela yell “¡A darle que es mole de olla!” She was never a particularly big fan of her grandma’s idioms. She whispered to herself, “yeah yeah, there’s always a lot of work that needs to be done right away” as she rolled her eyes to no one in particular. 

With a sad goodbye she told her bed “I’ll be back, don’t you worry”. Thinking of being back in bed gave her that extra bit of motivation to get dressed. She always wore simple clothes. Since she worked with dirt all day it made sense to wear earthy- tones. She wore brown pants, they were easy and flexible to move in. She wore a hooded cloak that protected her against the sun. She had to wear wrist braces because pulling those damn Mandrakes was a bitch. Her boots were made of leather, everyone in town had the same pair. They were the one thing in town everyone had in common. Those damn ugly boots were the equivalent of “a little black dress”. 

As she finally set out to get dressed, she stared into the mirror. She had olive-brown skin with large golden-amber eyes. Her eyes regularly reminded her of those scorpion necklaces that tourists always like to buy on their first visit to Mexico. As she looked upon her naked body she saw that she had gained a little more weight, but she didn’t really care. She had a pretty nice hour-glass figure. She wasn’t all skin and bones. Since she worked out, either mountain climbing, running or practicing gymnastics, she had built some muscle on her. She knew that with her quirk she needed to have stamina, so working out became a part of her life. She loved the way she felt after a hard workout. Her family always taught her to be proud of her body. Body-shaming wasn’t really a thing, so she never thought much of her figure. Her parents were pretty liberal when she was growing up. They would tell her that whatever her body was, it was perfect. Because her parents were so open-minded they also talked freely about sex and sexuality. Xochi grew up completely confident in her image and her sexuality. Sex unfortunately had been on hold, as old men weren’t her thing. She found that to relieve her sexual tension, she would just have to work out a little harder.

She had thick-black eyelashes that made her eye color stand out even more. She had plump lips with a naturally pink hue. Then came her hair, it was wild, at times she thought the thing had its own will power. She had thick-wavy hair that swept to her waist. “ To comb or not to comb, that is the question” she squinted at her hair, pounting. With a swift motion of her hand she put the comb away and grabbed her hair band. She put her hair in a messy lower bun. Slathering sunscreen all over her face, she was ready to start her day. 

As she stepped away from her cottage she was greeted with the delicious smell of coffee and bread. Growing up her family had instilled in her the belief that you couldn’t start the day without coffee and bread. As she joined the older villages at the communal table, she noticed a new face. A very short- light skinned woman with a gray bun. She wore a simple blue dress with a pink shawl over her shoulders. She had deep set smile lines that gave her a sense of warmth and welcomeness. Seeing new faces wasn’t a commodity for Xochi, given that with her quirk nearby villagers always sought her out for help. However this nice-looking lady was definitely not from around here. As she sat at the table, she kept feeling like this lady was staring at her as she dunked her bread in her coffee.So Xochi starred back and offered her coffee soaked bread to the old woman, which made the old lady laugh. She then proceeded to introduce herself. 

“ Hello young lady, my name is Chiyo Shuzenji. I am an old friend of your grandma’s” She said in Spanish.  

 “ I am Xochiquetzal de la Luna, nice to meet you”, which she returned with a kind smile. Xochi was honestly not surprised that her grandmother had a Japanese friend, when she was younger she travelled all around learning about different plants from different countries. Which is why she was so insistent on her dad learning multiple languages. Which then caused a rippled effect, her dad made her and her brother study English, Japanese, Aztec and of coarse Spanish. They were a multi-language family. Most of the time they either spoke Spanish or English. Xochi thought about her rusty, never used Japanese and Aztec. She was brought back to earth from her thoughts, when her grandmother spoke in Japanese “ You see, Chiyo here is a pro-hero with a healing quirk. Most of the time she stays in Japan, however there are times like these that she travels around the world, helping others”. Xochi tried to recall her Japanese lessons, listening was easier than speaking it, and writing and reading  were almost impossible. She knew heroes existed, but she never paid much attention to any of them. Since her town was so peaceful, crime was never really a problem. Of course she knew that being a hero was a job, but again it didn’t really seem to interest her. She was more focused on healing others, or really anything else, just not heroes. 

“That’s nice” was all she could say.

“ My pro-hero name is Recovery Girl, I help heroes when they get hurt fighting villains” RG

“ How does your healing quirk work?” asked Xochi.

“ Well, you see I can accelerate the natural healing process with a kiss. The thing is that I am able to control how much healing they receive, in order to prevent them from feeling fatigue. From what your grandmother has told me, your quirk can heal as well. But you see with my quirk, it is dependent on the life energy of the recipient. The literal opposite of yours. Mary (Xochi’s grandmother) has also told me that your quirk has great potential, you just need a little more experience.”

Xochi just nods her head, unsure of what to say, unsure of where this is going. She is intrigued by the fact that Ms. Shuzenji can control the amount of healing she can do.

Recovery Girl goes on “ Mary also told me that you have already finished your BS, that’s quite the feat for someone so young. She also told me that you been an excellent student and have already mastered the herbology and treated a few of your own patients”

“ I am not sure where you are going with this lady, I would rather you just get to the point” Xochi said impatiently.

Recovery Girl laughed, “ I see you're as impatient as Mary. Yes, let’s get to the point. I want you to come to Japan with me and work for me” As soon as she said that Xochi began to interrupt “oh thank you, but you see---” 

“Oh yes Medusa, I know she is going to train you in two years. I actually think that’s a wonderful idea, her quirk is very similar to yours, I really do think she will be able to help you. But in the mean time, why don’t you come with me. You could also enroll in a University to help you with your studies”

“Well first of all, I am starting to think you guys are all in some secret illuminati society, since you all know each other, but yet no one seems to know about you. And second when do we leave?”

[binboozlebob]

Present, Past, Future

THE DAY HE COMES BACK

Incheon Airport looks different the moment Wonpil lands his foot on the ground. Probably the new structure of the building? Or is that new burger chain restaurant? He is not sure anymore, but the only thing he is sure for now is, he is finally back.

To be honest, Wonpil is anxious to be back home. It's been too long. It's long enough for him to forget how it feels like to be Korean. Italy had changed him to a completely different person. Nonetheless, he is still excited. He is finally able to see his family again not through phone screen.

He is walking slowly to claim his luggage and queue for a taxi. Thank God, he doesn't forget his mother language after staying abroad, so he doesn't find any hassle in catching a taxi. The taxi drives through the busy street of Seoul and all the skyscrapers flashing in front of him. They look so different from the last time he saw it. He doesn't exactly remember how it was, but seeing his hometown again after a really long time feels strange.

His mind wanders to the reason why he left. Why he sacrificed his family for living alone somewhere far away instead. He wanted to make peace with himself. He wanted to be able to accept and love himself first. When he finally found his inner peace after thirteen years, that’s also when he decided to go home for good.

The trip doesn't really take a long time though. He doesn’t realize he has reached his destination in twenty minutes. After saying thanks to the driver and taking his luggage from the trunk, he pulls it to a front door of a house. The house isn't too big, but it radiates warm energy. It's not only a house for Wonpil, it's a home that he misses the most.

He knocks on the door but no one answers it at first. He knows it will happen since he doesn't tell anyone he will come home. He knocks again when a middle aged woman appears from the house.

“Who— Oh my God, my son!” the woman hugs him immediately. Her hug is tight and Wonpil can feel his shoulder is getting wet from his mother's tear. It makes him cry too.

“Why don't you tell me that you will come back, Wonpil?” his mother pats him on his cheeks and inspects his face, cannot believe that her son is finally here.

“To surprise you?”

“What kind of surprise is this? I haven't cook anything for you and you look so skinny”

“Mom...” he whines, “but yeah, I lost some weight while living in Milan. There's no delicious food there and I need to be on a strict diet for my job.”

“Come here, I will cook you a lot of food then,” she says while opening the door wider so Wonpil can pass through it with his big luggage. She disappears to the kitchen then, probably preparing meals for him.

While everything in Seoul seems to change, his home stays the same. The wallpaper, the floor, even the furniture are still the same like the last time he was there. God, he really misses this. It's not like Wonpil never called his family in the last thirteen years. He called, but everything is different when he's actually there.

Wonpil is too immersed in his own nostalgia, he doesn't hear small steps coming from the bathroom.

“Grandma, where are you? We haven't washed our hands yet!”

A small boy, probably 7 years old, is running in his house and suddenly stops in front of his face, he looks scared like he sees a stranger. Well, he is indeed a stranger in his own house.

“GRANDMA! THERE'S A WEIRD AHJUSSI HERE!” he screams and walks slowly to the corner of the room.

“I'm not weird ahjussi, Dowoon-ah”

“Who are you then? Why do you know my name?”

“I'm Uncle Wonpil, you don't remember?” he speaks with a fake hurt tone.

“Uncle Wonpil? Mom's brother?”

“Yeah, he is your mom's brother,” his mother comes back from the kitchen, probably remembering that his grandson was still in the bathroom before.

“Grandma, why did you leave me suddenly? We haven't finished washing hands”

“I know, Grandma is sorry. But I heard the knocking on our door so I opened it and Uncle Wonpil was there. I think I was too excited so I forgot you,” she chuckles while pinching the chubby cheeks of Dowoon. “I will continue cooking and you will wash your hands with Uncle Wonpil, okay?”

The little kid only gives a small nod and walks to the bathroom. Wonpil follows him and helps him to stand near the sink.

“Are you really Uncle Wonpil?” Dowoon asks. His eyes are skeptical and Wonpil wants to laugh.

“Of course I'm Uncle Wonpil! Why do you keep asking that?”

Dowoon only shrugs. He doesn't ask anymore and wash his hands in silence. After they finish with their hands, Wonpil comes to the kitchen while Dowoon sprints off to somewhere in their house.

In the small amount of time, his mom manages to cook so many dishes and it makes his stomach growl. “Eat a lot,” she says and Wonpil doesn't need to be told to inhale all those food. He almost tears up again because he really misses his mom's cooking.

Later that night, he surprises the rest of the family. To say they are shocked when Wonpil appears for his bedroom is understatement. His father hugs him immediately, telling him that he is proud of Wonpil for finishing his college and surviving alone in another country while his older sister messes his hair and pinch his cheeks, saying she misses his annoying little brother.

He catches up with the whole family while eating dinner. From the conversation, he knows that his father started to have interest in gardening so he planted a lot of things in their small garden in front of the house. His older sister got promoted not long after she gave birth to Dowoon and Wonpil says sorry because he couldn't go home for her labour. His brother-in-law was moved to another branch of his company, it's a little bit further so he is stressed with the traffic jam every day. It's also the reason why he isn't there. And Dowoon, well he says he made rocketship in his class.

Wonpil sees his family chatting happily and he is glad he makes the right decision to come back home and stay here.

---

THE DAY HE REMINISCES

He tries to sleep that night but he can't. He doesn't know whether it's because jet lag or the heaviness in his heart. Yes, he is glad he is at home with his family, but there's an unsettling feeling inside. His thought flies away to the reason why he left this country thirteen years ago and a question suddenly pops in his head, “what if he meets him again?”

Funny enough, the reason why he applied for that scholarship in the first place was to avoid this city. No, he didn't hate Seoul, nor have problems with his family. He only wanted to avoid this particular person because he knew, everywhere he went, if it's still in Seoul, there's a slight chance that he would meet him and he didn't want that.

Now he is back for good, there's possibility that he will meet him somewhere, someday. He is not sure if he will be ready or not. He only hopes he will.

Since the sleepiness doesn't come anyway, he decides to take a midnight walk to get some fresh air. He wears his coat and leaves his house to any places where his feet bring.

It ends up in an empty park near their high school. A pair of familiar swings welcome him. The swings are still the same but the paint is already worn off and it's rusty. The saddles also remain the same although it's a little bit dirty and old.

He sits in one of the swings and swinging lightly. A wave of memories suddenly come crashing and it takes him to thirteen years ago, to a boy named Park Sungjin, the Busan guy who sat beside him for three years of high school. His seatmate who had allergy for his aegyo but actually cared a lot. The one who played guitar and had a sweet voice.

Also Park Sungjin, the guy that he tries to avoid the most. The guy behind the reason why he took the scholarship to a strange land. His only crush but also the one who broke his heart because he likes girls and Wonpil is not a girl.

He sighs, Park Sungjin, how is he doing right now?

The sky is so pretty that night, he looks it up and he remembers clearly what happened years ago in this place.

###

It was also late night when he walked home with Sungjin from the music store where they used to hang out to play the instrument. It was a good day, at least for Wonpil because he didn't have to hear Sungjin talking about his crush all the time.

But the good day had come to an end in the worst way.

They were in the middle of talking about the guitar that Sungjin played at the store, the one he said he wanted to buy it, when suddenly Sungjin's steps came to halt. Wonpil didn't know what made him stop until he was following Sungjin's sight.

Sungjin was looking at this swing, the exact same swing that Wonpil is currently sitting in the present time, but his eyes fixed on someone. It was the girl, his long time crush. She was talking with Younghyun, the loner of the class. From Wonpil's eyes, they seemed talking animatedly, which was weird because Younghyun never talked to anyone at school.

When Wonpil looked at Sungjin's face, his mood turned somber. There's no longer happy Sungjin like few minutes ago. A mixture of pain, sadness, and disappointment appeared clearly on his face.

And it was hurting Wonpil all over again. Sungjin deserved someone better than her, someone that truly cared about him. If Wonpil could be selfish, he wished Sungjin would look at him instead like they way he looked at the girl. Wonpil wanted to know how it felt like to be that girl. To be someone that could make Sungjin's heart flutter and the only thing he's talking about all the time.

He took a deep sigh and put his ego aside. He should be the best friend that Sungjin needed. After all, Sungjin still needed him even though not in a way that Wonpil needed him.

“You are done mopping?” he walked closer to Sungjin. His sudden existence surprised him and burst out his bubble.

“Yeah, let's go home,” they continued their walk in silence. At first, Wonpil tried to make a conversation so it wouldn't be awkward, but Sungjin only answered him in short sentences. Therefore, Wonpil stopped trying and Sungjin didn't say anything afterwards.

Their great day had ended and Wonpil remembers it as an awful memory.

###

A strong blow of wind makes Wonpil shivers. He tightens his coat and smiles bitterly. He was a fool who used to wish he could heal Sungjin's pain. However, being his best friend was even worse because along the way, he got hurt instead.

Wonpil gets up from the swing. He doesn't want to be drowned in painful memory anymore. He continues his midnight walk to somewhere that won't hurt him.

He walks through a small mini market, cafe, and arcade where he used to spend his time after school. Everything remains the same, maybe there are some slight changes that go unnoticed by Wonpil, but he doesn't really care.

His feet bring him further until they stop at the end of the bridge that connects to another neighborhood. He looks straight and all his defenses crumble. This place is the hardest.

He takes a deep breath, walks in small steps until he reaches the middle part of the bridge. Then, he leans himself on the railing. He tries to look under the bridge, wondering if the small river is still the same or not, but he cannot see anything since it passed midnight.

The memory is still vivid in his mind even after thirteen years. The last moment they spent together on the bridge, a place where they used to meet for 'emergency' situations.

###

Sungjin was late at that time but Wonpil didn't really care because he had something more important to tell. He was panicking inside.

“Sorry, I'm late,” he said while leaning on the railing. His elbow knocked on Wonpil's and it made him jump a little.

“It's okay.”

There was only silence lingering around them. The air was heavy but none of them tried to break it off. Sungjin was waiting for Wonpil to speak but he was too scared that it would lead to something bad.

Wonpil gathered up his courage and gave him the little bunny keychain from the night before. His palm opened up and Sungjin took it. He was looking at it with a sad smile on his face, the memory of last night came flashing.

“I was rejected you know. I mean, I've seen it coming. I've seen the way she was looking at Younghyun and I knew I had no chance. But I still did it anyway,” he let out a small chuckle, “I just... I didn't want to regret if I never confessed to her. I'm a fool, right, Pil?”

“No, you are not. Because if you are fool, I am too.”

Sungjin looked at him puzzled as he waited for Wonpil to continue his talk. He couldn't look at Sungjin, too afraid that he would undo his plan because he was too coward.

He took a deep breath and let it out. Here goes nothing.

“I like you. I like you more than as best friend or brother. I like you the way you like her,”

From the corner of his eye, he could see Sungjin opened up his mouth to say something. So he continued, stopping Sungjin from saying anything that potentially could hurt him more than this.

“You don't have to answer it. I know you don't feel the same way. Like you said, I don't want to regret never telling you my feelings.”

He finally looked at Sungjin. His face was full of confusion, but there's no disgust there and it made Wonpil a little bit relieved.

“I... I'm sorry, Wonpil”

“It's okay, I'll be fine,” he put a fake smile on his face to cover the sadness he felt inside, “I'll be going home first, okay. Take care!”

He straightened himself out of the railing and walked away from the bridge. Leaving the boy whom he just confessed drowning in his own bewilderment.

The next day, Wonpil left the country without telling goodbye to Sungjin.

###

He doesn't know why he sighs over that memory, but it's still hurting him as if it's a fresh wound that just happened yesterday.

The fact that he is still longing for Sungjin irks him. Even after all these years, when he thought he would finally be able to move on from him, he cannot do that.

And if someone asks him whether he has made a peace with himself or not, the answer is actually no.

His heart remains the same, it's aching for Sungjin.

---

THE DAY THEY MEET

It has been 6 months and Wonpil has settled in Seoul. He got a stable job as a model that paid him well. He moved to a small studio apartment in the heart of Gangnam. The most important thing, he didn't meet Sungjin at all.

He thinks maybe, just maybe, Sungjin moved back to Busan after they graduated and settled there. He is thankful if he really did that.

His life is almost perfect until he gets a homecoming invitation from Jae, his former classmate. He is contemplating whether he will come or not. He really wants to come but he is afraid that he will meet Sungjin.

After a long consideration, he decides to come. It's time for him to stop avoiding his problem and face the small fear inside of him instead.

The homecoming takes place in a restaurant around Itaewon. He comes a little bit late because a magazine photo shoot holds him for a while. When he arrived, he could see almost all of his classmates are there, except one person. It actually eases his worry.

It's all fun until a familiar figure enters the restaurant in the middle of the event. He is late again.

Wonpil recognizes him, though. Even after all these years, he still knows the owner of that broad back. The back he used to hug only to annoy him.

“Oy, Park Sungjin, you are late!” someone shouts from the crowd.

“I'm sorry, but the traffic jam is the worst,” he lets out a small laugh while scratching the back of his neck.

God, his laugh is still the same. It's blaring with a hint of playfulness in it. His habit of scratching his neck when he feels embarrassed also remains the same. He doesn't change at all.

Wonpil doesn't realize he is staring at Sungjin, but when he is awake from his trance, the said guy was also looking at him. He cannot read Sungjin's face, but there's a really tiny smile in the corner of his lips.

During the homecoming, Wonpil doesn't talk to Sungjin. He tries to make himself invisible and avoid any conversation. He only needs to survive until the end of this event.

When everyone is ready to go home, someone taps his shoulder and somehow it makes him anxious. His stomach churns and his palms turn clammy. He prepares himself for the worst. He turns his back and sees Sungjin is standing right behind him.

“Can we talk?” It's a simple question and Wonpil can make any fake excuses not to talk to him.

But here he is, in the small stairs beside the restaurant with Sungjin. The air around them reminds him of what happened thirteen years ago, of all the things that better be remain unsaid.

“You never tell me why did you move back then. Heck, I didn't even know you got a scholarship in Italy until I saw your Instagram post,” he sounds upset, but Wonpil cannot blame him though. He left so suddenly without warning.

“You know the reason, Sungjin. It's complicated. I just... I wanna make peace with myself at that time.”

“How's Milan, then?” he suddenly turns their conversation to something lighter. Something that doesn't remind them about the last time they meet.

He sighs, “It was good. The city was beautiful. The food was okay even though it's not as good as Korean food. How's yours?”

“Never been better,” there's a proud smile on his face. He seems like he wants to elaborate further when his phone suddenly rings. Sungjin picks up his phone and suddenly there's a voice of a little girl jarring from the call.

“Dad, where are you? Why is it so dark? I cannot see your face!”

“Dad is outside with his friend. It's dark because the lighting is dim, sweetie.”

This side of Sungjin is foreign to Wonpil. It's totally different. Sungjin never talks to someone this sweetly before and it's a surprise for him to see the soft side of Sungjin.

What's shocking the most is how Sungjin addresses himself as 'dad'. His mind cannot catch up with this new information. It's short circuited until he realizes there's Sungjin's phone in front of his face.

“Eunji-ya, say hi to Uncle Wonpil. He is dad's best friend from high school,” Sungjin says excitedly.

Wonpil wants to scoff but when he sees the screen, there's a cute little girl around 3 years old smiling at him. He doesn't have the heart to do so.

“Hello, Uncle Wonpil!”

“Umm... Hi, Eunji-ya?” he says awkwardly. At this point, he is not sure what to feel anymore. His heart is a mess and he wants to go home right now.

“Dad, when will you go home? I'm sleepy while waiting for you”

“Dad will be home soon! I will talk to you later, okay?”

“Alright! Love you, Dad!”

“Love you too, Park Eunji,” he blows a kiss for his daughter before hanging up the call.

“Hey, Pil, I'm sorry, I need to go home now. My daughter is waiting. We gotta catch up someday. See you soon!” he says abruptly.

He sees Sungjin makes a little run to the parking lot without waiting for his reply. The same thing he did thirteen years ago in the bridge when he left him.

He scoffs for real this time. Who is he kidding for holding on to the same silly hope.

While everything changes, one thing still remains. Sungjin would never be his. Not in the past, not in the present, not in the future.

[therealcalicali]

CLOSER TO ME: CHAPTER 10

Synopsis: Upon moving to a new city,  the Reader crosses paths with Ivar, Hvitserk and the rest of the Lothbrok clan. Since her own life is already filled with internal demons from a strict upbringing, their introduction into her life only adds to the drama. As things progress, Reader discovers that there is more to her interactions with Ivar and Hvisterk than meets the eye.

Chapter 10 Warnings:  Angst, Foreplay, Sex, Smut, Threats and Fluff

Word Count: 10,344        

Setting: Modern Vikings

Genre: Romance/Drama                  

Pairing: Ivar x Reader x Hvitserk (Love Triangle)

Closer To Me: Prologue

Closer to Me: Chapter 1

Closer to Me: Chapter 2

Closer to Me: Chapter 3

Closer to Me: Chapter 4

Closer to Me: Chapter 5

Closer to Me: Chapter 7

Closer to Me: Chapter 8

Closer to Me: Chapter 9

___________________________

Nearly two and a half weeks later, you found yourself living with the boys at Ubbe and Bjorn's beach-side mansion. Though you spent time with them when you could, all of you had busy schedules. Especially Hvitserk who had decided to take Alfred's offer to work as a Talent Agent for LMG Records. Because of the job requirements, he and Sigurd traveled allot and had to attend many functions. Which of course meant, you saw him even less than you saw Ivar. But you didn't mind. After all, you were busy yourself. 

You had received great news from Tata Vega before moving back to town. He loved the digitals of your artwork and had commissioned five pieces to be unveiled at an exhibit at his new Gallery in Italy.

No one could have been happier than you were, with the exception of Alfred of course. Your shy friend was proud of how far you had come. He stated that you had gone from an introverted waitress to the potential new darling of the Art world. Of course it was all due to his help. A fact that you reminded him of every chance you got. Truly, Alfred was very dear to your heart.

As for your parents, your father and you were on great terms despite you deciding to leave home again. Your mother on the other hand, not so much. She was not only upset about the entire Evan breakup but she hated Ivar. Your father had invited them to dine with you guys at the house a few times. Despite you telling your parents that they were your friends, your mother didn't believe you. She insisted that she knew something was going on between you and the younger Ragnarsson.

Out of the two brother's she disliked him the most. Because of this, the two of them made snide remarks to each other often. But, at least she had dropped the issue of their family's past. Most likely due to her conversations with Hvitserk and how well behaved he was. It didn't hurt that she had also verified their family's net worth online. Typical! Your mother had a thing for affluent people and the Lothbroks were filthy rich.

As you worked on your latest piece while listening to classical music, Ivar entered. 

Unlike Hvitserk, he hadn't taken a regular job at any of the family businesses. Instead, he chose to work on assignments whenever he saw fit.

"Hey mus." He said as he turned down the volume on the speakers. "Let's go grab some lunch together."

"I thought you were going to pick up Bjorn and Folaki from the airport."

"Yeah. But they decided to do a stop in Sweden. It seems that your friend has my brother wrapped around her finger." He said chuckling. "Do you know he told me that he's been looking at engagement rings?"

You shrieked at the news despite knowing you couldn't say anything to her about it. Their relationship was truly a whirlwind romance. After only a few months together, even you could see that Folaki's wild ways were behind her. Which was surprising since she had always insisted that monogamy made no sense.

"Don't you think it's good? Them settling down, I mean." Ivar asked as he sat behind you and watched the brush glide against the canvas.

"Of course I do. They really seem to adore each other. I just hope Bjorn lets us be there when he pops the question. She's going to freak, I swear."

As you imagined Folaki's reaction, you laughed to yourself. Ivar on the other hand, was silent as he observed you. For some reason, he seemed to be in a serious mood on this particular day. However, you chalked it up to the fact he woke up very early that morning to host business partners for his dad.

"Mus…..we should get married."

"Who? You, me and Hvitserk?" You asked with a laugh.

Ivar scowled as he stared at you. Feeling his eyes, you glanced over your shoulder, surprised that he now appeared angry.

"Baby, why are you so upset?"

"You! I'm trying to talk about something serious and you're making fun of me."

"I'm not making fun of you. I thought you were joking around."

And just like that, Ivar began a tirade. He first stated that he didn't like the fact you always took his real emotions for granted. As he paced the room, you tried to paint while you listened to him, but he was far too distracting. Setting your brushes and palette down, you turned to face him. You listened attentively and finally, Ivar admitted that he hated sharing you.

"I don't know how they did it. He, Sigurd and Ubbe. But I………..I don't know. Maybe I'm just different. I'm finding it hard to watch you with Hvitty."

"But Ivar, you're the one who suggested it in the first place."

"So what? That doesn't mean anything. Just because I thought something was okay at first, doesn't mean I can't change my mind."

You sighed. What did he want you to do exactly? You adored Hvitserk and couldn't see yourself dumping him for any reason. If anything, Ivar was the one you could possibly see yourself breaking up with. Not that you wanted to do that either. Despite his hot temper, you cared deeply about him too. And though he argued with you often and started fights whenever you went out, your relationship was strong.

"I don’t know what to say." You confessed.

"Just say you'll be with me. Me and no one else."

Your jaw clenched as you looked at him. Ivar was putting you on the spot and you had no clue how to respond.

"Baby, I……I can't do that. I love Hvitty too."

Ivar stared at you as if you had shot him in the heart. For a brief second, you thought he was going to flip your art supplies and paintings over. His blue eyes were dark and full of rage as he stood up and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

Wanting to get far away from the mansion, Ivar went for a stroll on the boardwalk to clear his head. He didn't understand why you were being so difficult. As he stood by the water, he felt his eyes well with tears. Rubbing his face, he tried to figure out whether the relationship between the two of could go on or not.

_____________

Ivar didn't come return home until the later in the evening. During the time he was gone, you were able to finish your painting as well as run a few errands. As you were busily making dinner in the kitchen, Ubbe came in, tired from a long day at work.

"Oh. Another hot meal?" He said as he stood in the kitchen doorway. "You're spoiling us. It's like having our mom here."

"Well, then "son" go and freshen up. The food should be ready in about an hour."

Ubbe smiled before leaving for his room. While you were setting the timer for the roasted Cornish hens, you felt arms wrap around your waist. Since Ivar was mad at you, you had hoped it was him. However, it turned out to be Hvitserk, looking smart in his black suit.

"Hey baby." You said before planting a big kiss on his lips. "How was your day?"

"I'm not going to lie. It was pretty freakin great. I didn't spend allot of time in the office since I had a business luncheon with a certain megastar and her team. She wants to collab with one of our newest rappers."

"Wow! Who is it?"

"I'll give you a hint. She's a Queen with her own hive." He said with a wink.

You nearly jumped out of your skin at the thought of meeting Beyoncé if things worked out. As he told you more about the meeting, you began cutting avocados for the salad. Hvitserk's face lit up when he mentioned how beautiful she was in person.

"No offense, of course."

"Hvitty, this is Beyoncé you're talking about. I would kill you if you didn't find her attractive."

Hvitserk smiled at your response before taking a sip of water.

As the two of you talked about his upcoming trip to New York with Sigurd, Ivar walked into the kitchen. He went straight to the fridge without saying a word to either of you.

"Hey. How's it going?" Hvitserk asked.

Shrugging his shoulders, Ivar opened one of the cabinets and took out a glass. Typically, his moodiness didn't last too long. However, this time, it appeared that Ivar was really angry with you. As he poured himself some orange juice, you and Hvitserk glanced at each other.

"Baby, dinner will be ready in an hour." You said. "Just thought you would like to know."

"Keep your food Y/N. I'm going out."

You sighed before you turned your attention back to the avocados. Naturally, Hvitserk wanted to know what was going on. When he asked Ivar if everything was alright, he chuckled.

"Everything's great. You see, Y/N and I came to an understanding about some things."

"What understanding?" A curious Hvitserk asked.

"That sharing is fine. Which of course means that I can bring home any girl I want."

You rolled your eyes as you checked the timer. Despite the fact that he was exaggerating things said during your conversation, you were in no mood to argue. If he wanted another girl, you would keep your mouth shut.

"Why aren't you saying anything? Ivar suddenly asked.

"What do you want me to say?"

Ivar glared at you before putting the orange juice back in the fridge. He then leaned on the island and stared at you, causing you to become uncomfortable.

"I see you guys had another fight while I was at work." Hvitserk said as he loosened his tie. "Ivar, whatever it is, just stop."

"Shut up, Hvitty! You always do this. It's none of your business. It's between Y/N and I. Right?"

"Whatever you say, Ivar." You said halfheartedly.

As you continued washing vegetables, Ivar grew angrier.

"Say something!" He demanded.

"You know what? Just go out with your friends, alright. Have fun."

"What did you just say?"

"I said, have fun. If you meet someone….good for you."

Ivar rushed from where he was and was instantly beside you. As he roughly grabbed hold of your wrist that held a tomato in the sink, your heart raced. He pressed his forehead against the side of your head aggressively and asked you to repeat yourself.

"Ivar!" Hvitserk said, standing from where he was.

Ignoring his elder brother, Ivar squeezed your wrist harder causing you to wince.

"You're hurting me."

"You better watch how you talk to me Y/N. I've told you before, I'm not Hvitty."

He then let go of your wrist but kept standing at your side. You could feel his breath against your cheek as you tried to wash the tomato again.

"Since you don’t care about me anymore, when I go out tonight, I'll do as you suggested."

"Seriously! Just stop it already." Hvitserk said as he pushed Ivar away from you.

Ivar's blue eyes never left you as he bit his bottom lip in anger. He then demanded that you look at him, but you totally refused. You were in no mood to fight especially with Ubbe being home. Though you didn't like hurting Ivar, you had to resist being pulled into his madness.

"Mus! Open your fucking mouth and say something." Ivar commanded as Hvitserk stood between the two of you.

Despite his increased anger, you kept ignoring him. When he was like this, there was no point in engaging him. It only led to more confrontation and you had learned quickly that silence was golden. Ivar eyed you for what seemed like an eternity before storming out of the kitchen. As he made his way down the hallway, the two of you could hear him kick something and punch the wall.

"It's alright, Y/N. My brother's a very angry person sometimes." Hvitserk said as he wrapped his arms around you.

You loved the fact that he was doing his best to reassure you. But as you embraced Hvitserk, you wondered if you were the one actually making Ivar worse.

_________________

As you and Hvitserk stood in the living room chatting as you waited for Ubbe, Ivar stood in the doorway. 

Not that he said anything to either of you. No. He just stood there hate-watching you in an attempt to make you feel guilty. Naturally, you chose to ignore him and focus on your conversation with Hvitserk. After growing tired of you ignoring him, he finally left to meet his friends at the bar while you were busily setting the table

You ate dinner with Hvitserk and Ubbe, glad that there was finally some peace in the house. While the three of you sat at the dining table, you had a chance to catch up with Ryan. Since your brother had a spring break coming, he told you that he would accompany you to Italy. He shocked you by saying your parents were trying to get time off to surprise you. As much as they hated you choosing such an "odd" career, they were slowly warming up to it.

Of course it helped that you told them that Tata Vega had made you a protégé. After all, even people who hated Art knew who he was. The man was just that famous. After speaking to your little brother, you also managed to text with Alfred for a while. Towards the end of your conversation, he mentioned something about a surprise coming for you but stated that he couldn't reveal it yet.

After you were all done eating, Ubbe helped you clean up before turning in for the night. Finally alone, you and Hvitserk settled on the couch and put on a horror flick. As the two of you enjoyed the movie, Ivar was across town standing outside of a local bar with some friends.

As he drank with them, he laughed and carried on as if he was totally fine. However, deep down, he was dying to talk to you. Looking at his cell phone, he hoped that you had sent a text. But when he saw that there wasn't one, he put it in his pocket. One of his friends noticed that he had taken his phone out for the third time and asked if he was expecting a call.

"Not really. I'm just making sure my battery is good."

Another friend suddenly suggested that they go to a nightclub. Despite not really wanting to go, Ivar said he was game. When a group of women passed by, they all dared him to get one of their numbers. Ivar looked in their direction first, before asking how much money was on the line.

"Fifty bucks. But you have to get the tall brunette's number. She looks the most conceited out of all of them." His friend said.

“Don’t be so cheap you peace of shit. One hundred.”

“Fine. A hundred it is asshole.”

Ivar smirked before handing his beer to one of his buddies. He then did an exaggerated bow to his them before running off to catch up to the women. Meanwhile at home, you and Hvitserk were happily spending quality time with each other. As you now sat in the hot tub, you gazed into each other's eyes. If it were possible to see love in someone's eyes, you could definitely see them in his. Hvitserk sensually brushed his lips against your own before parting them in a tender kiss.

"Have I told you how proud I am of you?"

"Like a million time." You replied with a smile.

"Seriously. So many people just give in. I'm glad you're going for your dreams no matter what."

"Well, it's all thanks to Alfred. Without him pushing me, I wouldn't be where I am. He's such a sweetheart."

"Yeah. But not as sweet as you." Hvitserk said before kissing you again passionately.

After breaking the kiss, he slapped you on the ass and said you guys should head to his room.

________________

In the bedroom, Hvitserk put on his playlist of romantic R&B songs to set the mood. After dimming the lights, he slow danced with you for a while before laying you on the bed.

"You're too much." You said with a smile as he gave you opened mouthed kisses on your neck.

With a flirtatious smirk, he gently separated your legs with his body.

"Hvitty?"

"I'm listening babe."

"I…….I think I’ve fallen in love with you." You said shyly.

Hvitserk smirked before pressing his soft lips to your own. As he took mouth from yours, he looked into your eyes, almost amused at how nervous you looked.

"Well, I hope so. Because I've fallen in love with you, min beskedne."

You pulled him into a kiss that left you both breathless before reaching down between your bodies. 

When you took hold of his hardened member and pressed it against your entrance, Hvitserk smacked you hand away. He gave you a devilish smirk before dragging his tongue down your stomach all the way to your mound. As you tried to sit up on your elbows, he pushed you back down.

"Relax, Y/N."

"But----"

Hvitserk told you to lay down before reaching into the nightstand. When he pulled out a pair of pink handcuffs, you raised a brow and giggled.

"Look what Daddy's got. " He said, swinging them on his finger. "I bought these just for you."

"Daddy? No way."

"Yes, way. You have to call me Daddy or I'm going to do some spanking."

"You're crazy."

"Who's crazy?" Hvitserk asked with a smirk.

"You are.............Daddy."

"Good girl." He said before rolling you over and giving you a hard smack on the ass.

"Fine! I'll call you Daddy but I don't want to be cuffed."

"Be quiet. Daddy's in charge now."

Ignoring your protests, he began cuffing you to the headboard. As he did, you couldn't help laughing despite your initial apprehension. When your hands were finally secured above your head, he positioned himself between your legs again.

You felt his fingers gliding up and down your entrance as he teased you with his eyes. When your hips bucked at his touch, Hvitserk pushed your hips down firmly. With a wink, he bent his head down. Your eyes shut as you felt the warmth of his tongue slowly trail along your sensitive flesh. The tingle nearly caused you to close your legs but Hvitserk's arms were strong. He held your thighs open as he started licking in circles, teasing your clit.

"Baby....yes." You murmured, as your back arched off the bed.

Out of the blue, you felt a hard slap against your thigh.

"What did I say, Y/N?" Hvitserk asked as he lifted his head.

"It feels good, Daddy."

"That's better."

Hvitserk bent back down and dragged his tongue over your entire entrance. When he curled the tip of his tongue on your clit, you cried out. Enjoying your reactions, he pulled the sensitive flesh into his mouth and gently sucked on it. Your cries grew louder as your body jerked uncontrollably. You wanted to grab hold of his head badly, but couldn't. Your hands were firmly cuffed and there was no budging them.

"Hvitty!"

Since you broke the rules, he slapped the side of your thigh again. Only this time, much harder than before.

"What did I tell you, Y/N?"

"Daddy."

"That's better."

As he placed his hot mouth back on your pussy again you moaned. Suddenly, your cell phone rang. It rang until the call was eventually sent to voicemail. But not even a second later, it rang several more times as if someone was urgently trying to get a hold of you. Though didn't want to, you asked Hvitserk to check who was calling. You just couldn't enjoy yourself if you didn't know who was trying to reach you. For all you knew, it could have been a family emergency. Fortunately, it wasn't. Hvitserk scoffed as he looked at the screen.

"It's Ivar."

"Just turn it off."

Doing as you asked, he tossed the phone back onto the nightstand. Hvitserk then got the key for the handcuffs and freed your hands.

"I can't take not having you touch me." He said with a wink.

Crawling on top of you, his hands roamed over your breasts as he peppered kisses over them. While he was sucking on your nipples, you wrapped your legs around his waist tightly. Quite aroused, Hvitserk took hold of his cock and began pressing his tip against your wet entrance.

"Are you ready for Daddy to give it to you?"

When you remained silent and raised your hips, he playfully slapped your cheek. Grabbing you forcefully by the jaw, he titled your face toward his.

"I said, are you ready? If you don't answer, I'll have to slap you again."

"Yes, Daddy."You whispered.

Without hesitation, he slowly eased himself into you, watching as your eyes shut and teeth clenched. He grunted as he felt the warmth of your tightness around his member.

"Y/N." He moaned before burying his face against your neck.

While he rested with his pelvis flush against your own, you began to rotate your hips. You could feel hot air against your neck as his breathing became erratic. You continued moving your hips, until Hvitserk finally began meeting you with his own thrusts. At first he moved at a fast pace but then slowed - thrusting deeply each time. As he kissed you, his grunts escaped into your mouth as he pressed your hips into the mattress.

"Don't stop." Hvitserk muttered as his lips grazed yours.

As he quickened his thrusts, you wrapped your arms around his neck. Your bodies moved in unison, as the euphoric high of your lovemaking increased. Hvitserk followed the motions of your hips, resisting the urge to begin pounding into you. It was an excruciating pace but he wanted to please you. But as you began to grind against him faster, the friction caused him to lose control. Hvitserk began thrusting hard as held your hips. You raked your nails on his back as you cried out in pleasure.

The sound of flesh hitting flesh began to echo in the bedroom, almost drowning out the music. After a few minutes of him pounding you at an unrelenting pace, Hvitserk grunted as his cock twitched. He lifted you off the bed as he straddled you around his waist. He supported you while bouncing you on his cock as he came inside you.

"Oh shit!" He grunted.

You soon followed, shaking and losing strength instantly. As your orgasm began, the heat created by the two of you grinding against each other made your bodies glisten.

"Hvitty..................yes." You muttered, holding onto his sweaty neck.

He continued to support you while you rode him, circling your hips. When you finally collapsed against his chest, Hvitserk guided you onto your back gently. He cradled you in his arms as you both lay in silence as if you were the only people in the world.

__________________

As Hvitserk slept beside you, he stirred in his sleep. When his eyes fluttered open, he first looked at you, making sure you were alright. Still, he couldn't shake the ominous feeling that had awakened him. Sensing a presence near the bed, he sat up abruptly only to come face to face with an enraged Ivar. His little brother stared at him with eyes full of malice.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Hvitserk asked between gritted teeth – not wanting to wake you. "You need to get out."

"Who turned her phone off?"

What?"

Ivar raised your cell phone and glared at his brother. Not in the mood to argue in the middle of the night, Hvitserk told him to go to bed. Especially since he could smell the Tequila and beer on his breath.

"Fine. If you won't tell me, then I'll ask Y/N."

"Ivar stop being an ass. She's sleeping."

"So what? If I feel like talking to her, I can."

When Ivar tried to reach over to shake you awake, Hvitserk pushed his hand away. The two brothers stared at each other, the tension thick between them. What was once a peaceful night, had turned upside down in seconds thanks to the youngest Ragnarsson.

"Mus! Wa----"  

"Alright!" An irritated Hvitserk said. "If you really want to know, I turned it off."

"Why the hell would you do that? I wanted to talk to her."

"Ivar! The two of you fought practically all day. What did you think was going to happen if you talked to her on the phone?"

"Does it matter? Besides, I just wanted to hear her voice."

Hvitserk rubbed his eyes. He was exhausted and aware that he only had a few hours before he had to get up for work.

"Listen, let's grab some coffee tomorrow and we'll talk about it."

"Talk about what?"

"Listen, Y/N confessed some things to me that I think you need to hear."

Ivar frowned and glanced at your sleeping form. He then looked back at Hvitserk with some confusion.

"Why can't I hear it from her?"

"Trust me. It's better for you and I talk first." Hvitserk said. "Now, please get some rest."

Ivar hesitated at first. He really wanted to wake you but noticed that you never got up the entire time. Knowing how much of a light sleeper you were, he realized you must have been very tired. Despite being drunk, he still cared about your well-being so he agreed to go to his room.

____________________

You and Hvitserk both woke up early to get ready for the busy day ahead. He had nothing but meetings scheduled while you had errands to run – to include getting your passport. Since your Uber arrived before he left for work, you kissed him goodbye before leaving the mansion.

After his morning briefing, Hvitserk met Ivar at a nearby coffee across from LMG records. As he took as seat, he could tell that his little brother was already on edge.

"Y/N won't pick up my calls." Ivar said with an uncomfortable laugh before sipping his cappuccino. "She didn't even respond to any of the texts I sent last night." He then wiped his mouth with his jacket sleeve. 

As he looked around, Hvitserk told him that he needed relax. But he couldn't. Ivar just wasn't accustomed to things not going his way. Typically, when he offended someone, they were too afraid to call him out. In fact, the other person would do their best to get back in his good graces. But not you. Not this time anyway. It appeared that you were done dealing with his temper.

"Call her on your phone."

"No, Ivar. We came to talk, remember?"

"Fine. But after we're done, will you do that for me?

Hvitserk shrugged and asked his brother to focus for a moment. As he drank his coffee, he told Ivar that you were tired of arguing all the time.

"She said she's over it."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Don't get so defensive. It just means you guys need to stop being at each other's throats all the time. Or else."

"Or else what?" Ivar asked as he stared at his brother. "Don't sugar coat it. What did she say?"

"She.......... might end things."

Ivar immediately stood up and began walking away. A frustrated Hvitserk picked up his cup and followed, yelling for him to stop. When he finally caught up to Ivar, he managed to convince him to take a seat near an old fashioned building.

"Just listen to everything I have to say before you get all pissed off." Hvitserk said.

Ivar pulled out a pack of cigarettes form his jacket pocket and stuck one in his mouth. 

“Go ahead, Let’s hear all the bad things she had to say about me.” He said, genuinely unable to understand why you were so mad at him.

"Look. I never said that she’s planning on breaking up with you. I only said that she's sick of all the fighting."

"At least that's what she admitted. Look, I know Y/N better than she knows herself. She's just saying half of what she really feels. I'm not surprised though." Ivar said as he blew smoke from his mouth. "She wanted you from the beginning anyway."

"Stop talking like that."

"It's okay, Hvitty. I can't make her stay with me if she doesn't want to."

"You're overreacting. Just control your temper and you guys will be fine."

Ivar continued smoking as Hvitserk confessed that he had one more thing to tell him. Though he hesitated at first, the elder Ragnarsson knew it was now or never.

"Tata Vega extended an invitation for Y/N to train under him in addition to signing with his agent."

"So? Isn't that what she's doing with the exhibit?"

"Not exactly. It's an offer for her to live in Italy..........for the foreseeable future."

Ivar's blue eyes widened with shock. He couldn't believe that you hadn't mentioned it to him at all. Despite being a life changing decision for you, it would affect him as well.

"What did you say to her?"

"It's a no brainier, Ivar. I told her to go for it!"

"Are you fucking nuts? You want Y/N to move halfway across the world?"

"Of course not but this is her her dream. Why should she stay here when a huge opportunity waits for her in Italy?"

Ivar frowned as he continued smoking. He couldn't believe that his brother didn't see a problem with the entire situation. Glancing at his phone, Hvitserk stood up and said he had to get back to the office. When he left, an angry Ivar pondered what to say when he saw you that evening.

________________

That evening, you got home a little past eight due to spending time with Jason and his girlfriend, Irene. When they dropped you off, you forced them to come inside so you could feed them. There was no way you were going to let them eat fast food when you had plenty of leftovers from all the cooking you did.

Hvitserk was already home so the four of you were able to enjoy a lively dinner together. Afterward, you were all watching TV when Ivar finally arrived home. Though he seemed to be in one of his moods, he behaved himself since there was company.

"How's everyone doing tonight?" He asked as he took a seat beside Hvitserk.

As you sat between Jason and his girlfriend, you noticed Ivar giving you strange looks. You knew what he was trying to do. However, if he thought he could intimidate you into talking to him, he had another thing coming. Especially since he had yet to apologize. Despite all the messages and texts, none of them were about feeling bad for how he had treated you. Ignoring Ivar, you announced that Jason was taking vacation days to attend your exhibit.

"That's great." Hvitserk said. "See babe, everyone's really happy for you."

Jason agreed but added that he planned on taking you clubbing after your time in the spotlight.

"No way. You and Folaki need to stay in your hotel rooms. The two of you always start trouble when you go out." Irene said.        

As you nodded, you pushed Jason's shoulder playfully.

"So true. The last thing I want to do is go around begging for your freedom at random police stations."

As everyone was in conversation, Ivar looked at you and asked how excited you were about Italy. Though your friends didn't catch it, you and Hvitserk could hear the sarcasm in his tone.

"I'm super excited. Who wouldn't be?"

"True. Besides, who wouldn't want to go to Italy? I hear it's also a great place to live." Ivar said, staring straight into your eyes.

You sighed, knowing that Hvitserk had managed to tell him about your career opportunity. Not that you were upset. It had been your idea for Ivar to hear it from his brother anyway. Since he had a bad temper, you figured it would prevent another argument. Naturally, his snide comments were to be expected.

"Ivar, please take a quick walk with me?" You said as you stood up.

Despite looking disinterested in going at first, he followed you. As the two of you made your way out of the house and towards the boardwalk, he kept glancing at you. Eventually, you felt his arm move around your waist, but you moved away. The fact that you wiggled out of his arms made him angry and he almost contemplated going back to the house. However, he kept walking beside you. As you focused on the setting sun in the distance, you prepared your thoughts. Though it was going to be hard, the conversation you were about to have was long overdue.

____________________

As you stood facing Ivar, you resolve wavered. Not because you didn't know what you wanted to say. After all, you had been practicing everything in your head for a few days now. However, it was difficult to speak with his blue eyes boring into your soul. Even without trying, Ivar had a way of intimidating you.

"So..............I suppose you know everything by now."

"Mus! That's a stupid thing to say. Of course I know. The question is, why did I have to hear it from Hvitty instead of you?"

"Because, just look at how you're reacting? You-----"

"Excuse me? Oh, I see. Because I'm not reacting the way you want, something's wrong with me?"

"I didn't say that. You're putting words in my mouth."

"Then what are you saying?"

You rolled your eyes as you bit your lip in frustration. Talking to Ivar was like talking to a ticking time bomb. One wrong word or statement, and he flew into a tangent that left you mentally drained.

"Ivar, I don't want to argue with you. It's become very tiresome"

"Really?" He asked with an annoyed expression. "I had no idea you felt this way. So now, you find me tiresome? That's good to know. Please, don't stop now. Go on."

"See, that's exactly what I'm talking about! Whenever you ask me to be honest with you, I know you don't really mean it. That's why it's so hard for us to talk to each other."

Ivar's eyes were wide and his nostrils flared as he glared at you, almost as if you were insane. You weren't sure why, but it seemed that none of your words were reaching him. As usual, Ivar thought you were overreacting and being dramatic.

"Fine. You want us to be honest, I'll start. I'm pissed off and I have every right to be. First you hide your job offer from me, then, you send Hvitty to deliver the message. I'm not a monster, Y/N. You could have told me yourself."

"I know..........it's..........it's just hard to talk to you these days."

"That's bullshit! Besides, I'm the one that here for you more than Hvitty. His new job barely allows him to spend time with you."

"I don't care that he's busy. It's better than being around each other all the time and doing nothing but fighting. I'm so over it!"

Ivar's stared into Y/C eyes as if you had said the worst thing in the world. You couldn't quite make-out the expression he wore on his face. It was an odd mixture of rage and sadness. You hadn't intended on being so blunt but he had pushed your buttons.

"What are you trying to say, Y/N?"

"I.......I'm just saying that I'm over all..............this! Whatever it is."

"Mus, don't beat around the bush. Just say what you really want to say. After all, you haven't had any problem telling me how you feel up to now. You obviously can't stand me anymore so just say it."

"Ivar, you're putting words in my mouth again. I never-----"

"No, Y/N, I'm not. If you want to move to Italy, that's fine. I won't try to stop you. Go ahead and chase your amazing career."

"Ivar!"

"Isn't that what you want to hear? Besides, Hvitty supports it so, I'm sure you'll be happy. The two of you will make it work."

"Will you let me talk? I don't understand why you make it so hard to have a normal conversation with you."

"There's nothing left to talk about." Ivar said as he eyed you - his expression now full of anger.

When you reached out to touch his hand, he stepped back, surprising you. Never had Ivar moved away from any show of affection before. That's when you knew he was truly upset with you. You stared at each other for a while, as people walked past. It was such an odd moment knowing that everything was going downhill fast.

"I'm sorry you feel that way." You said, still stunned by his behavior.

"I'm sorry too. But I'm sure Hvitty will take good care of you."

"What?"

"You heard me, Y/N. I'm doing us both a favor. We're done."

"You're breaking up with me?"

"It's for the best. I'm done chasing you and you obviously don't want to be chased. Don't worry, I won't be around much longer."

With that, Ivar walked away from you, obviously going for a stroll by himself. As you watched him go down the boardwalk, you felt numb. You couldn't believe that he had basically dumped you. It was infuriating to think that you had been so concerned about his feelings, yet, he showed none for yours.

"Goodbye, Ivar." You muttered to yourself before walking towards the mansion alone.

______________

The next three weeks were a blur. You were so busy trying to get ready for your move to Italy that you had no real time to cry over your breakup with Ivar. Not that you wanted to. The way he had dumped you had made you angry more than anything else. Fortunately, despite him still living at the mansion, you barely saw him. Ivar spent most of his time crashing at a friend's apartment and only came over to grab clothes and stuff.

One day, when he did run into you in the driveway, he stared at you as you waited for your Uber. He was holding hands with a girl as his friends all got out of their cars. Naturally, you ignored him. When he did attempt to walk over to you, the blonde he was with pulled him into the house.

It was then that you realized that the the two of you were truly over. So, you did your best to focus on you and Hvitty. Thankfully, he was able to convince Alfred to allow him to work remotely from Italy. Especially since the location fit into their plans of having an agent travel across Europe, Asia.

Tata Vega's real estate agent helped Hvitty secure a nice villa for the two of you. It was located in a nice neighborhood and not far from where the new gallery was located. All in all, things were going well for you. Bjorn and Folaki were also a great help. Since the elder Ragnarsson had a home in Denmark, he knew all about living overseas. He graciously assisted you with the last minute details of your move.

When your last week in country finally arrived ,you could barely contain your excitement.  Hvitserk had planned a get-together for family and close friends that was only a day away. He had wanted to throw a big going away party, but he knew that you hated big crowds. The night before the event, Ivar called Hvitty and asked him to meet him at his friends apartment. When he told you about it, you shrugged at told him to go. After all, the last thing you wanted to do was to keep them apart. Regardless of how badly you and Ivar had ended, he was still Hvitserk's brother.

It was a little after nine in the evening when Ivar and Hvitserk sat at the waterfront. Since the apartment he was staying at had a great view of a river, they decided to converse outside. As they smoked and drank beer together, they discussed sports for a while. As Hvitserk talked excitedly about soccer, Ivar suddenly glanced at him.

"I miss Y/N."

Hvitserk couldn't help giving his brother a sympathetic look. Being the closest to Ivar, he knew that despite his fearsome persona, his little brother's emotions ran deep.

"Why don't you call her then?"

"No. She doesn't care about me anymore."

"That's not true." Hvitserk said as he took a sip of beer. "She does care about you, allot."

"Thanks but I know what I'm talking about. When I broke up with Y/N, I expected her to react in some way. You know. Get mad enough to do something. Curse me out, scream, slap me.............anything. I never expected her to just accept it."

"Why don't you just tell her?"

"Because it wouldn't change anything. I know that she doesn't love me. Fuck. I could see it in her expression when I said we were over. She looked..............relieved." Ivar's eyes welled with tears as he stared into the water. "She loves you though."

Hvitserk's shoulder slumped a little at his brother's words. It was true. Though he was certain that you loved him, he wasn't sure how you felt about the youngest Ragnarsson.  

"Ivar, just because your relationship with Y/N is over, don't make up things in your head. She did love you."

"No, she didn't! She never told me that she loved me, ever. I've heard her say it to you though." He said with a weak smile. "I'm happy for you, despite how I may sound right now. There's a little jealousy, I won't lie, but you're my brother. I want to see you happy no matter what."

Hvitserk returned the smile, even though it was hard for him to do it. His eyes were wet with tears from seeing his brother so depressed.

"So, the party's tomorrow, huh?" Ivar asked.

"Yeah. You're coming, right?"

"No. I don't want to see Y/N. Not yet anyway." Ivar said as he wiped his eyes. "Maybe in a few months or years. Then we can go on double dates or something."

The two brothers exchanged understanding glances. Hvitserk knew that no matter what, he would not be able to convince his little brother to attend. So, he dropped the subject. He then reached into his pocket and pulled out a miniature pink envelope you had given him. It was something you had asked him to give to Ivar. Handing it to his brother, the elder Ragnarsson looked out over the city.

"What's this?"

"Y/N told me to give it to you." Hvitserk said before finishing his cigarette.

When Ivar opened the tiny envelope, there was a strip of white paper inside with the word "Always" written in black ink. As he stared at the tiny note, Hvitserk stood up and pulled out his car keys.

"I better get going. It's going to be a long day tomorrow."

"Alright. Since I'm not coming to the party, we'll do something before you leave. I'll call you."

When Hvitserk left, Ivar sat by the water alone, looking at the note. Suddenly, he tore it in half, and prepared to throw it into the trash can beside him. But, he changed his mind. 

Ivar thought for a good, long while before deciding to invite you out for coffee. Hopefully, there was still a chance to fix things.

_________________

When you received the text from Ivar to meet for coffee, you didn't know what to think. The two of you had been avoiding each other for nearly four weeks. While you mulled things over, he sat at the cafe, looking at his phone. Since you were taking long to return his text, he ordered a coffee so that he wouldn't just be taking up a table.

"Come on Y/N, text me back." He muttered as he stared at the screen.

Though you wanted to reach out to Ivar, you couldn't bring yourself to do it. You were just about to begin texting when your mind flashed through all the fights. It wasn't only the yelling that bothered you, it was how easily he was able to bully you at times. So despite wanting to see Ivar, you put your phone back down. As you laid in bed, you heard the familiar ring tone that belonged to only him.

Ivar had given up waiting for you to return the text and decided to call you instead. As he held the phone to his ear, his heart raced.

"Mus, please pick up." Ivar thought - clenching his jaw in anticipation.

When the call eventually went to voicemail, he nearly threw the phone down the street. After listening to your greeting, he decided against leaving a message. Abandoning his coffee, Ivar walked down the street, alone and upset. 

You and Hvitserk were flying to Italy early the next morning and there was no changing that. And since you had refused to respond to him, Ivar finally had his answer. The two of you, were totally over.

________________

Ivar didn't come to see you and Hvitserk off at the airport like everyone else. In the private lounge, there was a bit of a party going on. Almost the entire Lothbrok clan was there. From Ragnar, Lagertha, Aslaug and Floki to the cousins like Alfred, everyone sat around talking and laughing.

Bjorn, who had a wanderlust, decided to fly out with you guys on the private jet. He was never one to stay at one place for a long time and Italy had his name all over it. As far as your BFF Folaki, she was working since it was her last week at Club 52. One thing she didn't know was that Bjorn was going to propose to her in Italy. Thankfully he promised to wait until after your Art Exhibit so that he didn't steal your thunder.

As you sat beside Ragnar, you were quietly watching everyone have a good time when he leaned over.

"I hear you ran my youngest son off."

You nearly spit out your orange juice as you stared at him, unsure of what he meant.  Giving you a smirk, he leaned back in his chair with his plate of fruit.

"No need to be so alarmed. Ivar's moody but he does share things with me time-to-time."

You looked at the floor, mortified beyond belief. Your ears and neck were hot with embarrassment as you realized he knew you had been with his two sons. When Hvitserk took a seat beside you, he noticed that you looked like you had seen a ghost. Of course, he asked what was wrong with you.

"Your........your dad.........he knows?"

"Of course. Besides, like we told you already, sharing a woman is okay in our culture. It's only you who's so embarrassed. You should see your face right now." Hvitserk added before laughing at you.

While you were all busily having fun at the airport, Ivar was on a train in a window seat. He wasn't even sure what he was doing exactly. All he knew is that he had to get away from everyone for a while. When he had searched online, he found a quaint Belgian styled town. Naturally, he figured it was a good place as any to hide out until he got over the breakup. As he listened to music, he wondered if there was any part of you that regretted how things had ended.

___________________

It was the end of the first week of being in Italy and boy, were you ever loving it. From the scenic architecture of the town to the location of your Villa near the water, you couldn't be a happier person. Even though you guys hadn't totally finished unpacking, your Art studio was already set-up. Since it faced the sea, you felt inspired every time you stepped in the room.

Hvitserk's childhood friend from Denmark lived nearby so you guys had company for dinner most nights. It was really nice to see him relaxed and enjoying the move. Truthfully, you had been worried that he would regret leaving his entire family. However, you were shocked at how easily Hvitserk adjusted to the move. As for Bjorn, who was staying in one of the guest rooms, he had gone on a business trip to Germany.

Since Folaki was arriving in a few days, you promised the eldest Ragnarsson that you would find a great event hall for the proposal. Despite trying to get Hvitserk’s help, he kept saying it "wasn't his thing".

As you sat on the floor of the living room looking at venues on your tablet, Hvitserk called you into the kitchen. When you went, he was standing next to his friend Daniel, smirking at you. Instantly, you wondered what they were up to. Especially since the two of them looked too smug for their own good.

"Why are you guys smiling so much?" You asked.

"I’ll answer that for you."Daniel said to Hvitserk before giving you his attention. "Guess who convinced LMG Records to open an office out here? And not only that, but also got me hired as an Agent?"

You glared at them, realizing they had been drinking and it wasn't even dinner time. Though you wanted to laugh, you bit your lip, finding them adorable.

"Let me gue-----."

"Me babe! The best part is I'm not going to be traveling much anymore. Once the office is set-up, I'll have plenty of minions to do that for me. I mean, have you ever seen a VP of Operations traveling like a commoner? I don’t think so." A pleased Hvitserk said before putting the champagne bottle to his lips.

"Minions?" You repeated with a chuckle. "So you got a promotion as well?"

"That's right. Alfred and Sigurd really went to bat for me with the Board of Directors. Boom!"

"Okay, it's time for you to stop drinking from the bottle." You said before taking it from him.

Since it was a huge achievement, the three of you decided to celebrate at a waterfront restaurant instead of staying home. You couldn't deny it. Despite everything, the move to Italy was the best thing that had happened to you in a long time.

________________

While you were out running errands the following day, you kept getting calls from an unknown number. It was definitely a local number, however, you didn't know that many people in Italy. Since you didn’t know who was calling, you ignored it. But as you purchased some coffee, you received a text from the same number. The person said "Hi" in Italian so you sent a message asking who they were just in case they were Art connected.

 Your heart raced as you looked at the last line of text. 'Behind you.' Could it be that Ivar had really come to Italy? And just like that, all your feelings for him came bubbling to the surface. Who were you lying to? You missed him so much and there wasn't a day that went by that you didn't wonder where he was or what he was doing.

As you put your phone back in your purse, you were practically shaking. Right behind you, seated by a Gelato stand, you spotted a man that appeared to be Ivar. Despite having his back to you, you just knew that it had to be him. The build, the way his man-bun was styled...................you just knew.

Rushing over, you sat beside him before tapping his shoulder. Oddly enough, Ivar didn't turn around right away. Instead, he started bouncing his shoulders to the music playing over the outdoor speakers.

"Ivar!" You almost screeched, overwhelmed at being so close to him after so long.

Though he heard you, he kept dancing, which made your smile turn into laughter. As he heard you finally enjoying his little show, Ivar finally turned around to face you. He dropped the rose from his mouth and continued doing his goofy dance.

"You're nuts." You said – as tears stung your eyes.

Without waiting for him, you threw your arms around Ivar's neck, embracing him so tightly, that passerbys whispered.

"Oh my God, baby! I can't believe you're really here."

"Mus, look at me."

Ivar pushed you back slightly as he kept his arm around your waist. Both of you were near tears as you looked into each other's eyes. The emotions of the moment not needing words.

"Do you miss me?" A solemn Ivar asked, almost as if he was afraid of the answer.

Without saying anything, you leaned in and kissed him. Tasting Ivar's lips after the long separation caused a moan escape your throat. In return, he kissed you hungrily too, not caring that you were seated outside. You could tell how much he missed you by the way he refused to let you to break the kiss. Every time you tried to catch your breath, his lips were immediately on yours - biting, licking and nibbling. Ivar really made your lips quite puffy from his passionate kisses.

When you finally got him to look at you, he pressed his forehead against yours - his hand on the small of your back.

"Mus------."

"Ivar, I love you."

His blue eyes met yours as his lips parted in shock. Hvitserk had told you that Ivar didn't believe you loved him and you wanted to fix that. Though you said many things when the two of you had sex, it wasn't the same. He needed to know that you loved him beyond the sexual part of your relationship.

"Say it again, mus."

"I love you so much Ivar. I always have."

"Always?"

"Always." You said.

A few tears finally escaped your eyes and rolled down your cheeks slowly. Ivar gently wiped them with his thumb as he kept his forehead against yours.

"I want you back, Y/N."

"Me too. You don't know how happy I am right now. I swear, I can't imagine my life without you."

"Really? Say that for me again." Ivar said as he brushed his lips against yours.

"I want you back, Ivar. I love you so much and I can’t imagine living my life without you."

After hearing you say what he had longed to hear, Ivar pulled you into one of the most tender embraces you had ever felt. He held you like a man who had been on a long journey and had finally returned home. When he stood, he took you by the hand, staring at you as if you were the only person in the world. Not that you weren't looking at him with the same amount of love. You couldn't believe how close you had come to losing each other.

"Mus."

"Yes, baby."

"You owe me for the rose. I mean, I'm not made of money like Hvitserk."

Before you could hit him, Ivar let go of your hand and jogged away. He knew that his sense of humor got under your skin but it didn't mean he was going to stop being himself.

____________________

You and Ivar spent the rest of the day running your errands before grabbing lunch at a American style restaurant. The entire time, he couldn't stop looking at you. He sat beside you, barely eating his food - choosing instead to cuddle you. When an old woman stopped at the table and complimented him for being such a sweet husband, you nearly choked on your burger.

Ivar, who was totally tickled by her assumption didn't even blink an eye. He thanked her and then told you to stop being rude. After making you thank the old woman for noticing how great your "marriage" was, he told her that sometimes, you were a bad wife. Incensed by his revelation, the old lady spent fifteen minutes lecturing you about the importance of a happy home. When she finally left and you were sure that she was out of earshot, you smacked Ivar's shoulder hard.  

After leaving the restaurant, the two of you stopped at a store close to the villa to grab some wine. While there, Ivar held your hand firmly despite you wanting to go down the other isles alone.

"Does Hvitty know you're here yet?"

"Of course, mus. Who do you think helped me stalk you?"

"Really?"

"Yeah. He told me what time you would be leaving the house so I could tail you. You're so cute when your lost." Ivar then went on to imitate you in a high pitched tone. "Excuse me....Sir....Signore. Do you speak English, uh Inglese? I need to find this store."

You tried your best not to laugh. After all, it was you he was making fun of.

"I don't sound like that."

"Alright. If you say so." Ivar said with a laugh. "You sounded like you were on the verge of tears every time you asked for directions.

"Will you just buy the damn wine so we can get out of here!"

"Touchy."

Eventually, Ivar settled on three wines with the help of the the store owner. Naturally, they were very expensive but they were the type of wines a Lothbrok could easily afford. After he paid, the owner introduced himself as Ambrogio. He then insisted that the two of you taste some wines made at his family's private vineyard. As you stood beside Ivar drinking, he and Ambrogio became fast friends, laughing about all manner of things. After chatting for nearly an hour, the two of them exchanged numbers. Before you left the store, Ambrogio even invited you guys to an upcoming party at his estate.

The way that Ivar made friends always impressed you. It was as if people just gravitated to his magnetic personality. When the two of you entered the villa, it was obvious that Hvitserk was home. Not wanting to be seen yet, Ivar ducked into the closest guest room and sat down. You took the bag of wines from his hand and told him to stay put.

"Give me like five minutes and then come out."

"You think that's enough time?" Ivar whispered.

You nodded before leaving him in the room. When you got to the kitchen, Hvitserk was there making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

"Hey baby. How was your day?" He asked before giving you a kiss on the lips.

"It was good. Please don't eat all of that. I'm going to cook."

As you put the wines in the electric chiller, he glanced at you. Right away, you knew he was waiting for you to say something about Ivar. Smirking to yourself, you put the recyclable bags away before looking at him again.

"I'm going to turn on some music." You said as you loosened your ponytail.

"Okay. But.............how was your day?"

"You just asked me that, Hvitty."

Hvitserk stared at you blankly a moment before he put the jelly back in the fridge. As he went to the living room, you followed him. You took a seat on the couch and removed your heels, glad to have them off. Though the TV was on, Hvitserk kept glancing in your direction, looking quite on edge. Finally, he couldn't keep his curiosity in check any longer.

"Y/N, do you know Ivar is here?"

"Ivar's is in Italy?

Hvitserk nodded as he bit his sandwich and pushed the bread to the side of his mouth.

"He wanted to see you."

"Me?"

"Who else?"

"Well, you do remember that he dumped me. Right?"

Despite sighing, Hvitserk explained that Ivar regretted breaking up with you. He even confessed that he was the one who advised him to come to Italy to straighten things out.

"Hvitty. I can't believe you would do that." You said, trying to look genuinely hurt. "He chose to leave me."

"He didn't mean it though. I've told you before, don't always take everything Ivar does personally. He's a good person who makes mistakes."

"I know but.........."

"So you didn't hear from him?"

You stood up and turned your back to Hvitserk. It was just too much and you were on the verge of laughing. As you stood with your back to him, Hvitserk went to the window to check if he had closed it. Just then, Ivar came rushing into the living-room yelling Hvitserk's name at the top of his lungs. When the two of them saw each other, they embraced like long lost friends. 

You stood by the fireplace, smiling as they talked excitedly for a while. Suddenly Ivar looked at you.

"Get over here, mus."

He grabbed your wrist and gave you a peck on the lips. As you tried to go to the kitchen to start dinner, Hvitserk smacked you on the ass.

"You're in so much trouble. I can't believe you bullshitted me like that."

"It was Ivar's idea." You protested.

"So? What does that mean?"

"Exactly Hvitty?" Ivar said before looking at you and smirking. "Just because I suggested something didn't mean you had to do it."

You rolled your eyes as you wen to the kitchen. After putting your apron on, you started washing the vegetables in the sink. As you stood there, you could the boys chatting it up and blasting music. It was an unconventional relationship, but one that made all three of you happy. Especially you. After the way Evan had treated you, never in a million years did you think you would feel wanted again.

How the three of you would deal with raising children was an issue you would deal with when the time came. All you knew was that you were beyond happy. Your exhibit was in a week's time and your best friends Folaki and Jason were arriving the next day. There was so much ahead for you and you wanted do it all with Hvitserk and Ivar by your side.

 THE END!_________________

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[jessethejoyful]

the art school au no one asked for

I decided I wanted to try writing a carry on fic and they say you should write about what you know so - read it here or on ao3

Baz is a painting/drawing major, Simon is an animator, and much problem ensues. 

BAZ

At the end of every spring and fall semester, the art school hosts a student showcase, so we can gain experience with exhibitions and the like. I thought about entering a piece, one of my paintings, but I deliberated long enough that I missed the deadline. Which is absolutely fine, because everything from this semester felt like garbage to me anyways. I was trapped somewhere in my own headspace - but, anyway.

I wander through the student show, my eyes passing across the canvases and sculptures. Mentally, I have to keep my nose from wrinkling at some of them (how did these kids get into an art school? Is there actually any criteria, or do you just have to toss paint on a slab and say please?). Some of the students are standing next to their pieces, obviously brimming with pride. There’s one boy stopping anyone who is unfortunate enough to glance his way, and asking them a barrage of questions. (“How does it make you feel? Which one is your favorite? How much would you pay for this?”) I avoid him carefully, giving him and his creepy multi-face painting a wide berth.

It’s something of a surprise when I come across a laptop, set up on a podium by itself. That’s not art. But when I wander up to get a closer look, I realize it’s an animation reel. I’ve come up at the tail end of someone throwing a ball at a wall, which looks nice but is rather boring. I’m about to turn away when it changes to another clip.

The shot begins on a girl, curled in on herself, and a moment of her finger tapping the white space beneath her. And then she shoots up, arms flaring wide, head tilting back, and I’m blown away by the style of it. It’s not normal 2D animation, but a sketchy, wild style that somehow carries a lot of emotion just in the chaos. The video follows the girl, a ballerina, through a routine that I imagine would be heart-wrenching if it had music with it. Even without, I feel a pull in my chest, watching the obvious pain that flits across her shadowy and angular face.

I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s beautiful.

The scene ends with the girl knelt down again, her back heaving as she breathes heavily, and I realize I’ve been holding my own breath. It comes out in a rush as the reel changes again. I expected something just as amazing, but instead have my eyes assaulted by an ugly, gritty-looking clip of two stick figures beating the shit out of each other. I feel the scowl rise on my face and narrow my eyes at the name attached to the podium.

Simon Snow - who the fuck would name their kid Simon Snow? Sounds like the heroine of some sappy young adult novel. Maybe it’s an alias for a less idiotic name.

I straighten and adjust my jacket, eyes flicking back to the screen in the hopes that the ballerina clip was back, but instead it’s moved on to some boring clip of fish leaping from a river. My scowl deepens, and I move on, refusing to return to the laptop. Anyone who would put such a stupid video in a showcase deserves no more of my attention.

The name Simon Snow flits through my head now and then over the summer, while I serve coffee at a small, artsy shop near campus. I wonder if he ever comes in, but no one claims the name Simon for their cup, and eventually I forget about the reel, and Simon Snow, entirely.

Until the start of the new term, when I’m carrying my supplies into the art building, my  heavy bag hung painfully on one shoulder. A girl’s voice shrieks, “Simon!” and I’m nearly bowled over as she dives by me, and I register a mane of frizzy red hair and warm brown skin, similar to my own.

“Sorry, Basil!” she squeals as she barrels away, and I’m startled enough that it takes me a moment to reply.

“How do you -?” But she’s already gone, down at the end of the long corridor and throwing her arms around a tallish boy with wild bronze hair, freckles so numerous I can see them from here, and a laugh that reverberates through the hall.

That’s Simon Snow?

Shit.

SIMON

Penny surprised me in the art building, but I was glad she did - she’d been gone all summer to study in Italy, and I’d missed her like I’d miss my left hand. She spent nearly two hours chattering to me about the different sites she toured, the museums she visited, the food she’d eaten, and I listened happily, grateful to have her voice filling up our cozy flat again. It had been far too empty without her.

I don’t know how she does it, but Penny is double-majoring in art history and sculpture. She’s dead brilliant at both of them. I was royally fucked in my own mandatory art history class until she started helping me. We’ve been friends since high school, so she knows I’m shit at studying, but I managed to brush by with her help. Thank God - I wasn’t eager to repeat that class. The professor nearly fell asleep at his own lectures, I don’t know how Penny can stand him, and he’s her faculty advisor.

Despite the heavy course load I signed on for this semester, I’m glad to be back at it. I spend summers feeling off-center, like I lose my sense of direction for a few months before wandering back from the wilderness in September with leaves in my hair (it’s a feeling that’s kind of hard to describe).

Animation is a lot more work than anyone outside of the field realizes. I don’t think I even realized it when I started, but now I couldn’t imagine myself doing anything else. Watching my pieces come to life on a screen is like a drug, a high that’ll never come down.

But it’s exhausting.

During the semesters, I spend more time in the computer lab than out of it, making use of the huge tablets and desktops provided by the school. Penny will come hang out now and then, but I get so scary focused and quiet that she usually gets bored and wanders out after a few minutes. She fell asleep there once, half-off her chair, and I let her sleep, waking her up around two when it was time for us to walk back to the flat.

Now we’re only a few weeks into the new term, and I’ve already fallen back into the habit, chatting up the lab’s student assistant before I claim my spot in a corner, ready to work until I pass out.

I try to keep an eye on the clock, but I get so into my work that hours pass without my notice. When I realize I’ve been there for coming on six hours without a break, I force myself to drop my pen and sit up, feeling my back creak in the process. I think I’ll go heat up one of the frozen meals I’d thrown in the student fridge last week; I can feel the hunger creeping up in my stomach.

It’s so late, just past midnight, that barely anyone is around. I’d work at home if I could, but the equipment is so expensive that I can’t really afford my own, with only a laptop and a shitty knock-off tablet that I use for personal stuff. The cord is fraying and half of the time won’t connect, but it does what I need.

I’m shocked when I amble into the student lounge to find a guy digging through the fridge, the room around him so dim that the bright white light makes him look pale, like a vampire. But when he closes the door and stands up, I realize he’s got almond brown skin, and grey-green eyes like a deep lake. And he’s scowling at me.

“Can I help you with something?” he snarls, clutching a carton of cream, and I’m immediately caught off guard by the aggression in his tone.

“Yeah mate, you’re in front of the fridge,” I say slowly, pointing. His cheeks darken and he steps away, heading to the counter where there’s coffee brewing. Neither of us says anything for a long bit, while I pull my food out and chuck it in the microwave.

Out of the corner of my eye, I observe him, trying to take stock. The half-up bun and long sleeve black button-up seem about right, but I’m surprised by the massive black combat boots, giving him an easy extra two inches in height.  

Finally, because the silence is deafening, I say, “Working late, then?”

His answer is abrupt. “Yes.”

I try again. “My name’s Simon.”

“I know.”

I furrow my eyebrows at him, fed up. “Want to tell me yours then, or are you just going to keep being a dickhead?”

This clearly startles him, looking at me with wide eyes and saying his name, two quick syllables. “Bas-il.”

“Bazzzz-il,” I drawl, dragging out the z sound present in that ridiculous name. His lip curls, actually curls, and I’m almost impressed before something occurs to me. “Wait. Not Basil, as in T. Basilton Pitch?” There’s no way there’s multiple people in the world with a similar name, let alone this school.

“The very same.” I’m floored. This is the prat whose art I always notice in the halls? Every time I see an impeccable figure study or a breath-taking oil painting, the name ‘T. Basilton Pitch’ is always attached underneath.

Five minutes ago, if you had asked me who I thought was the most talented in the building, I would’ve said Pitch immediately. But now that the arse is standing in front of me, antagonizing me, I’m not about to give out any compliments.

“Oh. I’ve seen your work in the cases.” The microwave beeps at me, and I fiddle with it before saying grumpily, “S’ pretty nice.” Damn. That sounded more sincere than I’d meant it to.

“I’m flattered, I’m sure,” Basilton says sharply, before loudly dropping his mug into the sink and disappearing out the door. I throw myself down at one of the tables and start shoveling mashed potatoes into my mouth, annoyed now.

T. Basilton Pitch.

What a tit.

PENNY

It’s 3 am when Simon finally wanders in, squinting even in the darkness, dragging his feet like he’s left lead in his shoes. He always does this, pushing himself to the edge of exhaustion and probably ruining his eyes in the process.

And then he has the audacity to try and lecture me. I’m reading by a soft lamp when he comes in, and he snaps at me about damaging my eyes, by reading in such dim light. I raise my eyebrows at him and flip the book shut. “Who spit in your tea tonight, Simon?”

He glances at me apologetically, dropping his bag onto the floor before throwing himself down on the couch beside me, head resting on my hip. “Basil,” he growls, as I absentmindedly run my fingers through his curls.

“Oh, met him, did you?” Simon sits up and looks at me sharply.

“You know him? How?”

I shrug. “He was in my Drawing II class. Put the rest of us to shame, with his drawings and his shit attitude. The professor told him to shut the fuck up once when he made a girl cry, and he just sneered at him. It was quite a scene.”

It had been a real scene. I make a point not to be friends with assholes, but I remember I couldn’t help being a little bit fascinated by this tall dark prat, who looked ready to throw hands every time the professor said anything. And it hadn’t really been his fault that girl started crying - we were in the middle of a peer critique, and Baz told her in somewhat harsher terms that her anatomy was way off.

She’d just started bawling. It was embarrassing for everyone.

I tell Simon as much, and he seems genuinely intrigued. “Maybe he’s just an asshole to people he doesn’t know,” Simon says slowly. “Maybe if I’m nice to him, he’ll be nice back.”

“Simon, not everyone’s like you. Like if a golden retriever became a human.” He looks almost offended at this. “Baz is endlessly contrary. I wouldn’t put money on even you being able to befriend him.”

“Penn, come on. Everyone needs friends.”

I’ve got a bad feeling about this.

BAZ

Three days after I officially met Simon Snow, I’m still kicking myself for the whole thing.

Seeing him up close had just been too much. This dead handsome idiot, standing over me at nearly one in the morning, staring at me with his mouth open - far too much for my sleep deprived brain. I’d gone and made a complete ass of myself.

It was the first time I’d left my studio that day, just looking for a coffee, and my brain had stayed behind.

Honestly, though, it’s probably all for the best. I’m too fucking queer to have a guy that good-looking around on a regular basis. (What is up with all those freckles? He looks ill. I want to draw the constellations on his face.)

When next I see him, it’s thankfully from a distance again, far across the campus green. He’s got two girls with him. I recognize one of them, short and stout with that mad frizzy hair, but the other is a complete stranger. Even far off, I can tell she’s beautiful, even to my gay ass. (I’m gay, not blind.) She’s the kind of beautiful you can’t help but notice. Waist-length honey blonde hair, a perfect figure, expensive-looking clothes and high-heel ankle boots, though they still don’t make her as tall as Simon.

Too late, I realize I’ve completely stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, gaping at them across the lawn. My eyes lock with Simon’s, and suddenly he breaks out into this enormous grin.

I might be a little fucked.

Simon is saying something to the girls and then jogging toward me, and my time to escape has fled. Not that I could’ve - that smile was so much I think it rendered me briefly immobile, gluing my shoes to the pavement.

“Hey, Basil,” Simon greets me sheepishly, stopping before me and rubbing the back of his neck. He looks so carefree, in loose jeans that somehow look good, and a graphic tee partially covered by a paint-stained hoodie. He rips the green beanie off his head and shoves his hands through his orange curls, making them stand on end. And he’s wearing these massive circular, wire-framed glasses, and I’m mesmerized.

“...Hey?” I say, cursing myself for letting it come out sounding like a question. Simon doesn’t even seem to notice, his smile smaller now but no less painful to look at.

“Look, I wanted to apologize for the other night. I was completely knackered, I’d been in the lab for hours and was feeling a bit grouchy.” To say I’m startled by this apology is putting it lightly. I’d been rude first, what is he apologizing for? Defending himself?

Maybe just this once, it would pay to play nice. I glance over Simon’s shoulder, where the two girls were still watching their interaction, waiting. “Er - it’s alright. I’m - sorry as well. I was barely functioning that night.” Simon’s face lit up at my mostly friendly response, and I think I might be barely functioning now.

“Penny and Agatha and I are going off campus for a bite, you wanna come along?” Agatha must be the other girl. I vaguely remember the name Penny, some distant memory from second semester. But there’s no way I’m up for that much social interaction today; just this interaction has nearly killed me.

“Ah, I’ll - have to pass,” I choke out. “I’ve got a date.” Simon looks surprised before I finish, “With my studio.”

There’s no way it’s relief that flashes across Simon’s face at that amendment. No fucking way.

“Oh, right, then,” he says. “Another time, then.”

Weary now, I try to smile, but I think it must look like more of a grimace, before I stride away.

“Basil!” Simon calls my name and I turn back to look. Now that I’m looking at him, he seems not to know what to say, his hand pulling awkwardly back to his chest like he’d been reaching out. “Uh - good luck with the painting!”

“Cheers,” I reply, walking away then without looking back.

SIMON

I’m wandering back to the computer lab that evening when I notice the light on in the studio labeled T. Pitch. It’s pretty late, already after ten, and while I’m not surprised Basil is still here, I’m a little curious. I’d grabbed a few scones from the bakery Penny works at before coming back to campus, with a mind to eat them later - but maybe Baz would like one. I’d heard Penny call him Baz, and I can’t blame him for the nickname. I wouldn’t want people calling me Basilton either.

I wonder what the T stands for? Could it be something worse than Basilton? Is that possible?

I knock twice on the door of the studio before turning the handle, surprised to find it unlocked. Baz is clearly shocked to see me, jerking his hand away from canvas he’s working and yanking his earbud out.

“Christ - ever heard of knocking?” All this guy seems to know how to do is snap and snarl. I’m already bristling.

“I did knock.”

“Well, you’re supposed to wait for me to say come in.”

“You’ve got headphones in.”

“Exactly.”

I force myself to take a deep breath, before I hold up the pastry bag. “Thought I’d bring you some food. You seem the type to get sucked in and forget to eat, am I right?” I can tell by the defensive look on his face that I am. “Look - don’t say anything. Just take this, alright?” I take the wrapped pastry from the bag and toss it too him, and he’s not too bewildered to catch it. “Have fun, yeah?” I back out the door before Baz can say anything else and snap it shut.

I don’t know what I expected. Some declaration of gratitude? I’d never expect that of anyone, let alone that prickly bastard. That’s not why I do things for people.

But fuck, was it too much to even be civil? I don’t think I’ve ever met someone so grouchy. He’d seemed to quiet earlier, soft, almost. Shy. Maybe he’s bipolar. It wouldn’t surprise me whatsoever.

Or maybe he’s just an asshole.

I continue onto the lab, spinning my chair so the back touched the desk, and straddle it, resting my chin on the cushion. Penny yells at me that I’m going to ruin my back sitting like this, but it’s comfortable, so I always ignore her.

I’m struggling with a frame I’m working on, unable to get the flow right between shots. It makes me blink out sometimes, when I get really stressed by something that isn’t meshing. Normally I’d take a walk, but I’m not so sure tonight. What if I run into Baz? I’m pretty sure I’d deck him at this point, I’m so worked up.

I should probably just call it a night. I look at the close - 2 am. Yeah, I’ll just call it a night. I flick the light off as I leave the lab, letting the door shut behind me.

As I walk by the private studios, I notice Baz’s light is still on.

I keep walking.

[mfmagazine]

Jonathan Chase

Article by Jack Oughton

Photo by Stephen Busken

Johnathan Chase is a multitalented film, stage and TV actor hailing from Boca Raton, Florida. Much more than just a pretty face, he may be best known as a comic actor in his role as Cash off of UPN show One on One. His impressive filmography includes Monk, Gamer and Eagle Eye. He's no stranger to TV either, with appearances on CSI:NY, Roommates and Leverage. He's lent his vocal talents to gaming too, voice acting as military man Patrick Connolly in Rockstar Games' LA Noire, and as Brian 'Lynx' Ross in the eagerly anticipated Call Of Duty: Modern Warfare 3. He's genuinely hilarious, read our interview below and see for yourself!

You trained with the Upright Citizens Brigade - where you learned improv amongst other things, right? What kinda stuff do those guys teach you, how'd you find the experience?

I started training improv in NYC at Upright Citizens Brigade years ago and I fell in love with it. I continued my training with them out in LA and I was a regular performer at Improv Olympic West for years as well. I had to take a break from improv for my shooting schedule with HBO/Cinemax's "Chemistry." Improv teaches you how to handle anything that gets thrown your way. Of course, they teach you comedy, but they definitely prepare you to respond in the moment.

How does acting for film compare with acting for TV? Which do you prefer?

When it comes to films, you get to tell a complete story. Or at least a complete section of one larger story. In TV, you tell a story as well, but a smaller length of it. You are always saving more for the next episode. I love both mediums. I can sit and watch Takashi Miike films for a week, or I can knock out the entire series of Sons of Anarchy. There are so many great films and television out there. I don't treat TV or Film differently, from an acting standpoint. I take it scene by scene, and ask myself, "what story am I trying to tell now?"

If you could have dinner with anybody, real or fictional, who would it be, what would you discuss?

Javier Bardem. So many questions. I have seen every one of his films. I would probably start with picking his brain on how he approaches his work. How does he delve into a character? If Javier couldn't make it, we might have to resurrect Sergio Leone. He directed my favorite film of all time, Once Upon A Time in America.

If a famous musician was to write the Jonathan Chase theme tune, who'd do it, and what'd the song be like?

My theme song would be composed by Ennio Morricone and would sound like The Man With The Harmonica score from Once Upon A Time In The West. I'd take any soundtrack to a spaghetti western. And I would slow walk in the music video...wielding a gun. Nope....two guns. Let's say Ennio is tied up, then my song would be from the film that just came out, Attack The Block. Get That Snitch by Mikis Michaelides. "Brap brap brap!" If you saw the awesome alien invasion film set in a south London, you would understand.

I read that you got to play Patrick Connolly in L.A Noire. What's it like to portray a video game character?

It was brilliant. I love video games. I am a huge gamer. I was super ecstatic to finally be in one. And being in one of the biggest games of all time couldn't hurt. Shooting those scenes were intense. I don't want to spoil the story for those who have yet to play it, but I was in the military section of the game. My scenes are action packed.

What was your experience like working on big film productions such as All About Steve and Gamer?

Big budget films are great. I was in Albuquerque for 3 months shooting Gamer. It was the dead of winter and I was leading my Geek Squad thru a section of downtown. It must have been below 20 with the wind-chill. Now, on an indie film you would have to just deal with it. But with big budget, we had Under Armor, skin tight suits under our costumes. Baller!

Would you say you are the hard partying type?

I would say no. Then again for the last 2 months I have been out drinking with friends and family 2-3 times a week. And I've been partying everywhere too. From Malibu to Downtown LA and Chicago to Aspen. I would "love" to say no. Ha ha. But last night I had a few Manhattans at Firefly for a bachelor party!

When was your 'big break'? What did you do to get it?

I have been very fortunate in my career. I like to think I have had so many big breaks. UPN's One On One was a big TV break for me. It gave me 22 episodes on the air and I like to think I was hilarious in it. I did say, "I like to think." GAMER was a big break for me in the land of huge films. And HBO/Cinemax's "Chemistry" is my new big break as being the number 1 on a show. Breaks come and go. I like to enjoy 'em while they last.

Your favorite place in all the world?

Siena, Italy. Amazing. Beautiful cobble stone streets. If you have never been, go. Seriously, stop this interview. Go now. No. Stop asking questions dammit! Siena!

Whats the best part of your job?

The best part of acting. Is when you are on set, actually working thru scenes in front of the camera.

And the worst part?

The auditioning and waiting to hear if you got the part is the worst.

The best tasting food you ever had was?

Last week. At the Yamashiro Farmer's Market. Every Thursday night in Hollywood all summer long there is an outdoor market, which incidentally, a friend of mine created. They have some amazing food carts there. I had black cod with miso tacos, and chicken satay tacos. Also they have a guacamole infused with wasabi. And the salsa had ginger in it. Best food I ever had.

And the worst was?

Worst food. Hmm. I was in London in college, studying abroad. And in Piccadilly Circus area there are some food vendors. I had a sausage dog wrapped in bacon with grilled onions. I was drunk at the time and would have eaten my shoes if someone served them. I don't eat like that anymore. That was ages ago. Of course they fueled me with the idiocy to jog to Kensington in the rain. Worst my stomach ever felt.

Of all your work so far, which is most important to you?

I worked on an indie film last year called "Dorfman." I play Daniel Dorfman, one of the films main characters. I hope that film comes to theaters one day, because I felt my work on it told a very personal story. I was going through a huge shift in my life during shooting and I brought it to my character. I also pitched the name for that film from its previous title. It is dear to me. Also, I got my start in NYC, right out of college, as part of a Shakespeare Company called Gorilla Rep. That was some of my most important work. Performing in parks for crowds of hundreds for free.

The role that you'd most like to play?

I would kill to be in a sci-fi or medieval TV series or film trilogy. Like "Game of Thrones" and "The Hobbit." I love fantasy and dragons and dungeons. Hell, put those in a sitcom and I'll do it. A very bloody, British sitcom set in the 1054AD. We can call it 'How I Met Your Highness.'

Your biggest inspiration?

My parents. They have always pushed me to do my very best. Without Ray and Kathi, I would be nothing.

Finish these sentences "Though I have never, I'd like to..."

Though I have never been to space, I would like to. Now if only I had billions of dollars, I could buy all that scrap metal NASA is dumping and take some friends.

and "Putting fireworks in the microwave is..."

Putting fireworks in the microwave, is much safer than putting them in your mouth.

If you weren't acting what would you be doing instead?

I would own a juice bar and health food chain, called Greenfields. Hey, you asked. Wait...why aren't you in Siena right now? WTF!

[supersoldierslover]

Hard Feelings Part 11

Please leave feedback, because i’m in love with this series and i want to know what you guys are thinking about it.

Summary:  (Modern Au) After the death of your only living relative, you find yourself lost in life and your feelings. To make things worse, you have to deal with Steve Rogers someone from your past that is more present in your life now than ever.

Pairing: Steve x Reader

Words: 1960

Warnings: forgive me as i am with a hungover posting this 

Hard Feelings´

You watch Steve as he drives, he looks so happy and serene it was a nice change for the way that he was in this last couple of weeks “Why do you keep staring at me, baby?” He says in a playful tone, there was for sure a difference between this, Steve and the CEO Steve.

“You look so happy and I love to see you happy.” You say picking his hand and kissing his knuckles “You make me happy, sweetheart.” You can’t help but smile, he also makes you very happy. You look at the window, you don’t have any idea where he is taking you but you are so excited to figure it out.

“You have been driving for a couple hours and you still didn’t tell me where you are taking me.” He smiles at you, making a turn “And I won’t it is a surprise, woman.” He says coltishly, singing the cheesy pop song that was one the radio.

“But think about it, soon you will be tired of driving and you need someone to drive on your place and I can't drive if I don’t know where I am going.” You say like was the most obvious thing in the world, you hate surprises and you are just curious in general “No offense sweetheart, but you hate drive.”

“That is true however I do it when is necessary.” You say expecting a concrete answer but he just laughs and goes back to sing the cheesy pop song.

You look at the clock it is almost 11 am, you are starting to get hungry especially because you skipped breakfast afraid of being late for work “You never told me, why you hate to drive. I know that you can drive and that you can even drive stick. But now you just avoid."

You sigh, you don't have any idea why he is asking you that and it was a complicated story to explain all of once “Well... growing up I always had a driver on my disposal so I never felt the need to learn. And when I turned 18 my grandma said it was time for me to learn and I did. For a while I loved to drive, give me the feeling of independence, you know? But one day I got into a minor car accident, I couldn’t stop thinking about my parent’s and how they died in a similar way."

You don’t tell him how your grandmother almost had a heart attack when she knew that you were in a hospital with a bruise on your forehead, she prohibited you to drive for a while and when she calmed down you didn’t want anymore.

“I am sorry; I will not make you drive… ever.” He says kissing your hand, you don’t love drive but it’s not like you are going to have a panic attack doing it “It’s ok, I drove myself to Vermont on the last month. I don’t love to do it, but I will if it is necessary. Like if I have to go the hospital or if my boyfriend is tired because he is driving for a couple of hours.”

He smiles at you “I am not tired, and we are going to stop really soon for brunch or lunch… you choose.” You laugh, you would really want to eat some pancakes right now. Steve keeps driving for around 20 minutes until he stops in a small charming dinner.

As you enter in the dinner you feel like you were teleported to the 50's, the tables were pastel blue and the chairs baby pink there was a jukebox on the corner. All the waiters were using costumes and the place just had a feeling of happiness.

You and Steve order a couple of milkshakes, French fries and some burgers “Are you excited about the party on the next week?” He asks excited “Steve we need some rules, no working talk or Pierce talk.” You say simply, trying just enjoy the vacation you two are taking.

“Deal we are only talking about fun things and having profound conversations in the middle of the night.”  He says playful kissing your cheek “I know that is not the middle of the night, Steve but I do have a very serious and profound question. Why are you always wearing my father’s watch?”

“In your grandmother latter, she told me for to take care of this watch like I would take care of you. It is a family heritage that is passed to generation to generation; the watch was her fathers than her husband and her son… your father. She wanted to the watch to go to man, like tradition asks, so she gave to me saying that she knew that in the end, we would end up together.”

He says smiling you can imagine your grandmother doing that. She always knew everything, even when she wasn’t supposed to do ‘I always can give back to you, it’s from your family and if you want to belong to anyone else…”

You don’t let him finish instead you give him a peck on the lips making him quiet “It’s yours, Steve. Nana wanted to be yours and there is no one else that I wanted to have it beside you.” You say kissing him again, he smiles picking your hand looking at the bracelet he gave you “You also never take it off.”

“I like to wear it, it’s always like you were always with me.” He kisses your hand before saying “My mom was the one that helped choose, she said that I should buy you something special and was much better than Bucky’s idea to buy you some sexy lingerie.” He says joking the last part, you can’t help smile he asked his mom help to buy a present for you.

“You are so sweet, Steve.” You say kissing his cheek and resting your head on his shoulder “Just with you, sweetheart and my mom because she deserves.” He says playful, kissing your forehead “She is, I need to send her flowers for having such an amazing and incredible son."

Steve doesn’t talk a lot about his family but you know a few details from, Bucky. You knew that his mom raised him all about herself after his abusive father died and that they didn’t have a lot of money.

Now she lives in Italy and few times a year she came to visit, Steve on Brooklyn “Maybe we could visit her sometime when all this mess is over.” He says hopeful, you take a sip of your milkshake nodding “Of course, Italy is such a beautiful country…. I wish we could go right now.”

“Well I’m not taking you to Italy but it’s a really nice place.” You nod, you just want to scape your problems for now “Can wait, Steve.”

After you two finish eating, you offer again to drive but he refuses again saying that in a couple hours you two would be there anyway. You close your eyes for a moment, enjoying the soft song in the background.

You feel Steve hands on your thigh drawing a few patterns, you feel so relaxed that you can’t help but fall asleep.  

“We are here, baby.”  Steve says stopping the car, when you open your eyes you don’t have any idea where you but you see a cute wooden Cabin “Where is here?” You ask getting out of the car looking around it was so beautiful and rustic.

“I bought this place a couple of years ago, sometimes the city comes to much for me and I came here to relax. Nobody knows about it, you are the first person that ever came here.” He says opening the front door for you.

You get inside the cabin looking around, it was so rustic. You could see, Steve living in there in the future, using flannel shirts and growing up a beard “I love it in here, it so comfy.” You say walking around the cabin; your legs were still numb for staying so much time in the car.

You fallow Steve around as he shows you around, the last stop is the main bedroom. Steve lays on the bed pulling you on top of him “What do you think?” He asks holding you by the waist “I love but this bedroom is my favorite stop.”

The main bedroom was spacious, with a fireplace and big windows. You watch as Steve close his eyes and let go of the grip he has around your waist “Are you tired, my love?” You ask caressing his cheek with your thumbs.

“A little, but I have so many things planned for us to do.” He says trying to get up but you don’t let him, instead you kick off your shoes and lay on top of him “I think we should take a nap first.” You say closing your eyes and feeling him relax underneath you.

“You were sleeping until now.” He says playful, kicking his own shoes “I know but I can always sleep more, especially on top of you.” You say kissing his chest and closing your eyes “Just a little nap when we wake we are going to a walk in the woods.”

When Steve wakes up he is alone in bed, for a brief moment he wonders where you are but he hears a music coming from downstairs. He looks at his phone, it’s almost 8 pm he wasn’t planning on sleep that much, he had no idea that he was so tired.

Upstairs he finds you in the kitchen dancing by the stove “I didn’t know that you knew how to cook.” You jump at the sound of his voice, you turn your back to him shrugging “Barely, but Peggy did taught me a few things in the kitchen including how to make a risotto.”

“It does smell delicious, you are a box full of surprises sweetheart.” He says smiling, pulling you for a kiss, you laugh resting your forehead on his “I hope only good ones.” You say, resting your hand on his pockets.

“Of course, you are the best.” You laugh, letting go of him. You work so hard on this dinner that you don’t want to let burn it, you feel his arm sneaking around your waist kissing your neck. You turn around kissing him “In a couple of minutes dinner will be ready.”

“I rather keep kissing you.’ He says with a cheeky smile, you playful hits his arm laughing “Are you are afraid of eating my food, Steve Rogers?” He arches his eyebrows at you “Me? Never I just like to kiss you, sweetheart.”

You turn off the stove, smiling at him “Dance with me, Stevie.” You say as you recognize one of your favorite ballads playing in the background. His hands are on the small of your back as you two keep moving in the rhythm of the song.

“You look beautiful, tonight.” He says making you blush before you can answer his spins you around and put you back on his chest. You look up at see his beautiful blue eyes staring at you “I am so in love you.” You say without noticing that you finally admit your feelings out loud.

“I love you too.” He says kissing you, you two stop dancing as you deepen on the kiss. He picks you up in his arms, you wrap your arms around his waist moaning as his lips explore your neck “What about dinner and take things slow?” He asks stopping his actions.

“Steve I want you and I need you, please.” You plead, he smiles at you taking you upstairs “Whatever you want, sweetheart.”

part 12

I HAVE TO TELL YOU GUYS A SECRET... WE ARE GOING TO HAVE SEXY SMUT WITH SEXY STEVE

[missrkl]

Intentions Behind Lies Chapter Four

Gabi felt on edge. Here she was at an interview for her upcoming album Sex on The Beach and she was struggling to remember everything her Producer had told her to say. What was the album supposed to be about exactly? They had a title and one or two songs, but an entire album was still greatly in the process. The first song was called Toxic and that was about the sexual tensions between two people who were not supposed to be together, hence everything they did was toxic. It was toxic because it was forbidden love, forbidden lust. That’s what sells he had told her. She wasn’t happy about it but she couldn’t do anything about it. Her parents, especially her father told her to let the producer do his job and she just had to be obedient or she wouldn’t get any of her income. This filled her with great rage, but she hid it well. Plus all the makeup and hair stylists did the job quite perfectly. The second song was called Womanizer and the music video was about a woman working in the office and being chased by this womaniser but she wasn’t going to give into it. Instead she was prancing around in sexy office outfits and it was just all very sexual. Gabi wasn’t sure about this but her producer told her to trust him, he knew what sells, sex sells and not to doubt him. She belonged to him now, didn’t she know that?

Soon Gabi was called onto the stage, the audience and her fans knew her as Brittany, Gabi was her real name known only by real artists and her friends and family. Brittany sat on the couch and smiled sweetly. This did not feel like a nice comfy home stage despite being decorated to make it seem like it was. It was hard to hide from the big bright lights and cameras that could zoom in and see your real and true reaction to each and everything. That’s why she had learned the art of lying, of keeping her poker face, being that sweet little sweetheart that everybody wanted and loved, lusted after really. Brittany answered the questions of the interviewer with great ease, as if she had known all along what he was going to ask her. She was wearing this short dress that showed her long legs, and panty line. She felt uncomfortable but she had to do it, this was her job after all, not everyone loved their job, so she just had to suck it up and get on with it like everybody else. Brittany included making some light jokes and singing a quick sample of Toxic and then being waved off the stage.

As Soon as Brittany got behind the stage and the lights and audience was gone, she became Gabi again. Safe to be herself far from prying eyes. She went straight to her room and changed into some comfortable covering clothes, clothes that covered her breasts and legs and panty line and ate the apple that was on the table left for her by her assistants. There was also some strawberries and yogurt. She ate those and drank the white wine on the table. She couldn’t wait to get home. She couldn’t exactly take a walk in the park safely anymore, she was a celebrity now, but her home did have a big massive garden so she could just hang out there and invite one of her friends along. Maybe, if her dad allowed her. He was very controlling, especially about her finances. He had prided himself in her career because he was the one who had pushed her into it, so he figured he ought to get paid for it. In fact, Gabi knew for a fact, he was just a fat greedy pig, greedy for money, greedy for more and she was nothing more than a working animal that got it for him.

Fabs was making a music video in Italy Sicily and he was very busy with his camera crew and his dancers, including enjoying the food and location of the place. He was a busy man, producing yourself meant you had to work like a dog in order to see any profit from anything. The music industry was a lot harder these days, what with the iPhone and social media. Everything everyone wanted for free, did they forget that everything they did was not free? How could they expect it all for free? Plus all those illegal downloads which didn’t require you to need an intelligent hacker to do anymore, with these websites and apps that helped you download YouTube music videos for free and to use whatever way you wanted. He had to pay extra for privacy, but that still wasn’t enough, he shouldn’t have to. Still, this was what his career was and he did love it. He had learned to work hard from his father, a business man who had founded many businesses and some of them had become cash cows and liquidised, but a lot of them were very successful. He had come from a very rich family, but he had wanted to branch out and do his own thing. He father didn’t disown him, but he wanted to work for what he wanted, not just freeload like his brother. So he did, and for that he was proud.

Fabs worked with very beautiful girls, he always chose the best, only the best for him. Not your common run of the mill girls, but only those girls who were really at the top, the top 1% girls. Including the men too. He had a reputation to uphold and this was really important. He had to showcase class, elegance. It had to tie with everything about him and everything about his brand. He was the brand. Fabio D’Andrea, that was a brand. He was proud of it, but it was hard work. That’s why he liked to party a lot. Fabs and Gabi continued to talk on their fake Instagram accounts, but they both could not forget each other physically, despite wanting to. They had a spark, a pull, a lust, but they had never actually talked, about anything. Just annoying each other really. Thinking they had nothing in common Gabi decided to ignore the pull of Fabs and Fabs decided to put all his energy into his projects and Geraldine. Gabi’s fake Instagram account.

In all honest Fabs and Gabi had mutual friendships, they were bound to always meet. This week they had a mutual friend named Michelle Williams, singer as well, and she was having a party, both of them were invited and both of them were aware the other would be there. Fabs decided to dress his best and Gabi decided to dress her best too. But this time she carried a taser in her purse. She had received this from her bodyguard when he had found out about some guy trying to have his way with her in the parking lot. Actually it was a journalist trying to get shots, but then he had turned quite nasty. Who said being famous was pleasant? Fame always came with a price. Fabs and Gabi met at Michelle’s party and both avoided each other, except for right now, when They had their mutual friend Michelle in their inner circles and they were standing in a group in the middle of one of her party rooms. They had eyed each other, but they had not made any comments or facial expressions. Both were very good at this poker face. Right then and there, when the group was talking about something completely boring, Fabs got out his phone and sent a quick secret text to Geraldine saying ‘hey, just thinking of you, hope you’re thinking of me too. Smiley face’. At that precise moment Gabi’s phone pinged and she said sorry and decided to look at it and found it was Matthew. She smiled and felt quite flirtatious right at this moment. Gabi responded with ‘always thinking of you too. At a party’ and Matthew replied he was at a party too and how the conversation was lagging. Gabi asked him why he wouldn’t just walk away and he asked her why didn’t she? Both of them laughed and then both looked up at the same time and saw each other staring at their phone. Finding this quite suspicious they both put the phone away. But Fabs decided to check something, when Gabi wasn’t looking. He took out his phone when her head was turned and sent a quick heart and smiley face to Geraldine. At that moment Gabi’s phoned pinged and she looked at it and smiled and when she had looked his way to see what he was doing he pretended to drink his wine and nodding his head to the music. Gabi, unknown that she was being watched like a hawk, sent a flirty text back, a heart as well. Fabs phone pinged and he saw it was Geraldine and he saw Gabi’s smiling physical face and came to the conclusion, maybe, just maybe, Geraldine was Gabi? Geraldine did have an animated cartoon photo, not a real one. Not one mention of a career. But that couldn’t be, it couldn’t be, that would be creepy and stupid and..wait he was faking a picture of his brother too, so she wouldn’t know if it was him right?

Unknown to Gabi Fabs sent Geraldine another text saying why don’t they do a quick video conference? Don’t they deserve to see each other right now? It has been a few months now, hadn’t he earned her trust? Gabi saw this and said now was not the time. Instead Fabs saw her, as he had left the group by now, she was taking a picture of the table of food, and she sent it to him, as proof and evidence of something real. Fabs smirked, it was her! Because the picture she sent was the same one that Gabi just took! Alarmed Fabs ran a hand through his hair. What the eff was going on? How could this possibly happen? Of all the women in the whole wide world, he got paired with Gabi? Yet the Gabi on the phone instagram text was completely different to the Gabi at the party, beautiful elegant aloof, angry all the time, at him, that was his fault. Fabs decided to play a game, he took a photo of the flowers on the display table. Would she notice those and put the two and two together? Gabi’s phone pinged and she saw a picture of beautiful flowers on a table. She liked the picture. Then as she looked up she saw the same flowers in the corner. Nobody was near the table of flowers. Alarmed Gabi looked around the room, nobody was looking at their phone, Fabs was nowhere to be seen. Who..where on earth was Matthew? Was he here at this party? She never saw him! She would have known him straight away, she had memorised every crevice of his face. Fabs stood lurking in the shadows smiling quite cheekily as he saw Gabi frantically scowering the room for whoever had pictured the photo of the flowers in the vase in the corner. Ooh, this was a game he was going to enjoy playing. Hide and seek with his perfect match Gabi Demartino.

[justanotherwinchester69]

Drinking Games

Request: None…

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Word Count: 2075

Warnings: I don’t think there really is any…

A/N: I hope you guys get a good laugh out of a drunk Y/N

    Sam’s head pops up when he hears you stumble in, giggling. He thinks it’s a bit weird, you never got that drunk. “Y/N?” He calls.

“Sammy!” You squeal, trying not to fall down the stairs.

“Y/N, where’s Dean?”

“Oh! He’s with Nancy!” You smile, acting like he knows who ‘Nancy’ was.

“And Nancy is who again?”

“Nancy. I heard she was really nice. Dean told me that. He’s with Nancy right now!” You giggle, stumbling. “Hey. I have an ah-may-zing idea! Wanna hear it?”

“Slow down there. Is Dean at the bar still?”

“No, he’s with Nancy. She was at the motel down the road from the bar! Now, wanna here my idea?”

“So how did you get here?”

“Saaaaam!” You groan.

“Y/N, after you tell me how you got here, you can tell me you’re idea. Deal?”

“Deal!” You say, sticking out your pinkie. He rolls his eyes but hooks his pinkies with yours. “I walked here, duh! Now, my ide-“

Sam cuts you off. “You walked here?” He about yells.

“Dean has the car, so yeah. Anyways, m-“

“Y/N! You could’ve been taken or attacked! Why didn’t you call me?” He asks, almost hurt, but you don’t notice.

“I didn’t want to bug you. Now, my great ide-“

“Y/N, you don’t bother me,” He sighs.

You roll your eyes, scoffing. “Sure. Now can you stop interrupting me?”

“No. Really, Y/N. Why do you think you bother me?”

“It doesn’t matter. Can I give my idea? We had a deal! You pinkie promised!” You whine, stomping your feet.

“Y/N, it does matter,” He starts. You shoot him a glare, getting ready to walk to the kitchen.” Fine, but we’re having this conversation later.”

“Okay! So my great idea is this great drinking game Arron showed Dean and I!” You exclaim, running towards the kitchen.

Sam’s jaw tightens, jealousy taking over as he follows you into the kitchen, drinking game out of mind. “Who’s Arron?”

“He was the bartender. He told us a very exciting adventure story. Wanna here it?”

“No, I’m okay,” He says, watching as you tip-toe to grab the bottle of whiskey. “How about we leave the alcohol out of this?” He asks, pushing it back.

“But that’s no fuuuuuuun!”

“We can do juice or water instead,” He offers.

“No, we’re doing the whiskey. Plus, Dean left me at the bar to walk home alone. He deserves this!” You say, crossing your arms and puffing out your chest.

“What is this drinking game?” He asks, still not getting the whiskey down.

“Well, you take turns asking questions to the other person. If you don’t answer it, you have to take a shot,” You giggle. Sam still is put-off by your strange drunkenness, but he figures that this is the best way to get you to talk.

“Okay. Who goes first?” He asks, grabbing down the full bottle.

“Well, you can!” You smile, pumping a fist in the air. You get out two shot glasses and sit on the counter.

“Okay,” Sam says, realizing he can’t start by asking you what’s wrong. “What is the craziest sentence you can think of off the top of your head?”

“Easy! A purple pig and a green donkey flew a kite in the middle of the night and ended up sunburnt. Crazy right?”

Sam chuckles. “Yes, it really is. Your turn, I guess.”

“Yes! Let’s see. If Purple People Eaters are real… where do they find purple people to eat?” You ask, dead seriously.

“Well,” Sam laughs. “They must be on an island far away from us.”

“Or it could be Thanos,” You deadpan, causing Sam to chuckle. “Your turn!”

“What’d you think of Arron?” He asks, still slightly jealous.

“He was really cool! After he told us his craaaaazy story, I told him one. Wanna hear it? That isn’t my question by the way.”

“Go ahead,” He smiles tightly.

“Last Friday in three week’s time I saw a spotted striped blue worm shake hands with a legless lizard. It was crazy Sambo. You should’ve been there. Anyways! Arron? He was cool, but you tell WAY better stories, like that one about Gabriel when he played the Trickster. The slow-dancing alien part was amazing!” You shout.

He smiles, assured that you don’t like Arron in that way. “Well, it’s your question.”

“If the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy had babies would they take your teeth and leave chocolate for you?”

“Maybe it’d leave a chocolate coin,” Sam offers, playing along. He doesn’t want to admit it, but this was entertaining. “Did you enjoy your time at the bar?”

“Yeah! Dude, I was in the Impala while Dean got something from the gas station and I swear. The windows. They rolled down by themselves. Dean came out and looked at me like I was insane. Wanna know what I told him? I told him ‘I currently have 4 windows open… and I don’t know why.’”

“Y/N, was this before or after the bar?”

“In the middle of it. I was hungry and all they had was peanuts! So I made Dean take me to get some beef jerky! My turn! Why do you wear flannel so much?”

“Why? Do you not like it?”

“No! I love it. I just thought there was a reason behind it. I mean, I swear it’s all you own besides your FBI suits and that doesn’t seem a little weird to you? No? Well okay then! No reason. Your turn!” You answer, resolving to take a shot instead of answering this time.

“Okay,” He chuckles, shaking his head. “If you could go back to any moment in time, what would it be?”

You wouldn’t have answered this one anyways. You take the shot, confusing Sam all the more. “My turn! Would you rather a bird or a fish?”

“Probably a bird, but it depends. What about you?”

“I'd rather be a bird than a fish. Your turn!”

“How many drinks did you have?” He asks. You pause, trying to count them, and instead take the shot. He raises an eyebrow.

“I couldn’t renem, rememeber. I couldn’t remember! Remember. I couldn’t remember so I took a shot,” You giggle. “My turn again! Where do random thoughts come from?” Deciding he doesn’t want to answer this one, he takes a shot. “You took a shot! I was beginning to think you were a wimp!” You laugh.

“You know I’m not a wimp,” He smirks. You just furrow your eyebrows. “Never mind. It’s my turn. Why did you go to the bar with Dean tonight?”

“With Dean? I did do that huh?! Well, it was to forget some things. Like, dude. When I was little I had a car door slammed shut on my hand. I still remember it quite vividly! Look at that! My turn again! Well, let’s see. What do you do when you leave the Bunker?”

He takes a shot and you feel that pang of insecurity, but you don’t even think to let on. “I guess it’s my turn. What were the things you wanted to forget?”

You down that shot faster than he could say ‘go’. “My turn! What is your favorite country?” Sam takes a shot, not wanting to try to think about this one.

“Well then, Italy is my favorite country; in fact, I plan to spend two weeks there next year,” You say, confidently.

“Oh yeah? And how do you plan on doing that?”

“Is that your question?” You shoot back, falling off the counter. You quickly stand up, brushing Sam away, and crossing your arms, trying to act like nothing happened.

“No. My question is: Why do you think you bother me?”

“Easy. You never sleep in our room anymore. You leave the Bunker at odd hours of the night and won’t talk about it. I’ve just figured that you don’t like me anymore,” You shrug. “Like I said, no big deal. If you don’t love me anymore I can grab my big-girl pants and take it like Dean. Go get drunk to the point of forgetting! Now, my turn!”

“You think I don’t love you anymore?” Sam asks, crestfallen.

“Hey! It’s my question, but I’ll be extra nice and answer it. Why else would you leave in the middle of the night and- we have cookies?!?!” You yell, running to grab them. If Sam wasn’t feeling so guilty, he’d have laughed and gotten you some.

“Yes, but what were you saying?”

“OH!” You say, chewing your cookie and swallowing. “Well, why else would you leave in the middle of the night? The only explanation is you don’t love me anymore and want to find someone else.” You say, suddenly very sober, and looking at the ground.

“Find someone else? D-do you think I’m cheating on you?” He asks, feeling heartbroken. He didn’t realize how this all would make you feel.

“Well, what else does it look like?” You whisper.

“Y/N, I’m not cheating on you. I would never cheat on you. I love you so much,” He whispers, pulling you into a hug.

“Sammy, if you are, I can deal with it. I mean this kind of thing is common for me. It’s happened enough that I’ve learned to just go drink away the pain,” You chuckle humorlessly, willing the tears away.

“Really, Y/N/N, I love you so much it physically hurts when I see you as anything but happy. I’m not cheating on you, nor would I ever. Why would I do something that would lose someone so amazing?” He whispers, kissing your hair.

“Then why wouldn’t you tell me what you were doing late at night? Why has ‘our’ room become ‘my’ room?” You sob.

“Because, the only time I can plan a surprise for you is when you’re asleep. If I come lay down in bed with you, even if it’s just for you to fall asleep, I will fall asleep,” Sam explains.

“A surprise?” You ask, looking up.

“Yeah, the best kind too,” He winks.

“What kind of best surprise?” You ask, wiggling your eyebrows.

“You’ve been spending too much time with Gabriel,” He chuckles.

“Why do you think your hair was pink for the last week?” You grin.

“That was you?!?!” He shouts, eyes widening.

“And that’s my cue to go! Love you!” You yell, now running.

“Get back here!” He yells after you.

“So this is the surprise?” You ask, in awe. You’re in a forest, in a little opening that is decorated with lights and (favorite flower). It was beautiful, and he brought a picnic basket, which you assume has (favorite food) in it.

“That’s not all, baby. Why don’t we eat?” He asks, raising his eyebrow. You smile and sit down, letting him unpack the basket. You were right. It was (favorite food).

You just grin and eat your food, occasionally talking with Sam. When he was done, music began playing and you raise your eyebrow. Sam gestures to his phone and you shake your head. “You really planned this out huh?” You ask as Sam pulls you to your feet to dance.

“It took my, what, a month?”

“And three days, but who’s counting?” You laugh as he spins you. The next song that plays isn’t a slow song. Instead, it’s Marry You by Bruno Mars. The both of you dance, laughing at each other’s moves.

You don’t think anything of it when Sam gets down on one knee, think it was part of his dance for the song. So you really weren’t expecting a box to be pulled out of his jacket pocket and opened up.

“Hey baby, I think I wanna marry you,” He sings, smiling. “I know it isn’t easy in this life, but I still want that for you. I still want to see you walk down the aisle to whatever song you want, in a beautiful dress, I’m guessing Gabriel next to you. I still want to say I do and kiss you in front of everyone, So, Y/N, will you do me a huge favor and marry me?”

“Was I drunk the other night?” You giggle, happier than you could ever remember.

“I think you were past drunk,” He laughs, standing up and kissing you.

“So, does a girl have to put the ring on herself or what?” You joke, holding your hand out. He grins, slipping the ring onto your finger.

“I love you.” “I love you too.”