#and all of a sudden a few tags from the reblogs section but that’s just them deleting their post i think are blocking me

[milimeters-morales]

does anybody know why replies are hidden under my art posts sometimes when i haven’t even blocked anybody on that acc and the replies aren’t ones i personally deleted

[rays-of-fire-and-ice]

BLEACH: The Thousand Year Blood War Ep 1 Thoughts and Reactions

Overall reaction:

^ I was each of these guys at some point while watching the episode

WE'RE BACK! WE'RE ACTUALLY BAAAACK!

Highlights:

Seeing the Karakura gang back together in Ichigo's room: I got emotional, and teared up for the second time! It's just so nice to have all these character back on the screen together, and when you think about where this is all going to go...they;re in for a rough one.

The Kick TM: he really shouldn't have stood on Ichigo's bed.

Everyone getting their chance to show off their powers: this is probably my favourite moment in the whole episode. Chad and Orihime got to have a good moments, Uryu's fight was absolute hype and I can't get over how incredible it looks, and Ichigo...when he screamed 'BANKAI!' I cried, you cried, we all cried. Absolutely stunning visuals and animation for that entire scene, I loved it and I've gone back and watched it more than once.

The declaration of war: this scene couldn't have been adapted any better, it was downright perfect! From the suddenness of Chojiro's death to the reflection in the Quincy's helmets to the explosion of flames from Yamamoto, it was stunning!

The end credits sequence: the highlight reel to end all highlight reels, this was such a nice touch! I was already emotional, but this just made me start crying AGAIN! I mentioned in a tag before, but when they showed the clip of Hitsugaya and Hinamori from 293, I screamed. And then the Ginran section that came after, I sobbed...I was not prepared!

I'm almost speechless. I can't believe we're actually here. We have a new anime, the fandom is back, and BLEACH is trending on social media. It comes back with a punch and a half, with a stunning visual style, some amazing animation, and a good pace for the first episode. I can't get over the detail and style in some of these scene. I mean just look at this shot of the Wandenrich's helmet:

Look, maybe I'm alone in this, but I just love the detail of a reflection in the helmet. It's something they could have left out, just make it that the helmets don't have a reflection and are just a blank surface. The reflection not only makes for a more visually appealing shot, it adds something to these characters who's faces we can't see. The fact such a violent death and the head of all the Shinigami is reflected on their helmets emphasizes just how dangerous these guys are. They've gone for the jugular of Yamamoto, and Chojiro's death is just the first of many violent events yet to come. All that from a reflection on a helmet! (I know, it's just me over-analyzing ^^; )

Another thing worth bringing up is cut content. The majority of scenes and moments cut seem to be comedic ones, and I think this is actually a good move. While hope a few of these moments get incorporated down the line, making the first episode primarily a serious one really sets the tone for this arc. This is a war, not some shounen protagonist going to fight the big bad and win, not some tournament arc, not some colourful battle anime, this is going to be rough. For me, TYBW is BLEACH's darkest arc, chock full of character deaths and near-deaths, violent battles, and character moments that are dark and shocking when you think more about them. This is also reflected in the colouring, with darker shades in the character designs and darker lighting, setting a somber mood for what's to come.

And now to get needlessly sentimental!

I'll preface this by saying BLEACH was one of the first anime I got into while I was in high school and has held a special place in my heart ever since. It was for the latter reason alone I continued to keep this blog running, even when I had [gradually] stopped loving the series after the manga ended. Also, it helped that I had some of the most amazing followers a blog could ask for, you all encouraged me to keep reblogging BLEACH and writing for it.

After watching this episode and realising how much I missed seeing these characters, I am in love with this series again. A part of me feels like I'm a teen again, binging through the episodes and coming to love the characters, and another part of me is looking forward to revisiting this arc as if it were the first time I'm seeing it.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go lie down, the hype has completely sapped me of energy.

This is seriously me right now...so happy though!

[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.”

[lightns881]

DTeam Tumblr Demographics Survey Results (Part 1):

The Gifted Child Syndrome is Real with this One...

*Rubs hands together in preparation for some juicy data and in-depth analysis of the typical member of the DTeam Tumblr community*

Ooooooooh boy! Here we go!

I want to start of by thanking you guys for over 400 responses to the demographics survey! Y’all have no idea how much I appreciate it! We have so much to cover, so I’m going to divide up different sections of the survey into several posts to make it more digestable and do justice to each topic explored in the form! We’re going to start of with, you guessed it, personality types!

Strap yourself in because we’re about to thoroughly dissect your sub-conscious innerworkings and find out how the typical DTeam Tumblr Fan thinks! (And judging by the majority personality types, you guys will probably enjoy it)

The Delicious Data

From the 449 responses we received, this is a pie chart displaying the personality types of all respondents.

Image Description: INFP (40.5%), INTP (15.1%), INFJ (8.9%), INTJ (8.9%), ISFP (6.9%), ENFP (4.2%), ISTP (4.0%), ENTP (3.8%), ESFP (1.6%), ISFJ (1.6%), ENTJ (1.3%), ENFJ (1.3%), ISTJ (1.1%), ESTP (0.4%), ESFJ (0.2%), ESTJ (0%)

In comparison, this is a pie chart displaying the personality type percentages of the population as a whole according to the MBTI website.

Image Description: ISTP (14%), ESFJ (12%), ISTJ (12%), ISFP (9%), ESTJ (9%), ESFP (8%) ENFP (8%), ISTP (5%), INFP (4%), ESTP (4%), INTP (3%), ENTP (3%), ENFJ (2%), INTJ (2%), ENTJ (2%), INFJ (1%)

I don’t know about you guys, but I’m sensing a tiny difference here... Oh, right!

INxx’s on the Loose!

It’s funny. When I first found one of the 18+ DTeam fan servers through Tumblr, I asked everyone what their personality type was. I was pleasantly surprised when a lot of them told me they were INFPs like me!

It actually reminded me of MatPat’s (Game Theory) survey for one of his Life Is Strange theories that found the majority personality there was also INFP...

Funny enough, can you guess what the second leading personality on that survey was? The third? The fourth?

You probably guessed it right. MatPat found that out of the fans who responded, the leading majority was INFP while INTPs came in second, INFJs came in third, and INTJs came in fourth. The exact order for the personality types in DTeam Tumblr.

But why is it that some of the rarer personalities of the world are dominating DTeam Tumblr or Game Theory’s fanbase? What is it about these communities that attract the rare introverted Intuitive Perceivers (INxP) and Intuitive Judgers (INxJ) of the world like magnets?

The Gifted Kid Syndrome

To answer this question, first we have to examine our leading personalities. As we can see from the data, INFPs and INTPs make up 55.6% and INFJs and INTJs make up 17.8% of the total respondents. That’s nearly 3/4′s of the DTeam Tumblr population made up of INxx types!

Now, here’s me calling y’all out.

A lot of you probably relate to the quiet kid sitting at the back of the classroom who’s put into some type of TAG, gifted program, or some authority figure has probably called you smart and/or “gifted” at some point in your life. Academics probably came easy to you at one point, maybe they still do.

You’ve probably felt your chest swell up at the shower of compliments about your intelligence and at another... you’ve probably felt like people put you in a pedestal and overrate you so you’re stuck with this inherent fear of failure, and it causes you to completely shut down when the things that came easy to you at one point no longer do so. 

It’s gifted kid syndrome hitting you like a brick to the face. And if it hasn’t yet, oh you’re in for a surprise, honey.

And I’m sure many of you have come across funny, relatable posts like this:

And you want to know why most of you relate?

Image Description: INTP, INTJ, INFP, anf INFJ’s rate the highest in a giftedness per MBTI Type chart

No. You’re not hallucinating. It’s not even a joke at this point. It feels true because it probably is true.

(Granted, the study that captured similar results to this graph is long lost to the internet, but the best source I found with it was a reddit post I will be citing in the reblog.)

Now, my next point is where we find a split.

INFPs and INTPs and their Need to Question Everything (even if it’s about one sentence [insert creator here] said that one time during a 4-hour long stream)

The strongest connection I found between the two leading personalities of DTeam Tumblr is they share Extraverted Intuiting (Ne) as their auxiliary cognitive function.

I’ll use a quote that explains Ne better than I could ever explain it in my own words:

“Extraverted intuition or Ne is very much focused on patterns and making connections from information they gather... Ne dominant users enjoy being able to explore things in a much more open manner, not wanting to feel closed off to the possibilities around them... They are also highly imaginative people, who enjoy being able to come up with unique hobbies and experiences... They are not afraid of imagining things which seem almost impossible to others... [For INFPs,] Ne is what creates this detailed and incredible thoughts process which keeps them busy for long periods of time.”

And another:

“Auxiliary Ne manifests in people constantly questioning the world around them, but unlike ENxPs, they can be more pick and choose about this. But generally, they don’t take people, things and events at face value.“

Now, think about the community you’re in right now. Think about the post you’re reading at the moment.

DTeam Tumblr is full of over-analysis posts, whether about Dream and George’s secret love for each other or about the inherent problems with Dream’s shipbait and gay jokes or theories about what’s going to happen next in the dream SMP lore and the dramatic betrayals and creator’s descend into madness and more theories about sexuality and charts depicting creator’s personalities and what they’d be likely to do in different scenarios and... ooof, I’m out of breath here. You get my point.

DTeam Tumblr is literally a group of ex-gifted or gifted introverted people who love to read or write analysis, theory, and discussion posts about sweaty Minecraft Youtubers because they’re probably too overwhelmed by real life and find joy in obsessing over “dumb” things.

That’s it. That’s literally the post. I might as well end there.

But I won’t. 

Because obsessions is exactly what I want to focus on next.

The Inherent Nature of the INFP and their “Micro-Obsessions”

This is me having a one-to-one conversation with all my INFPs reading this.

Do you sometimes just set your mind on a goal--like, let’s say, writing a book--and you spend so much time obsessing over it to the point where you burn out and suddenly it never sees the light of day because you move onto your next goal or obsession because now you’re getting ready to launch your freelance website so you can start a business on [insert new hobby here]?

Or do you just suddenly find a fandom or a show or a channel you really enjoy and you spend the next few months doing nothing but engaging with it and reading fanfiction and drawing fan art or making dumb analysis posts on your main Tumblr account where suddenly you get an influx of followers from that community and now people are expecting you to just post about MCYT!?

Oh, sorry, I got a little carried away at the end there...

Anyhow, my point is, do you ever develop an obsession over something all the sudden only for it to just disappear when you find something new or just fall into the deep crevices of your mind only for it to maybe reemerge a few years later after you get a deep sense of nostalgia remembering it?

I call them micro-obsessions. And I recently found out, I’m not the only one who does this!

Here’s another quote for you: 

“According to Carl Jung’s theory of cognitive functions, when an INFP makes a decision, Ne comes in second to another process known as Introverted Feeling (Fi). Fi does not use logic to make a decision. It uses how we feel about the decision according to our values. In other words, it asks, “Which choice feels right for me?”

Ne, on the other hand, craves new ideas and experiences to explore, which causes INFPs to always be on the lookout for something novel.

Unfortunately, INFPs can get stuck in a loop, going back and forth between their Ne and Fi. They search to understand their values by constantly trying new things. They ask themselves, “Does this feel right?” then throw it over their shoulder as they move on to something else.”

So, you’re probably asking right about now, Light, how the heck does any of this have anything to do with the Dream Team and MCYT!?

Well, my friend, it has EVERYTHING to do with the Dream Team and MCYT and DTeam Tumblr as a whole.

Because INxx’s are predisposed to end up in places like this--fandoms on Tumblr, channels that speculate whether Mario is evil, watching dramatic Minecraft smp wars and elections as opposed to looking at the news that depicts Murphy’s Law as 2020′s new favorite epigram. 

The introvert in them causes them to prefer socializing in small communities online where they’re not forced to engage in conversations if they don’t want to or put into uncomfortable situations where they have to talk to that one friend of their friend who wants to make meaningless small chat.

Their Intuition causes them to wonder into places like Tumblr where they can engage in deep discussions about their newest obsessions, and they won’t be judged for writing a 500+ word post about why Dream’s shipbait tactics are a genius algorithm strat or simping over sweaty Minecraft boys.

DTeam Tumblr is a safe haven for INFPs and INTPs who might be placed in the “other” category or marked as weird for being interested in “childish” entertainment or being different from the general population overall, whether that’d be sexuality, point of view, age, gender, etc. A place where you can fully be yourself and not have to worry about disappointing people.

INFPs are predisposed for drowning themselves in their micro-obsessions to avoid all of the madness in the world--even if that means giggling like a little girl while reading memes about your favorite Minecraft YouTube creators.

That is a deep-dive into the mind of a typical DTeam Tumblr user. What do you think? Is it accurate at all? Is it completely off? Let me know in the comments!

And with that, I digress. I’m not sure whether I’ll be covering general demographics next week or diving into the topic of ships (could be a mix of both), but I will be posting about it eventually, so make sure to hit the follow if you got to the end of this post and enjoyed it or learned something new from it!

Friendly reminder that this survey and post is in no way supposed to be taken 100% seriously. These are just the ramblings of a math major INFP with too much time on her hands and way too big of an obsession for MCYT. My asks are always open for literally anything, whether if you want to ask me about this or any DNF related subject, my own opinions, or just criticize the whole of this post and tell me it’s complete trash! I’ll answer as long as it’s appropriate!

And, again, thank you everyone who filled out the survey. Without y’all, this post wouldn’t be possible. I really enjoyed writing it! Adios!

[taem-min-archived]

Angel

Pairing: Kyungsoo x female reader

Genres: fluff

Summary: Going to library just to see him, what if he’s there for the same reason as you?

Event: For my 250 followers event!

WC: 281

A/N: This for my noona Cosmic @cosmiclatte28. Thank you so much for being there for me! I found your blog when I was having a hard time in life and it made me sooo happy! Thank you for these amazing jokes and stories! Please chack out her work too everyone!

Tagging: @midnightmoi @fifty-shades-of-mischeif @lazycursedchild @whatudoing @spacebyuns @aquamarinenymph @xavi-in-kpopland

Networks: @kpopscape @kwritersworld @supermwritersnet @k-dinernet @multifandomnet @whipped-kpop-creators @ultkpopnetwork @prism-nw @knet-bakery @exosnet @exo-writers-net​

She peered from her book, glancing at the man sitting a few chairs away from her.

She loved the way his lips quirked up when he smirked, the way his eyes  crinkled when he smiled, the sound of his laughter...

He looked up from his book and caught her staring and she immediately looked down, blushing furiously.

Do Kyungsoo was probably the cutest boy she had ever seen and had won her heart immediately.

He was sweet, kind, caring, studious, popular......everything she wasn't.

All of a sudden she heard someone clear their throat right beside her.

She jumped and looked to her right only to find Kyungsoo sitting right next to her.

She didn't have time to blush as he immediately started talking about the book in her hand.

And that loosened her up.

Soon they were chatting away comfortably and all her uneasiness was gone, except for the butterflies erupting in her stomach.

They were talking about love when all of a sudden, he leaned in and pressed a kiss against her lips.

At first, she was surprised, and then she found herself melting against his kiss.

It was soft like him. And beautiful.

They broke the kiss and stared at each other for some time.

Then giggling like a young couple in love they confessed to each other of his they used to come to the library just to see each other.

Finally, they had to leave and he kissed her a goodbye like a prince charming.

Before leaving she asked what did such a beautiful boy see in a plain girl like her.

He smiled and said, " I saw an angel."

A/N: It would be great if you guys could say what you think of this story as it would help me improve my writing. It can be either in the comments section or in the reblog tags. Thank you!

[lauralestrange7]

𝓐𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓲𝓼𝓶 | 𝓢𝓲𝓻𝓲𝓾𝓼 𝓑𝓵𝓪𝓬𝓴| (Part 2)

 If you are enjoying the chapters please comment for new chapters, mentions, chapter requests, suggestions, ideas. 🌸

Find the other chapters here :-  Masterlist

The motto of the Lestrange family is "𝓒𝓸𝓻𝓿𝓾𝓼 𝓸𝓬𝓾𝓵𝓾𝓶 𝓬𝓸𝓻𝓿𝓲 𝓷𝓸𝓷 𝓮𝓻𝓾𝓲𝓽" which would when literally translated in English would mean "a crow will not pull out the eye of another crow." Referring to the complete solidarity amongst a group of like-minded people regardless of the consequences or condemnation.

Tag list :-

@blackpinkdolan 🌻✨@mais-e​ 🌸✨

 Laura sat down in her usual seat and took out her potions book and started skimming through the chapter they had done last class "So Ms Lestrange" Slughorn spoke up, Laura looked up at the Professor as he continued in a matter of factly tone "You are friends with Mr Black aren't you?". Laura was confused as to why Slughorn would ask such a question, but she answered with a short nod "Yes Sir". Slughorn hummed in response and then walked a few steps towards her then he lowered his voice, it wasn't necessary to do so as there was no one else in the room but the pair of them.

 He said "Has he mentioned anything about a project he is doing? I believe for Defence against the dark arts." but he didn't wait for her to respond as he continued, "He asked me to sign a permission slip for him, you see, that would grant him access to the Restricted Section of the library." Slughorn finished saying as he raised an eyebrow whilst studying Laura's face for any kind of reaction. Laura on the other hand was clueless about this 'project' Regulus was doing "No Professor, I don't know anything about it" she said but then she didn't want to screw up Regulus' "project" or for whatever reason, he needed access to The Restricted books, more precisely the Dark Arts Books. So she quickly added, "He likes to keep to himself though, professor. However I will talk to him about this if you want me to?". She looked at the latter. He clicked his tongue and shook his head "No no, that won't be necessary" the students had started to fill in. So Slughorn went back to his desk, the lesson started soon after. But Laura had zoned out 'What project?' she thought 'Maybe an essay' but she couldn't remember when they were asked to write an essay or do a project related to the dark arts in their fourth year, and Slughorn didn't seem very convinced on this prospect either.

Laura walked out of the library, very pleased with herself as she had finished a transfiguration assignment that was due the next month, today itself, if she was being completely honest though, it was indeed an easy one. It was about six in the evening and people were heading to dinner. Laura however made her way down to the Slytherin Common Room in the dungeons, Regulus was not in the common room she noticed. As she then made her way to her dorm putting her things away. Laura put on a green sweater as she smirked walking out, knowing just where to find her best friend. But of course, things couldn't just be perfect for long in the miserable life of Laura Lestrange. Someone had walked into her as she was making her way out of the dungeons, she stumbled back and then looked at the person who had just killed her mood. The person was Evan Rosier, his eyes stared intimidatingly at her "Lestrange" he said smirking. Evan Rosier was the nephew of Cygnus and Druella Black, making him Rodolphus' in-law, and he was just so insufferable, arrogant- the list could just go on. "Rosier," Laura said shortly tried to walk past him and of course he didn't let her. He blocked her path and chuckled "So where are you going off to in such a rush?" he asked looking at Laura who was trying her best to not look annoyed, he just loved getting on her nerves. "Am I the one in a rush Rosier? Wasn't it you who walked into me?" Laura asked looking at him and raising an eyebrow. Evan smiled softly saying "Love, I simply didn't see you there", Laura rolled her eyes "It was just so lovely talking to you," she said sarcastically as she walked off. Evan stood there looking at her walk away as he smiled to himself and then resumed walking to the common room.

As Laura reached the astronomy tower she took no time in seating herself beside a figure which seemed lost with fascination, his mouth agape as he stared at the sky. The figure was slightly startled as Laura sat down beside him "Oh it's you" he said once he recognised the person who had broken his trance. "Nice seeing you too Regulus" Laura replied. Usually, they both would sit together in silence whenever they came up here to stargaze, they'd sit and stare and gaze and stare for hours at end, but today Laura had a question brimming inside her. She looked at him then said softly "Hey Reg", to which the latter responded with a hum not bothering to look away from the beautiful cosmos. "Did you-have you been reading into Dark Arts lately?" Laura asked, this question seemed to make Regulus look at the girl in front of him. "Why do you ask?" He said after a while trying his best not to look suspicious as he looked down shoving his hand in his jacket pockets. "Have you though?" She asked again bit more sternly this time, it wasn't like studying dark arts was a bad thing for their families. They both came from families who could use Dark spells without giving it a second thought, but Regulus' sudden interest had caught Laura's attention. "Yes," he said after a while softly still not looking up. Laura noticed her friend's discomfort, but Regulus quickly said again "Just for research" he said looking at her. Laura just nodded saying a quick "Okay" deciding not to make things more awkward.

Want to read it on Wattpad? No problem here you go

All the characters (except Laura Lestrange) and places mentioned in this story belong to J K Rowling. So I’ve posted a few chapters of this stories on Wattpad, but I’ve got a lot of it already written down, I’ll try to post any new chapters on Tumblr as soon as I can. Please reblog, it would be very appreciated and my requests are open.

[aniseandspearmint]

I posted 5,417 times in 2021

128 posts created (2%)

5289 posts reblogged (98%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 41.3 posts.

I added 6,667 tags in 2021

#lols - 1467 posts

#video - 1393 posts

#has sound - 863 posts

#art - 766 posts

#current events 2021 - 586 posts

#cats - 392 posts

#pretty pretty - 384 posts

#no sound - 287 posts

#dogs - 286 posts

#food stuff - 243 posts

Longest Tag: 140 characters

#and time travel plus disillusionment with the current socio-political climate and a nice examination of past events juxtaposed onto the now?

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

I just pulled out our winter necessities because it is well and truly getting COLD here (and we have no heat aside from a few space heaters) and there’s a problem.

Our electric blankets are not working. Mine seems just dead in the water, no lights coming on when I plug it in. Moms.... Looks like the cord cracked up at the base of the controls? I’m not even gonna TRY to plug that in. *visions of tripped breakers and/or FIRE*

So we need to replace them. Which is... Not cheap. I can do without mine (it’s fine, I can sleep in three layers), but mom REALLY needs hers.

This year was NOT GREAT for sudden large expenses. Among some smaller things dying and needing to be replaced, our fridge died in August and that was a 100% necessary use of our saved funds. 300 dollars for a decent none rusty or moldy used replacement. Now the property taxes are due and we’ve handled that via talking to the guy we’re buying the house from (he’s paying it and we’re tacking 100 bucks onto our house payments for a while), but we’re pretty much broke this month. 

So, yeah, we just don’t have enough to replace the blanket and buy the usual things we need for the month.

If anyone could help out a bit, I’d be forever grateful.

I’ve created a registry HERE (wal-mart) with a handful of basics, and a couple of the heated blankets up for comparison if anyone wants to know how much they cost (I’m not expecting anyone to actually get those, don’t worry, lols). There’s also a coat and some slippers I noticed mom dropping back into the ‘save for later’ section under the cart.

58 notes • Posted 2021-11-03 15:16:20 GMT

#4

yanno, i think one of the (many MANY) reasons the sequel tril sucked so bad is that they somehow felt the need to up the ante and make things worse for all the characters?

like, my dudes, you did not have to do that. It’s STAR WARS. The galaxy already mostly sucks. The good guys are a literal drop in the bucket. A candle in the night. One small group of people trying to make the galaxy suck a tiny bit less.

The bad things did not go away once the empire was defeated and none of the fans expected it to. Rampant slavery is still a thing, tons of space racism, lots of ecological and cultural exploitation of newly discovered worlds (Prime Directive? That’s Star Trek, baby. New species and planets are sink or swim in the GFFA. Usually sink). The splintered remnants of the empire were still there making things worse in separate pockets of awful.

They could have created entertaining, compelling movies just by having the heroes continue the fight.

‘course, that would have necessitated a fucking PLAN.

58 notes • Posted 2021-05-31 20:16:03 GMT

#3

Holding Out for a Hero - Hildegard von Blingin’ & Whitney Avalon

this is amazing. And so cool that it’s not just an instrumental adaptation! There’s EXCELLENT vocals!

80 notes • Posted 2021-11-08 04:20:11 GMT

#2

i’ve been thinking about talking about this for a while, trying to find the exact right way to phrase things, but idk i’m just gonna ramble and hope someone catches my drift here.

I’ve been seeing lots of groups doing private outreach to homeless people, things like making bagged lunches for them and bags of toiletries.

This is VERY good. Cool stuff. THANK YOU.

There are some issues tho. Things I think people might not be considering when they do this.

First is, the food I’m seeing most often is Peanut butter and Jelly sandwiches. I know peanut butter is cheap, it lets you make lots of bagged lunches. The problem here is there are approximately 3 million people allergic to peanuts in the united states alone. I know, off the top of my head, about twenty people with mild to severe peanut allergies. The chances of you handing out a sandwich to someone that just can’t eat it is higher than you’d think.

I’m not saying don’t use peanut butter! I’m not. Just- ASK the people your handing food out to about allergies. Don’t just toss them/hand them a bag and walk away.

And have a few alternate bags ready. Prepare something else (bologna, cheese, canned chicken, etc), in a separate area to avoid cross-contamination. 

Another mistake I see people making is handing out bagged lunches in summer with condiments already on the bread. Unless the sandwiches are refrigerated, the mayo WILL curdle and make the sandwich inedible within an hour or so. So you wasted the food, the person you gave it to will have to throw it away or risk getting sick eating it (think about the last time food made you sick, and think about not having immediate access to a restroom or somewhere safe to rest while being that sick). If you’re making a sandwich that requires mayo or mustard, get some little packets to toss in, I’m begging you. If you can, see if you can find some of those little disposable icepacks. Last I checked you could still buy them for under a dollar.

Most importantly, and wow this is really hard to phrase right, I’m giving it a go and I’m gonna try not to get too emotional here. When you’re making these, when you’re preparing food bag at a foodbank, when you’re cooking and plating out food for a meal program, think about what YOU would want to eat. Like, I’m seeing some of these church groups and outreach whatevers handing out food I would honest to god not give a dog with the attitude that, ‘oh, these people are homeless, they’ll take whatever we give them and be grateful!’ 

Yeah, no, can’t not get emotional, sorry.

It pisses me off SO MUCH.

No.

No no NO. How DARE they say that shit about another person, standing there all sanctimonious as they hand someone who might not have eaten anything in DAYS a plate of undercooked unseasoned potato chunks and unseasoned green beans and turkey they cooked (overcooked) the day before and not even bothered to reheat. Of course the person will take it, eat it, they haven’t eaten after all, but it kills them just a bit more inside because the people serving it out couldn’t make it plainer to them that they don’t see them as human.

They are helping someone. These people are not lesser than them, these people are PEOPLE. If you would not serve the food you are handing out to your own family, you should be ashamed of yourself. 

(Thanksgiving/Christmas Meal programs I AM LOOKING AT YOU. Especially the one that shall remain nameless that I tore into about five years ago and was hung up on by. And all the foodbanks I’ve been to that were honest to god handing out moldy cakes and WAY expired goods.)

95 notes • Posted 2021-09-24 19:37:17 GMT

#1

I feel like I need to say this, as I've seen some concerning fandom purity bullshit crossing my dash.

This blog is unapologetically pro AO3.

I support them and all they do, may they continue to do it for decades to come.

52618 notes • Posted 2021-02-23 01:38:21 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

[frostedfaves]

To Build A Home (2)

Masterlist

Pairing: Rosa Diaz x fem!reader

Summary: Rosa spent years building a friendship, relationship, and eventually a marriage and home with you. This tale follows your journey together up until her sudden murder. Now that you’ve tracked down her killer before anyone else, will you do the right thing and send him to prison or take care of him yourself?

Warnings: more NSFW mentions (honestly expect this for most chapters)

A/N: comments, reblogs, and likes are much appreciated. so excited to hear everyone’s thoughts!! 

Previous chapter here

-

“Oh boo, you’re a terrible person! Nobody cares about your ‘sad’ backstory!” you jeered at the television show from the couch, laughing when Arlo offered a supportive bark from beside you.

Currently you were enjoying the last few solo moments of your off day, waiting for Rosa to come home and join you for dinner at a nearby café that allowed dogs. Technically it wasn’t home for you, but you’d spent enough time around this apartment to fool the outside eye. For starters, you were wearing a t-shirt of Rosa’s, the logo of one of her favorite metal bands covering the front.

After an exciting (and exhausting) night spent in your girlfriend’s bed, you slipped into a deep slumber till the next morning, waking to a note on the pillow next to you.

“Don’t let Arlo trick you into feeding him again. See you tonight. Love you.”

You picked up your phone quickly, stopping yourself from teasing her about leaving a ‘soft’ note and instead sending a simple ‘love you too’. As much as you loved getting under her skin, you’d never do anything to turn her off from telling you she loved you. Those two, sometimes three words sounded best whenever she felt secure enough to offer them to you.

You couldn’t help the chuckle that came when you sat up on the mattress, noticing Arlo already staring at you from his bed in the corner of the room.

“Nice try, bubs. Your mom already told me to watch out for you.” 

You lightly scratched his head on your way to the closet, not even surprised when he went back to sleep shortly after. There was a small section of hangers that held your clothes, but you felt your hands gravitating toward the things that smelled like Rosa’s favorite perfume. It slowly became your favorite, too. And that’s how you found yourself post shower in nothing but your underwear and her shirt.

“I bet he doesn’t even realize he’s the worst character on this show,” you addressed Arlo, your eyes widening when you heard footsteps and keys jingling outside the apartment door. “You were never here,” you whispered, pushing Arlo toward the floor. He settled by your feet just in time for Rosa to enter, her usual nonchalance replaced with a look only you were familiar with.

“Welcome home, baby,” you greeted with a grin and your arms wide open, giggling when Rosa pushed you down on the couch and stretched her body on top of yours. “Tough day?” you questioned as your fingers expertly parted strands of hair, nails lightly scratching the spot on her scalp that melted her into your embrace every time.

“No, just missed you,” she mumbled into your (her) shirt, lifting her head seconds later to meet your gaze. “Coming home to see you and Arlo together seemed right. Want to move in?” You blinked in surprise. “I mean, you don’t have to. Forget I said anything.”

“No no, I’d love to,” you quickly assured her, shaking away the initial shock and allowing her to see how pleased you were with the question. “I guess I just didn’t expect such a sudden question, but I also should expect you of all people to not beat around the bush.”

“You really want to live here?”

“Of course.” You kept your shining eyes on her, a truly delighted smile directed toward her while you pushed her curls away from her face. “I feel most at home when I get to start and end my day with you. And Arlo of course,” you teased as you reached your hand over to smooth the fur along his spine, what you could reach anyway.

“Good.” She shifted to place her cheek against your chest once more, one hand rubbing a soothing pattern along your back while the other gave Arlo satisfying scratches around his ears.

“Baby, I have to get changed for dinner.”

“You can’t stay a few minutes?”

“Oh no,” you protested, poking the side of her neck until she grumbled and rolled over and out of your way so you could stand. “Your son and I have been inside long enough and we demand to be taken out!”

“I’ll take you out alright,” she mumbled in a mocking tone, unable to hold back her laugh when you playfully poked her cheek on your way to get dressed. “Nice ass, by the way.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll get to see her again.”

-

“Is that everything?” Rosa inquired as you kicked a box out of the way to close the door.

“Yep, that’s it,” you breathed heavily as you sat on top of it, taking a look around the room and smiling. “I can’t wait to get all this unpacked.”

“I can. Moving is the absolute worst.”

“Agreed.” You stood once your lungs stopped burning, wrapping a gentle hand around one of Rosa’s wrists and pulling her to her feet as well before continuing to the bedroom. “Come on, let’s go to sleep.”

“Wait.” A quick movement brought you face to face with her again. “I just want you to know how happy I am that I finally got off my ass and took you out that night. Even though I knew there was something between us, I still didn’t expect to get a chance to be your girlfriend, let alone someday live with you.” She watched a grin spread across your face and hastily added, “if you tell anyone I said this, you’ll regret it.”

“We’ll see. You don’t scare me anymore, Diaz. I’ve seen all your softest moments,” you taunted her cheerily, placing your hands on either side of her face and running your thumbs along her jawline.

“What do I have to do then?” Her hands slipped down to your waist, pushing you harshly into the wall behind you and effectively knocking the air out of your lungs. “Be a little rougher?”

You swallowed hard as her nails dug into the skin of your exposed thigh a bit, but not hard enough to push back your flippant remark. Those could never be held off, which is why she constantly yearned to ‘put you in your place’, in her dominating words.

“You can be as rough as you want with me, but you’re still just a human sized teddy bear.”

Your squeal echoed through the hall as she carted you off to the bedroom, her foot kicking the door closed to keep Arlo from interrupting the consummation of your newly combined homes.

-

Tags: @gaulty74 @creepingwolfberry @rosadiazswifey @xetherealbeautyx @jay-is-groovy @milkfromhell @marie-03

[glacialltz]

𝖂𝖊𝖑𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖊 𝕭𝖆𝖈𝖐 𝖙𝖔 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕮𝖆𝖋𝖊✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

𝔸𝕟𝕕 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕘𝕦𝕤𝕥𝕠, 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕔𝕒𝕗𝕖 𝕕𝕠𝕠𝕣𝕤 𝕤𝕨𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕠𝕡𝕖𝕟 𝕠𝕟𝕔𝕖 𝕞𝕠𝕣𝕖.

Good day and night to each of my dear patrons. It has been quite a long time since we have sat at the bar together, and I am quite pleased to see you all again. I come back bearing both updates and good news to share with everyone (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡

I do apologize for the lack of updates and writing as well as the sudden radio silence on my part. While it is not something I would like to delve into, only I am to blame for the complete burnout that served as one of the main reasons.

During this absence, your humble baker has worked dutifully at both their work and the activities they hold so dear, even delving into new ones. While I have had my own personal struggles during my absence, and I will not pretend to have gotten past any of it, I hope to return now and continue to write.

The first announcement, despite being minor, is that the blog has recently surpassed 400 followers. I am incredibly grateful to everyone who stayed following this blog over the past several months, whether it be due to an enjoyment of my writing, a desire for my return, or just simply forgetting to unfollow. I am beyond honored to have so many followers - it feels like just yesterday we all celebrated 100 followers together - and I really wish I would've been here to thank each of you along with every single milestone.

Despite my departure from the cafe's frontlines, my notifications have remained on every day. Every time someone discovered our shared little alcove for the first time or the five-hundredth meant a lot to me. To everyone who continued to like, reblog, and comment on my little sweets, I thank you, really and truly. Every kind word and sweet moment of attention means quite a lot to me, and I felt my heart swell with each new change under the "Activity" section. To the people who continued to send me asks in concern for my current wellbeing, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. I thank you for your concern and for your time, and I thank you for sparing me a sliver of your consideration. To everyone who continued to support this blog in any little way, I thank you once more.

My next announcement pertains to the addition of a new fandom to the cafe's menu. This is quite a hard choice for me, as I tend to hyper-fixate upon things quite often. This means that I personally fluctuate a lot from interest to interest, and it is not uncommon for me to juggle quite a few at a time. I pray for you all to treat me graciously in this way, as sometimes it can be quite difficult for me to write for something that I currently do not feel as intertwined with. Please make no mistake, my love for each thing does not falter, but my desire to write for it may.

Adding another fandom was something I always intended to do in my traditionally overly ambitious fashion. However, as noted before, I could never fully settle down on something. There is so much in this world I love to indulge myself in and would love to write for, including Epic Seven, Alchemy Stars, Obey Me, and The Arcana, which happen to be some of my main and current fixations. Yet, none of them will be my choice as of now. With my deep-seated love for it, I have decided to now accept asks for the game Genshin Impact.

Personally, I would not swear off writing for any of my other current loves, and I hope I may find some reasoning to for the future, whether it be for myself or for a special event, though I do believe it would be foolishly ambitious and reckless of me to believe it possible to juggle each and every one of them at once. I hope choosing to add this wonderful game to our menu will prove to be a fun and fruitful experience for everyone, an experience in which I pray you all continue to support me, both in my ups of writing continuously, and my lows of finding it hard to do so.

My last announcement is small and unimportant, but I would like to share that I plan on updating the blog's themes. I personally am not the best at editing, which I'm sure can be gained from a simple glance through the blog, and I plan on trying to update everything with higher quality work made by a dear friend of mine! I'm really thankful for his offer to make me the new banners and I hope you all like them as much as I do! Following this pattern, I plan on updating the tag list and main navigation page, as well as uploading new posts to organize the bakery better, so I ask you please check it if in need of the correct tags to use and remain patient with me as I dust off this several-month-old shop.

I thank you all for the final time, both for continuing to be such kind, loyal patrons, and for reading this exceptionally long update. Now, who would like some cake?

TL;DR: The Baker has returned to the Café once more, both embarrassed and apologetic, and announces their gratefulness and the changes that will be coming to the blog, including the new addition to the menu, Genshin Impact.

ℙ𝕃𝔼𝔸𝕊𝔼 ℂℍ𝔼ℂ𝕂 𝕋ℍ𝔼 ℝ𝕌𝕃𝔼𝕊 𝔹𝔼𝔽𝕆ℝ𝔼 ℝ𝔼ℚ𝕌𝔼𝕊𝕋𝕀ℕ𝔾

[meow-bebe]

Elusive

The First installment of my Neo Classics collection, ‘Elusive’ is set in F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby.

“Ten Lee throws the most extravagant parties in New York, though he rarely seems to be in attendance himself. When you find yourself in his mansion one warm June evening, you aim to find the elusive Ten Lee and get a bit more than you bargained for.”

Paring: Ten Lee x reader, Jung Jaehyun x reader

Genre: Roaring 20s au, Jazz Age au, The Great Gatsby au

Warnings: quite a bit of alcohol, general debauchery, mentions of adultery, mentions of smoking, this one gets a bit suggestive (heavy make out session, removal of outer layers)

Word count: 6.4k

Tonight’s soundtrack: Booty Swing - Parov Stelar, It Ain’t Over - Monsta X, Catgroove - Parov Stelar, Miss Jackson - Panic! at the Disco, Love Talk - WayV, Nicotine - Panic! at the Dicso

A/n: hiya! before you read, i’d just like to say that this fic is my pride and joy. Its my child. It took me over a month to plan out and write, is the longest thing ive ever written, and im very very proud of it. so please, if you enjoyed elusive give it a reblog! send me an ask! just scream in the tags, but let me know you enjoyed it! ill appreciate it more than you can ever know, and it will definitely help to give me motivation to keep working on the next parts of neo classics. 

“The bar is in full swing, and floating rounds of cocktails permeate the garden outside, until the air is alive with chatter and laughter, and casual innuendo and introductions forgotten on the spot, and enthusiastic meetings between women who never knew each other’s names.” - F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby

In all of New York, fanciful, expensive, outrageous New York, there was one man known far and wide for his parties. Those in attendance always returned touting fabulous stories of more liquor than an army could drink in a week, of the celebrities that shamelessly showed their faces, and of the cover that night and perhaps hundreds of people could offer to those wanting to make a fool of themselves or sneak off with a mistress. It couldn't be denied that they were possibly the best parties in the whole state. 

And the man behind it all? The elusive Ten Lee. 

Ten was an enigma, a figure shrouded in mystery despite opening his property to all those who fancied a wild night most weekends. Very little was known about him to the general public. Even many of those in his own social circle knew little to nothing about the man. Supposedly he had inherited most of his fortune, and having only begun taking up residence in New York in the past year or so there was quite a bit of speculation that he was foreign. Despite being the topic of many a gossip column, Ten wasn’t exactly a public figure, and it seemed that this absolute lack of information about him bled into the atmosphere of his extravaganzas as well. Many of his regular partygoers never bothered to question his presence, or lack thereof. Ten had always interested you, and upon your invitation to one of his grand functions, you had decided that this was the night you would meet the little known Mr. Lee. 

Not that you were truly invited, but not many people were. Most just came anyway, saying they knew someone who was involved with Ten, or they had known him before he claimed his inheritance and became the Mr. Lee that all high class New Yorkers knew of. (Or was there a time before? Perhaps he had started out just as anyone else and his sudden acclamation of a large sum of money led him to spend on the most frivolous of things. Or maybe the man had arrived from his mother’s womb as the classy and expensive bachelor he was known as. No one seemed to know.) No matter what their story was, each attendee often brought along several plus ones. Automobiles would bear them out to Long Island, and they would flood onto the lawn, ready to dance and drink and make good use of all the expensive treats Ten provided. 

It was through a friend that you found yourself being driven out to the island one evening in late June. This was not your first Lee party, and it would not be your last, however you, unlike many of the other guests, held on to some shred of dignity and only showed up when invited. Even if you were only brought along because Irene didn’t want to be seen alone, it was something. Not that she ever kept to herself for long. 

Irene, a close friend of many years, was a self proclaimed rising starlet, although in reality she had been a very minor character in two films. She could be a bit dramatic at times (as her “profession” called for), and her title as “actress” was certainly an exaggeration. Still, she was a dear friend to you no matter how much she liked to stroke her own ego. And using her small claim to fame, Irene had managed to worm her way into the heart and car of a man who was also trying to make his way in the film business. You suspected he was about as in the public eye as Irene. Nevertheless, he had managed to get an invitation through one of his higher-ups and invited Irene to accompany him, which of course meant you would be tagging along as well. And truly, it wasn’t as if you minded. You enjoyed a night out as much as the next person, and Irene was your ticket into many affairs you wouldn’t otherwise find yourself attending. 

There were a few others driving out with you, all chattering amongst themselves and buzzing with excitement for the coming night. Irene, placed strategically in the front seat,  appeared to have latched onto the driver as her catch of the night. This was expected, after all he had been the one to invite her. You didn’t fool yourself into thinking she would stay by your side for very long anyway, Irene was notorious for ditching you as soon as a particularly good looking man showed up. You were fine on your own, and didn’t usually mind being left to your own devices. Depending on where you were you often got the urge to explore, after all the rich lead different lives, and getting a glimpse of that was always a good time. Irene often encouraged you to find someone of your own to pass the time with, and while sometimes you would find someone who could hold a half decent conversation, it was never very high on the night’s agenda. Though it seems tonight, in a rare break from your usual habit of flying solo, you had found someone. An attractive young man who had been introduced to you as Mr. Jung was seated at your side, and had begun talking quietly with you as the automobile sped along towards the island. 

“You look quite dashing tonight, Miss一?”

His voice was deep and soft, gentle and just a tad bit sultry.

“Y/l/n. Y/n Y/l/n,” you fill in.

“Miss Y/n Y/l/n,” Mr. Jung muses, and though you’ve heard them many times before the familiar words feel different when he says them like that, perfectly proper in his every action  except for the slight seductive tone slipping through his barriers. A pleasant shiver runs down your spine as he takes your hand and presses a chaste kiss to your gloved fingers, the black of the silk making a nice contrast with his pretty pink lips. “A beautiful name, though not as beautiful as the one who holds it.”

You giggle, raising the hand not grasped in his to cover your mouth, and reply, “Oh Mr. Jung, how you flatter me.”

“Please,” he lets your fingers slip out of his, “just call me Jaehyun.” 

Well, perhaps not entirely proper, but there was no denying that you were enjoying the attention he was laying on you. Finding Ten Lee might be the final goal of tonight but he could be notoriously hard to find, and even if you did have ulterior motives there was no reason you shouldn't enjoy yourself in the meantime. Jaehyun had been nothing but gracious and flattering, and it never hurt to have a gorgeous man’s arm to cling to. You chat idly with Jaehyun for the rest of the ride out to Ten’s mansion, words flowing freely between you the whole time yet each learning not a single note worthy detail about the other. 

By the time you arrive, just before dusk is preparing to settle herself over the bay, the party is already in full swing. Though the real festivities begin once night falls, many guests arrive in the afternoon, early enough to enjoy the section of the beach that falls on Ten’s property. They swim in the green glass waves of the bay and generally enjoy everything that the mansion has to offer while it's still light out before changing into evening wear in one of the many spare rooms and coming down the wide marble staircases in pairs, ready to throw themselves into the pulsing energy of the night. 

The beach is now empty as the unfamiliar man in the front seat pulls into the long drive snaking up the lawn and tries to find a place to park amongst the crowd of other automobiles. People dressed to the nines, still in their swimming suits, and everything in between trail up the lawn, bright light and the sound of many people talking all at once enticing them towards the house. 

The car comes to a stop, finding a lucky spot not too far from the house, the excitement rolling off each and every person surrounding you palpable in the air. Jaehyun opens the door and steps out before offering a hand to help you down. You take it with a slight smile, T-strap heels clicking against the pavement as you dismount and shut the door. The hand placed on top of Jaehyun’s quickly found its way to his elbow as he leads you up the lawn towards the french doors, thrown wide open and spilling the bright light that illuminated the inside and the growing noise of the party as people traversed in and out of the house. 

Irene and the driver were not far behind you, a familiar flirtatious bounce in her step as they traipse up the lawn. You knew from the way she looked at him一predatorial, like she was going to devour him but make him feel like he was the one doing the stalking一that you wouldn’t be seeing much of her after a certain point in the night. This wasn’t uncommon for Irene, she always said she liked the “thrill of the chase without having to do the chasing.” You supposed your own plans for tonight weren’t all that different, what with your search for the host. Usually that would’ve bothered you, as you didn’t particularly approve of Irene’s galavanting at events she shouldn’t really be present at in the first place, but tonight you were too wrapped up in the events unfolding to care all that much. 

The tiered silk of your dress swished against your calves, the heavy beading giving it a swing which accentuated the swing of your hips that grew with your confidence as you made your way up the wide steps leading to Ten’s front door. With each stride you take forward the noise inside seemed to dull a bit, fading away until it was just a buzzing murmur in the background. Your vision zeroes in on the mahogany doors, a small window to what felt almost like a whole other universe contained inside the mansion. You tended to get star-struck easily, but there was something different about the feeling tonight. An excitement burned in your veins, one you had never felt before, as if your body was in the know about some mysterious outcome or event of tonight. It felt as though you were surrounded by a bubble of water that hazed over the silhouettes of people and faded the harmonies of the symphony buzzing somewhere inside, laughter and the faint clinking of glasses tinny in your ears. 

There was something about the atmosphere that drew you in. You would never quite be able to explain the feeling, that odd tugging deep in your chest yanking you forward by some invisible string of fate. All feeling seemed to have left you except the aching want to throw yourself into the fray and dance until your feet fell off, drink until the sun came up, feel the burn of others’ cigarette smoke in your lungs until you choked, search for a companion until you found the right one. 

Time had slowed, and the usual clacking of your heels deepened to a hearty thud for each step you took. Every movement dragged you farther down under the surface, your sense of anything outside the confines of the house melting away until you had been utterly consumed by the muted liveliness of the party before you had even joined in. Everything happened so fast for being in slow motion, and before you could get the gears turning once again and recognize that you were no longer on the path leading to the steps Jaehyun was leading you through the double doors. The bubble popped. Imaginary water came crashing down around you, streaming off your hair and down your dress. The sensation was so strong you could swear that you felt the rivulets on your arms, the dampness of your hair on your neck. 

Everything was suddenly crystal clear, blurred forms regaining their sharp edges and an almost overwhelming surge of music and din of conversation assaulting your senses all at once. You look down at the ground, somewhat disoriented and almost expecting a puddle of water underneath you, drips falling from the hem of your dress, but there was nothing. The ground was dry, as it should be, and you shook your head slightly to yourself in hopes it would draw you back to reality a bit. 

As Jaehyun tugs you along, slipping nimbly through the crowds gathered in the tastefully decorated foyer, you simultaneously began to regain your wits and let your thoughts drift. An odd mix of cigar smoke, lust, and overbearing perfume hung in the air, threatening to put you in a trance and drag you away. There was always a feeling of disconnection with the world around you that creeped in at Ten’s parties. Often you would let it carry you away, but tonight you were here for more than just your own enjoyment, and so you clung to Jaehyun like a lifeline. He would glance back at you every few seconds, a reassuring smile on his face as your hand on his arm began to squeeze just a little tighter, the tiniest bit afraid you would lose him in the kinetic chaos of dancing and laughing. 

No guest goes without a glass of something to wash their inhibitions right down the drain, and many swipe the tiny sandwiches or pastries offered by butlers expertly balancing platters of hors d'oeuvres in hand as they expertly navigate through the throngs of people. You’re no black sheep tonight, for Jaehyun presses a glass of expensive champagne into your hand as you seek a somewhat less crowded place to enjoy the night, a replica clutched in his own. There are none who stand alone in this crowd, either surrounded by a group just as free spirited as themselves or paired off, hanging off their partners’ arms and not so subtly sneaking suggestive glances at each other. 

For each corner you turn you see a familiar face一an old acquaintance from school, a friend’s sister, the man who works at the bank. But just as quickly as you recognize them their  identities slip from your mind, partly from a combination of the overwhelming amount of people crowding around you on every side and the buzz of energy and alcohol. 

Ten’s parties were known for being quite anonymous to those looking for a good time. Those in attendance would always see people they knew outside the bubble of safety Long Island offered on night like these, yet no matter how scandalous their behavior it would never become public knowledge. Gossip was unavoidable, yet that was always how it stayed一mere gossip for the wealthy ladies to discuss over tea. As darkness fell over the bay so came a cloak of anonymity that drew in people like moths to a lightpost. 

An hour or so of aimlessly wandering the three story mansion, people have dispersed a bit which means that the rooms are a bit easier to navigate, though there is still no lack of bodies. You trail along through the groups of dancers, some getting drunk, all throwing caution to the wind (perhaps a little too much). The symphony had changed songs, now playing something with a bit more of a sexy tone to it and you sway slightly along to the beat as you walk. Idly chatting with Jaehyun, one hand on his arm and the other filled with a glass of something sticky sweet to replace the long gone champagne, the two of you traverse through Ten’s mansion, both surveying the rooms and glancing at the people passing by. 

He’s got quite the handsome face, and most people wouldn’t look past that on a night such as this. But he’s looking for something tonight, you can see it in his eyes. The subtle way his gaze flicks up and down the figures of women in dresses fancier than yours as he uses eyeing the crowds for a clearish path as an excuse to not be looking solely at you. The slight desire he holds as his eyes take in the people milling about matches exactly with the look he gave you when you first sat down next to him in Irene’s friend’s car, and the way he flicks nervously between observing the other women in the room and you, still holding fast to his arm, lets you know that he’s not yet sure if you’re what he wants. 

It doesn’t bother you though. He’s not what you’re looking for tonight either. 

You’re looking for Ten. Though you only vaguely knew what he looked like, you always kept one eye sliding over the many people you run across, hoping to see a face that would strike you as the one person that intrigues you most. You’ve always heard rumors that he never seems to be present at the parties he throws, but personally you have a hunch that he likes to hide in the cover of the crowds. You’ve done your fair share of research about the man, not that drunken recollections and idle gossip are much to go off of, but none of the people you’ve asked about him seem to care all that much. Free drinks, a good time, and the beautiful people that crowded into Ten’s mansion was enough to make most forget about the mysterious host within a matter of minutes. 

But not you. He intrigues you too much, and though you’ve been tempted to drown yourself in the pleasure offered up on all sides, your quest to find Ten is more important. 

Not so important that you can’t enjoy yourself as you search though. Jaehyun is good company, and the two of you mingle amongst the other guests. As you drift along, you meet people you would never believe were really there, had really talked with you, were it not for the reputation that Ten’s extravaganzas held and the fact that you had seen them with your own eyes. Actors, musicians, the richest of the rich, all to be found in the same house at the same time. Supposedly he knew many of them personally and had genuinely invited them. Many of the stories you’ve heard sounded more like they were just fantasies that had been made up with the help of some strong liquor and many expensive looking partygoers, but it seemed as though there was more truth to them than expected. Ten was a strange figure, and while most just take advantage of the numerous bars and sensually lit gardens, you’re itching to get to the bottom of the mystery that is Ten Lee. 

After several hours of drifting here and there in the house, you and Jaehyun find your way down to the gardens. The party still rages on the lawns, though there are a few less people and a bit more space. It's just as well lit as inside, and the alcohol flows just as plentily. Your surroundings are somewhat more tame, as people have more space to move around and less reason to do so. 

After exploring the gardens for a while, you nudge Jaehyun and tell him that your feet have begun to feel tired, after all standing around in heels for several hours isn’t exactly the most fun you’ve ever had. The two of you find a place to sit quickly, and you settle at a table already set up with a small group. A company of eight gorgeous figures sit there, several paired off with a partner equally as stunning on their arm. (You have to wonder; were only those perceived by the host as beautiful invited? What of those who just showed up?) Irene is among them, the reason you had decided on this particular table. She shares a drink with the driver from earlier, talking with you when necessary though most of her attention was focused on the man on her right. You sit to her left, with Jaehyun on yours. Swirling your drink around, you do your best to pay attention to Irene, although it’s not going so well. 

Something, or someone, has caught your eye. 

Your attention is brought back to the conversation you’re supposed to be participating in when Irene laughs一a high pitched sound that could be perceived as either mellifluous or grating depending on your temperament一as tonight’s beaux says something that’s supposed to be funny. You don’t think he’s particularly humorous but half heartedly play along anyway, eyes unabashedly set on the man sitting across the table and to the right a bit. 

He’s truly ethereal, both in looks and mannerisms. With a sharp and elegantly curved nose, dark hair swept tastefully to the side, and a sparkle of something dangerous you can’t quite place but find attractive anyway in his catlike eyes, he draws stares not just from you, but all across the garden. The sharp contrasting colors of his tuxedo seem to brighten his honeyed skin, his every movement graceful as he entrances you, all dazzling smiles and pretty features. 

You can tell that he’s so much more than that though. There are layers and layers to this man, all hidden just below the surface, and you feel the desire to claw your way into him and analyse every bit swelling somewhere in the back of your mind as he catches your eyes locked on him. His smile grows just the slightest bit before he turns back to the light flirtation he seemed to be pressing upon the woman next to him.

Though he had been an ideal partner for the earlier parts of the night, Jaehyun is almost forgotten in the presence of this new man. However, not so much that you don’t notice his attention drifting to another table. Watching his line of vision, you locate the young woman he has his eyes set on. She’s not hard to find, beautiful even compared to the other guests she’s gathered with. Wearing a slinky red dress topped with a fur shawl, she’s certainly quite the sight to see, and your companion has been observing her for a while now. 

It appears you weren’t what he was looking for after all. 

“Jaehyun,” you say, sipping on your drink delicately, “You should go on without me for a bit. I see how you’re eyeing the bar over there.” 

It’s a lie. His eyes flick from you back in the direction the woman in red was for just a second, and though it barely happened, a subtle movement that seemed instinctive, ot’s enough to give him away. Though he does his best not to show it you can see the recognition that you’ve seen through his show of keeping his eyes solely on you dawning in his eyes. 

“Ahh, but I shouldn’t leave you alone.” Still the same gentleman you met in the back of the automobile. Or perhaps he was just putting up appearances, there was no way to tell. It didn’t really matter anyway, you had your sights set on something higher than the possibility of the deeper fragments of this man’s personality. 

“I’ll be fine,” you wave off his concerns nonchalantly. “I’m not alone anyway, I’ve got Irene here!” At the sound of her name your friend looks over, leaning on the tabe slightly as she sends a wink at you and Jaehyun. 

You read the wink as more of a “I see you eyeing your man, if you don’t disappear with him it’s quite a shame and I might just take the responsibility upon myself,” although you were hoping Jaehyun, who you assumed was unused to Irene’s wiley charms, would see it as more of a “I’ve got Y/n, you go on now.” 

Either way, he seemed to take the hint, although he remained reluctant. 

You pat his arm, “You go and have fun, Jaehyun, I don’t want to drag you down.”

“Not at all,” he replied gently, and it seemed to you almost calculated the way his eyes didn’t stray from you in the moment. You weren’t sure why he was bothering to keep up the premise that he would be returning, that his interest in you hadn’t evaporated the moment the fur shawled woman pulled his attention to her the very first time. You both knew, and no one around you was aware enough of their surroundings to pay you any attention. But no matter, it wasn’t important to you.

“Well,” his words are hesitant, as if unsure of his decision, “if you insist. Would you like me to grab you anything?” 

“No, no, thank you but I’m alright.”

As he stands up and pushes his chair back into place, Jaehyun gives you one last look. It’s apologetic, he isn’t particularly proud of the way he was just leaving you for someone a bit more flashy and boisterous. But again, you don’t care. He can either deal with the guilt in the morning or drink enough to forget the whole night, it was no longer your problem. It hadn’t been since you locked eyes with the pretty man across the table. 

Before Jaehyun was even out of sight the man you had been watching across the table catches your gaze once again. This time he stands and sidles over to the chair on your left that Jaehyun had abandoned moments before, sitting lightly beside you. 

“Good evening.” His voice, low and silky with a hint of an accent you can’t quite recognize, would have knocked you right over if you were the swooning main character of some unrealistic romance film. He takes your hand and presses it to his lips, a coy smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

“Might I ask whose presence I’ve been graced with tonight?” he inquires, and you tell him your name. “Miss Y/n,” he repeats. "Pretty." You raise an eyebrow at this, enjoying his efforts nonetheless. 

“And you? What’s your name?” 

He merely hums in response. “Has anyone told you that you look gorgeous tonight darling?” You let his avoidance slide, momentarily moving on. Some people wished to not reveal themselves, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t continue to enjoy his company.

“They have, in fact,” you say, thinking back to Jaehyun. You glance across the room but he’s long gone, the woman dressed in red having disappeared as well. 

“As it should be.”

Your attention is drawn back to your current suitor, and the nights former flirtations are quickly forgotten as conversation strikes up between the two of you. Every other word out of his is some flirtation or another, and you absolutely bask in the attention that the cat eyed man lays on you. His forearms are leaned on the table, and he’s staring up at you as if you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. You’re sure that your face mirrors his, but in your case it’s true. He really is the most strikingly beautiful human being you’ve ever had the pleasure to set eyes on. And for the moment, he’s all yours. 

There’s something oddly familiar about him though, and the fact that you can’t figure out why is rubbing you the wrong way. It would be quite impossible to forget a face like that. The feeling is not so much recognition as it is that odd niggling feeling of deja vu that plagues your thoughts in a situation that you know you’ve never experienced before. You try to stay slightly wary of his presence, but he’s downright entrancing and your focus slips to his stunning features every time you feel like you’re approaching the answer as to who he is. 

You’re unsure of how much time has passed when he leans closer to you, lips brushing lightly against the hair falling over your ear. “Perhaps we could find somewhere we could talk a little bit more一” He sets a hand on your waist and a shiver runs up your spine一 “privately.” 

You grin slyly as he pulls away, awaiting an answer with his own smirk. 

“It would be my pleasure.” You glance over to Irene, thinking you should let her know that you would be sneaking off for a while, but she was already gone.

And so, all suspicion tossed right out the window, you follow this handsome stranger. His arm tucked securely around yours, the two of you dash up through the bright gardens, whisking by the tables full of couples making eyes at each other and under the pretty strings of lights, up the lawn and once again through the french doors, still wide open, although with less people flooding in and out. You duck through the crowd of people still meandering around in the foyer, expertly weaving around dancers and drinkers. He takes you through the ballrooms and up a few grand sets of grand staircases, which you certainly would have tripped down were it not for the tight grip he had now moved to your waist. 

“You seem to know your way around quite well, do you come here often?” you inquire as you slip down a hallway that was mostly devoid of guests. 

That odd, dangerous glint you saw when you first caught sight of him reappeared in his eyes. “You could say that,” he chuckled.

Before you could wrap your head around what that meant he was pulling you into a spacious bedroom at the end of the hall and letting his hold on you cease to draw the door shut behind him. You turn away from him and marvel at the bedroom he had chosen. The room (which you assume to be a spare) is although fairly simple obviously belonging to someone extremely wealthy. 

A pretty chandelier hangs from the ceiling, and you have the feeling that the cufflinks scattered across the desk and the edging of the mirror above the vanity might just be real gold. You can see expensive velvet peeking out of the slightly ajar wardrobe, and just from glancing at them think the bedsheets to be silk. 

The only light in the room comes from the golden gleam of the gardens spilling through the french windows. The pretty glow gives the moment a sensuous and romantic feel, and you turn back to the cat-eyed man. He basks in the golden light, as if he knows that it's good to his complexion, accentuating the honeyed tone of his skin and shining in his hair. 

A hopeful smile works it’s way across your face, a gleam of eros in your eye as you take a step closer to him, hoping he doesn’t turn out to be a total bore like many of the men you meet at parties. A matching desire shows on his face, fingers reaching up to begin working at the black material of his bowtie. He expertly undoes the knot, and tosses the inconsequential scrap of fabric to the side. 

Placing a hand on your waist, he draws you towards himself as he takes small steps backwards, eventually landing against the wall with a slight thud. Your arms wind their way around his neck, and you press yourself up against him, sandwiching his lithe body between yours and the wall. 

As he traces your features with his eyes, a slight change occurs deep within them, a darkness pooling in his pupils and that familiar hint of danger from earlier making itself present once again. 

The corners of his mouth tug upwards slightly, and as he leans forward you tilt your head to nudge your nose against his, eyes fluttering shut. You meet him halfway, lips pressed together in a light kiss, almost as if you were just testing the waters, unsure as to whether you were truly interested. 

And, come to find out, you definitely were. His mouth was soft on yours, keeping your pace for the moment. You draw back for a moment, taking a breath and reinitiating the kiss, plunging yourself into his mysterious depths. 

He tastes of secrecy and some sweet cordial you can’t quite place, and you have never known something quite so heavenly. The heavy feeling of his mouth on yours is addictive, all your senses alight at once, and your hands grasp the lapels of his jacket, trying to draw him closer despite there being no space left between you. 

“What should I call you?” you whisper against his lips as you come up for air. His eyes flick open, meeting your own as you take a step back and pull him along to slip your hands under the shoulders of his jacket. He chuckles slightly, detaching your hold on him to undo the button and slip out of his jacket, hanging it over the back of the chair before the vanity. 

“That doesn’t matter.” His hands resume their rightful place on your waist, one sliding down to your hip and drawing you into his figure. “Just enjoy yourself.”

“Oh, trust me,” you press a kiss to his jaw, taking his hand and slinking out of his embrace to place yourself on the end of the bed, “I am.” (You don’t notice until later, but the sheets were in fact silk.)

You tug him along to where you sit, bringing him forward and between your knees. You tilt your head upward as your hands come to rest on his waist, sealing your lips together again. 

You lose yourself to him, the feeling of his thin, wandering fingers tracing your silhouette and the way he pays the same amount of attention to every inch of your body, as if he was trying to memorize every dip and curve of your figure under the silk of your dress. The sweet taste of his mouth entrances you, and when he moves to press his lips to your neck or the line of your jaw between long winded kisses you feel as though you’ve ascended. 

Time no longer exists in the muted bubble of a third floor bedroom in an unfamiliar house. Perhaps it’s only been seconds, and maybe you’ve been locking lips with a handsome stranger for hours, the party melting away to make way for dawn to dutifully traipse her way into the sky. Nothing matters anymore, you’re far too immersed in the passion of the moment to pay much attention to anything other than your unnamed lover. 

Though in reality it’s only physical, he’s explored you so much that you feel with each slide of his tongue against yours he reveals another one of your secrets, one of your stories, something only you know. Despite the intimate impersonality of finding a lover in a stranger, despite the illusion of invasiveness that his careful movements bring, you want to fully surrender yourself to this feeling. Breaking a particularly lengthy kiss, he presses on your shoulder to get you to lean back, and you rest your weight on one hand behind you, the other busy clutching at the silky strands of his hair. 

“You know,” you say, words broken in between the slotting of your mouths back together, “I came to this party in search of the ever so elusive Ten Lee, but goodness一” you press a particularly sloppy kiss to his lips, and he hisses as you tug gently on his hair一 “I do believe I’ve found something much better.”

“Oh, darling, don’t you see?” He presses on your shoulder again, and you fall back to sprawl yourself across the bed. He hovers over you, dipping to kiss the corner of your mouth. “I am Ten.” 

With a smirk that would haunt you for the rest of your days, he gives you one last mindblowing kiss before evaporating into the shadows of the room, straightening the black vest he wore and slipping his suit jacket back on. As you pushed yourself back up so you were supported by your hands behind you, dazed and trying to comprehend what he had just whispered against your skin, Ten turned to look at you. He threw you one last look, a dangerous, beautiful look, before slinking out the door, back into the whirlwind of dancing and debauchery. 

That night would never leave your mind. 

No matter how many parties you attended, no matter how many men circulated through your life, no matter how much you drank, you could never forget Ten. And you’ve tried. He would forever live in your mind, fleeting thoughts of a bedroom flooded with golden light, of his discarded suit jacket, of that gleam in his eyes the first time you saw him.

It would take you many years and much consideration to finally figure out what that look in his eye was, that strange mirth you had never seen another wearing. Later in life, when you’re much wiser and have experienced more than your younger self who met Ten could even imagine, it comes to you one day. You realise that he seemed to find as much pleasure in the facade he presented to the world, the fanciful rumors and scandalous whispers that followed him like a shadow, as he did in the heated intimacy you shared in a darkened bedroom one night of the Roaring Twenties. 

You would attend many more parties held in that mansion, sometimes dragged along by Irene, sometimes finding yourself there alone and unsure of why a somewhat faded memory keeps leading you back here. Every time, you held onto a fleeting hope that you could see just a glance, a sliver of the man you met that fateful night. But as much as you held onto the notion that you would see him again someday, you knew it was foolish. Ten’s reputation preceded him, and he liked to uphold that reputation. 

True to your logic, Ten would never make himself known to you again. For years you would search, a futile attempt to prove to yourself he wasn’t just something you dreamed up in the haze of alcohol and the feeling of weightlessness one can only find on Long Island Sound on Saturday nights as the extravagant parties thrown by a man who rarely showed his face rage on. 

Ten Lee, larger than life, beautiful, nebulous Ten Lee, truly was elusive, barely more than a shadow to his grand reputation.

[jamielea81]

Conversations

Chapter 13

Description: You accompany your friends on a day trip to Animal Kingdom Theme Park where you meet Scott Evans by chance. This one afternoon leads to a year long friendship with both Chris and Scott over text messages and phone calls.

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader

Warning: Fluff, curse words, a little bit of NSFW - If you are under 18 please do not read!

Word Count: 6,700

A/N: I know nothing about the lives of the Evans family and mean no harm. This is purely fiction and for fun. Reblogs and comments are much appreciated! The tag list is now closed. Each chapter tends to get reblogged from me a few times, so if you’re following me, you can’t miss it.  

*Italics are internal thoughts

Catch up with Chapter 12

**

The boys had no clue about your plan. Frankly, no one knew what your plan was. You weren’t trying to be secretive, no, you just didn’t want all the fuss. One week was more than enough time to host someone in your home. Two weeks was outlandish. You would simply tell them later in the week that you were staying in Boston for an additional week. On your own.

You had rented a one bedroom apartment in the city near the harbor. Chris had been putting a lot of extra effort into your relationship recently by coming to stay with you every few weeks. You wanted to see if Boston was a place you could see yourself spending a lot of time in. Staying with Scott or Chris for the second week wouldn’t really allow for you to see if you could be comfortable there by yourself. You wanted to check out the coffee shops, parks, and small eateries. You had read through numerous travel sites and blogs by locals who boasted the neighborhoods that were not only hip, but had low crime rates.

Chris had gone back to Massachusetts from his latest visit just over a week ago and you had already begun to miss him. When he sent you a text three days after leaving, telling you he was missing you, you instantly felt relieved. The two of you had spent a lot of time talking on his visits which ultimately brought you closer. He slept in your bed all three days of this last trip, never pressing for more than a cuddle and a few kisses. Chris spent a great amount of time talking with you into the early morning hours about how it would be when he was away filming. The two of you would need to survive on Skype or Facetime as he was often away for months at a time. He said that you could visit him on set, but your time together would be limited.

The additional week in Boston was born from the vacation time you had to use or lose with the Orlando Sentinel. Asia was quick to agree that your start date with News Now could begin a few days after you returned from your trip. Having the ability to work from anywhere was a huge positive. Your lease would be coming up for renewal in February and you were honestly struggling with staying or leaving Orlando.

Central Florida had been your home for sixteen years, but you were still only renting. That had to mean something. You didn’t miss the long winters of Minnesota, but you did miss your family. Minnesota felt safe and comfortable for a place to start over again, but you still weren’t sure that was the right step for you. Logically, it was too soon to move to Boston. You were never the girl to move somewhere for a guy. Chris was one of the people closest to you, but the two of you were barely a couple. But why the hell was your heart telling you to give it a shot? At least you had a couple of months to figure it all out.

**

You had swung by Krispy Kreme on the way to Jana’s office armed with a coupon for half off a dozen. Not that you needed a dozen donuts, but a deal was a deal. That’s how you’d always been. You weren’t one of those coupon clippers, but you always shopped on sale and always looked in the clearance section. If there was a bargain to be had, you were a willing participant. This is why even looking at places to rent for the long term in Boston frightened you. Sticker shock was an understatement. You could buy a new, large family home in the suburbs of Minneapolis for the same price you could purchase a studio apartment in Boston. Technically, you could look outside of the city, but that’s something you’d have to think about later when a decision needed to be made.

“I brought food,” you greeted her, shoving the box in her face as she signed you in to the building.

“That’s not food.”

“You can eat it Jana. I’m pretty sure Brooks consumes these five days a week.”

“Fine. Maybe just one,” she replied, reaching into the box and pulling out a glazed one once you got to her office. You gave her a satisfied smirk before grabbing one for yourself. “You ready to work with Brooks again?”

“Is one ever ready? But seriously, I didn’t exactly work with him when he was at the paper so even now I still won’t see him,” you shrugged, taking a huge bite and promptly licking your fingers to Jana’s dismay.

“When are you starting again?”

“Like the twenty eighth. Some time that week. I’m going to try to have something to submit that week. Maybe about my time in Boston. Who knows?”

“You call me the workaholic, yet you’re working on vacation,” Jana said.

“Well, I’m nervous as shit, so I just want to be ready to go with something.”

With promises of dinner together when you returned, you left her office with the box of donuts in hand. Rather than heading straight for the elevator, you decided to stop by Ethan’s office. His door was open, but he was engrossed in a law book.    

“Hey,” you called out loud enough for him to hear you but soft enough not to startle him.

He looked up, grinning when he saw it was you. “How are you?”

“Good. I’ve come to tempt you with sugar,” you said holding up the box.

“No bribing needed. Whaddaya got?”

“A little bit of everything,” you said, stepping into the room and placing the box on the desk. You opened it for him to pick. He quickly pulled out one of the custard filled ones, moaning at the taste.

“Thank you,” he murmured, mouth still full.

You gave him an honest smile. Speaking to him the last time you were in the office really got rid of that tension about seeing him.

“You’re welcome.”

“What are you up to?” he asked.

“How much time do you have?” you asked.

“For you? As much as you need.” He gestured to one of the empty chairs in front of his desk.

You told him about the new job and how much you were looking forward to the change. You left out the part about possibly moving since nothing was set in stone, so there was no need to get into that.

“I’m sorry Y/N,” he started, you giving him a questioning look. “When I said that stupid thing about your job. 100% didn’t mean it. I was just angry and I aimed low. You’re a great writer. I read everything you wrote when we were together, and I still read it today.”

You gave him a small smile. “Thanks for saying that. And you still read it?” you asked surprisingly.

“Got to get my Disney news from a reliable source,” he shrugs.

**

Boston’s weather seems to be all over the place with predictions for the next two weeks being anywhere from the fifties to the low seventies. You packed a large suitcase and your trusty leather carryon with a few sweaters, sweatshirts, t-shirts, jeans, leggings and a couple pairs of short boots. You’ll wear your sneakers to the airport. At least that’s one less thing to pack. You’re staying with Scott and Zach, but you toy over bringing your cute yet flirty pajamas and lingerie. You and Chris aren’t exclusive, at least not technically. He told you he isn’t seeing anyone else and isn’t planning on either. But the words boyfriend and girlfriend or partner haven’t been uttered. Taking a guess, he’s most likely waiting for you to say it since he doesn’t want to push you. You’re not even sure how much you’ll be seeing him this trip. He said he’ll be around, but never made actual plans with you. Picking up your cell, you shot him a text.

Y/N: When am I seeing you in Boston.

Chris: All the time?

The fact that he adds that question mark makes you laugh.

Y/N: Well, we never made plans, so I wasn’t sure if you have stuff going on all week.

Chris: You’re such a dork. You’re coming to my town and you have to question when you’re going to see me?

Y/N: I thought it was Scott’s town, you know, since I’m staying with him.

Chris: What?!

Chris: That’s not fair. You didn’t even give me the chance to offer 😔

Y/N: My poor baby. I’ll be sure to kiss it all better.

Chris: You better

Yep, you were packing the cute underwear.

**

You sent Scott a text as soon as you landed.

Scott: On my way. White BMW.

Grabbing your bag from the conveyer belt, you grabbed a coffee before going out to short term parking where he said he’d meet you. The temperature was a cool sixty-three degrees, so you were dressed in a cozy hunter green sweater, jeans, and browns boots. You thought about throwing on a jacket, but figured the boys would tease you. Minnesota you would have teased you, but you’d been in Florida too long now. Sixty was cold.

Crossing over to the ramp, you looked around for a white BMW as instructed. A sudden honk jolted you, causing coffee to spurt out through the cup’s cover.

“Mother fucker!” you whispered to yourself.

The offending driver jumped out of the car, jogging toward you. “Shit! Sorry!” It was Chris rather than Scott. NASA hat on his head, Pats sweatshirt, and jeans. The epitome of casual, yet it he looked good.

When does he not look good?

“You scared the shit out of me,” you said, dropping your carryon to the ground and hugging him with your free hand. “I should be smacking you rather than hugging you.”

“M’sorry. Wanted to surprise you,” he said pulling away.

You kissed the pout on his lips, Chris smiling as soon you pulled back. He bent down grabbing your bag from the ground and then grabbed the handle on your suitcase. You followed behind him, admiring the view.

He really is America’s Ass.

The drive to Scott’s didn’t take long. He had a large two-bedroom condo in the city. Parking was a challenge, but Scott had purchased a second spot a year ago and since Zach wasn’t’ home, Chris parked there.

He grabbed your two bags while you easily toted your purse and now empty coffee cup into the building’s entrance and up the elevator. Chris walked in without knocking, but you supposed Scott knew you were coming since you did text him when you landed.

“I brought you a gift!” Chris called out.

Scott walked into the entry and living room giving you a big smile. “Oh. Is there a return policy?”

“You are such a brat!” you spat out. “Does your mother have room at her place? Feel like I’d getting a warmer welcome there.”

“Sassy, don’t give me no lip. You know I love you,” Scott said, pulling you into a hug. You let your arms hang to give him that bit of attitude, plus you still had your purse and cup in hand.

“Ahuh, love you too,” you replied.

Scott showed you to your room for the week while Chris followed behind, setting your bags on the floor. Light blue walls with dark wood furniture made up the room. A queen size bed placed in the center with a chest of drawers sat on the opposite wall. A relatively large flat screen TV mounted to the wall above the chest. On each side of the bed were a matching set of night stands. A vase of white daisies sat on the right-hand side.

“Bathroom is across the hall. Dinner is at six. Don’t be late. No fucking in your room,” he said, pointing between you and Chris, closing the door as he left. “Or at least be quiet about it,” he said through the door.

Chris looked at you with raised eyebrows while you shook your head. “Uh, we don’t have to,” he said.

“Well, definitely not now.”

“Yeah. Yeah, totally. That’s just Scott,” Chris said, shrugging. He was nervous and it made you smile.

Chris stayed for dinner but left around eight kissing you breathless before wishing you a goodnight.

**

Scott, Zach and yourself hit the road early starting with the Freedom Trail, making sure to see the graves of Samuel Adams, John Hancock, and Paul Revere before stopping at the Old State House. Chris had wanted to join the three of you, but when you mentioned he would draw in a crowd being that you would be surrounded by tourists, he was quick to change his mind.

Scott brought you to Beacon Hill where you fell in love with the architecture of the beautiful brick homes. When he told you the average price, you choked on your breath, quickly deciding it wasn’t anywhere you would be able to live.

You moved on to Charles Street, stopping in a few shops to buy something for Jana as well as yourself. When it was time for lunch, Scott and Zach brought you to Cheers bar on Beacon Hill. Scott told you there actually two locations, this one was used for the exterior shots for the show. It was everything you imagined it would be. You were too young to enjoy the show when it aired originally, but picked up on the reruns when you were in your late twenties.

Harvard University was as grand and as beautiful as you imagined it would be bathed in the gorgeousness that is fall. You treated to the boys to ice cream, finding a nice spot on a grassy lawn filled with students and tourists alike. Scott took a few pictures of you with ice cream cone in hand and red and orange leaves all around you. You did the same for each of them. The spontaneous photoshoot turned into a leaf fight as Zach dumped a large handful on Scott’s head.

**

Nervous seemed like such an inadequate word to describe how you were feeling. You weren’t even a nail biter but you couldn’t keep your thumb out of your mouth as you chewed the corner repeatedly.

“Would you stop it? You’ve met her,” Scott said, taking his eyes off the road briefly to look at you.

“Yeah and she thought I was some floozy.” Scott snorted. “Do people still say floozy?”

“I’m pretty sure they don’t. And you know that’s because she didn’t know you were you. It’ll be fine. She loves you. I talk about you all the time. Well, not all the time, but I talk about you and she loves you.” You took a deep breath. “Now keep that finger out of your mouth. She will judge you for jagged fingernails.”

“Such a brat,” you said softly.

“Me? Do I need to have Chris take you and all your luggage back to his place tonight? Why’d you pack so much anyway? Must’ve packed like three winter coats or somethin’.”

“Shuddup,” you murmured. You’d only been in town for four nights and weren’t planning on having this conversation until Friday. “Was going to tell you later, but might as well tell you now. But do not tell Chris. I will tell him later,” you warned.

“Sounds serious,” he said.

“You know how with this new job I can pretty much work from where ever I’d like?” Scott nodded his head. “I’m still trying to figure that all out. Not that I don’t love Florida. Jana and Brooks are my family there, but I’m thinking it might be time to make a change. I thought about Minnesota since my parents and brother are there, but I also wanted to see how I’d like Boston.”

“What are you gettin’ at Y/N?”

“I’m staying in town next week. I rented an apartment to see if I feel comfortable here.”

Scott let out a low whistle. “Chris is going to be pissed,” he sing-songed the last word.

“You think?” you asked.

“Oh yeah.”

“Like pissed because I’ve thought about maybe splitting my time here or moving here?”

“Oh god, no. He’d probably love the fuck out of that. He’s going to be pissed you aren’t staying with him.”

You didn’t even think of that. The idea of having your own space to see if you’d like being here was still the right decision, but he was right. Chris would probably be upset you didn’t tell him what you were thinking. And he’d probably be mad you weren’t staying with him.

“Shuddup,” you said again.

**

“Ma! Your favorite son and Sassy are here,” Scott called out after opening the front door to his mother’s house.

“I’m already here,” Chris called from what looked like the kitchen. He walked into the entryway pulling you into a hug. “Missed you.”

“You just saw me at breakfast,” you replied, kissing his lips quickly before anyone else came in the room.

“Still missed you.” He interlaced your fingers and pulled you toward the kitchen. “Cah’mon.”

Lisa, the boy’s mother was in front of the stove, a few pans sizzling on the burners. It smelled delicious, so you knew you were in for a good meal.

“Y/N, it’s nice to see you again. How are you enjoying your stay?” she said turning to face you.

It was all so formal, you instantly jumped into interview mode.

“It’s been quite wonderful. Scott’s been a great host,” you replied.

She smiled warmly and went back to her pans.

“When are the girls getting here?” Scott asked.

“Should be here soon. Why don’t the three of you show Y/N around?”

Chris gave you the tour while Scott plopped himself on the sofa in the family room.

“And this was my room,” he said, opening the door. It was set up as a guestroom with a full-size bed pressed against the center of the far wall.

“So, is this where the Sandra Bullock poster used to hang?” you said pointing at the ceiling.

“Et tu, Brute? Never going to live that down.” Chis said, shaking his head.

“Oh, everyone does it babe. I’m pretty sure I had a couple of NSYNC pictures torn from magazines hanging on my walls. I know I had one of Joey Lawrence.”

“Joey Lawrence?” he chuckled.

“He looked good in Blossom when I was a kid. He had great hair.”

“Yeah? What do you think of my hair?”

You ran your fingers through his hair, giving the end a slight tug. “This hair?” you said softly, your face close to his. “This hair, I can’t get enough of. Probably the sexiest head I’ve seen in a week.”

“A week? You runnin’ your fingers through someone else’s hair?” he asked, his breath hot against your lips.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

He pressed his lips against yours. Arms instantly tugging you closer while you kept one hand in his hair and the other around his neck. Kissing Chris would never get old. He walked backwards until his legs hit the edge of the mattress, lowering himself down and pulling you onto his lap. You wrapped your arms around his neck, his hands instantly going to your ass as he pulled you to straddle him closer. A moan broke from your throat, catching you off guard.

“That’s it baby,” Chris whispered, lips attaching themselves to your jaw.

Instantly you were reminded that you were indeed in his mother’s house. The same mother who thought you were just a hook up when she first met. You sighed, loosening your grip from around his neck. Chris continued to kiss across your jaw and down your neck.

“We’re in your mother’s house babe,” you said.

“And?” he muttered into your neck.

“And, she probably wouldn’t appreciate this going on in her guestroom.”

He pulled back a bit, finding your lips and placing a kiss there. “I beg to differ, but I suppose this isn’t how you want to meet my sisters.”

“Nope,” you said, popping the p. You crawled off his lap and a ran a hand through your hair. It was a good thing that you only had on lip balm, because surely had it been lipstick it would have been a mess on your face. You tugged at your sweater, making sure the neck was straightened before turning back to Chris and smiling. “Why don’t I spend the night at that construction zone you’re calling a house tomorrow night?”

“Really?” he asked, eager smile on his face.

“Yes, really.” You’d tell Chris tomorrow about your extended stay. It would just be the two of you tomorrow, so it would be easier to talk to him about your thoughts on possibly moving. You hoped he’d be honest with his feelings on it as well.

The two of you made your way back to the family room, immediately spying Chris’ sisters. Scott told you tonight’s dinner would just be the siblings as his mom wanted to keep it small and casual as they got to know you. Saturday would have the whole Evans’ clan in attendance for a potluck type lunch.

“Nice of you two to finally join us,” Chris greeted Carly and Shanna.

“We’re on time, you’re just always early,” Shanna said.

“Wait until you have kids. You’ll see how long it takes to get out of the house,” Carly spat.

“Anyway. This is my girlfriend Y/N. Y/N, these are my sisters Carly and Shanna.”

Whoa. Girlfriend. I guess he’s saying it first.

You felt your face heat up, but you quickly extended your hand to Carly first who pulled you into a hug and then passed you to Shanna who did the same.

“Great to meet the often talked about Sassy,” Shanna said with a giggle.

“Oh boy. Hopefully only good things,” you replied.

“Maybe. Siblings never rat each other out, so we simply can’t say,” Carly added shrugging her shoulders.

“You know damn well, no one is saying anything bad about you Sassy. It’s  Chris that needs to worry,” Scott said. Shanna instantly nodding in agreement.

“Let’s get a drink!” Carly said, putting her arm around your shoulder and dragging you to the kitchen.

With beers in hand, the five of you went back into the family, sandwiching between Chris and Shanna on the couch. A few minutes later Lisa came and joined you. “Dinner in ten minutes kids,” she said, squishing next to Scott on a large oversized chair.

“Sounds good, Ma,” Chris said.

“What are you kids talking about?”

“We were just getting ready to interrogate Y/N,” Carly said, giving you a wink.

“No, we most certainly were not,” Chris said, putting his arm around you and pulling you close.

You chuckled lightly, patting his thigh with your hand. “Babe, it’s fine.” You pulled away and looked at each of the three women. “What would you like to know?”

“Dinner’s almost ready, why don’t we wait until we sit down?” Lisa offered.

**

With dinner on the table, you readied yourself for an onslaught of questions.

“So, you’re from Florida?” Carly asked.

“Actually, I’m from Minnesota. I moved to Florida for college and just stayed.”

“And you’re a Disney person?” Shanna asked.

“Absolutely,” you smiled. “I worked, well, still work for the Orlando Sentinel covering anything and everything Disney parks. I’m not sure if the guys told you I recently took a different job, but I’ll still be covering some Disney parks’ news.”

“They did. Congratulations Y/N. It sounds like it was a change you were looking to make,” Lisa said.

“It was. I love covering the parks, but I’ve written a lot of current events articles for various magazines and I’d really like to delve into that.”

Chris squeezed your knee pulling your attention to him. He beamed at you, literally beamed. You knew he was happy for you but this told you that he was happy with how this meeting was going.

“Do you have any siblings?” Shanna asked.

“I have one brother and his name is Heath. He’s three years younger than me. And I have a bunch of cousins that are all around our age, so they always felt like siblings growing up.”

“Are you all still close?” Lisa asked.

“My brother and I are, but it gets harder to keep in touch with my cousins as we get older.”

“Have you ever been married?” Shanna inquired.

“Shanna!” Chris hissed.

You looked at Chris and gave him a smile. “It’s fine. No, I’ve never been married nor engaged. I’ve had a couple of long-term relationships, but not in the last few years.”

Shanna smiled, apparently satisfied with your answer.

**

After dinner, you offered to help Lisa with pouring coffee and dishing up the cake she had made.

“Y/N, I just wanted to apologize for that day I met you in Epcot. I didn’t treat you fairly and I honestly feel awful about it.” She turned away from the cake to face you. “Scott has always spoken so highly of you. I truly am sorry that I wasn’t as welcoming as I should have been.” Lisa stepped closer to you, grabbing both of your hands with hers. “Chris hadn’t mentioned that you were the same friend that Scott had told me about. So, when he said he was meeting up with a friend, I was a little annoyed. I thought that this friend was someone that he just had met, so I was disappointed it was taking time away from the kids.” She chuckled softly. “That sounds awful. It’s not that Christopher does that regularly. He never does that.” She took a breath and started again. “Oh boy, I’m probably getting him into trouble with you.” You chuckled at her words and shook your head. “My point is, I’m sorry and I hope we can be friends because you are obviously a very important woman in both my sons’ lives.”

“No hard feeling at all and I hope we can be friends as well.” You leaned forward and wrapped your arms around here. She quickly followed suit, patting your back gently with one hand.

“Are we getting cake or what?” Chris asked, stepping into the room. “Didn’t know I was breaking up a Hallmark moment.”

“Har-har Christopher. Come grab some of these plates,” Lisa said.

Chris stepped close to you, grabbing a plate while you poured another cup of coffee. “Everything okay?”

“Completely,” you said with a smile.

**

“Are you really leaving me for my brother?” Scott asked in his best daytime soap opera voice.

“Well, I’ve seen him naked, so...” you trailed off, shrugging your shoulders.

“All you had to do was ask,” Scott offered.

“I’m sure Zach and Chris would love to hear that.” You patted his head, grabbing your carryon bag from the couch, making sure you had everything for the night. “I’ll be back with you tomorrow night for our best friends sleep over party like we planned. No boys allowed except for you.”

“Damn right! I’ll be sure to stock up on raspberry vodka.”

“No! Only wine. I learned my lesson when you got me drunk.” Scott scoffed, but waved you off. Chris was down stairs circling the block since he couldn’t find a spot to park. “Tell Zach when he gets up from his nap that I’ll see him tomorrow.”

“I will. Have fun and use protection!” Scott yelled out. You promptly flicked him off and shut the door.

**

Chris’ house was beautiful, even if it was being remodeled. The rooms that were currently being redone were the two guestrooms, the office, a guest bathroom, and the deck.

“See, you totally could have stayed here the whole time. Plenty of space for just you and me.”

The two of you were laying on his really comfortable couch. You between his legs and back against his chest. He kissed your neck and you hummed.

“Well, I remember someone telling me his house was practically unlivable. Then Scott offered and who am I to refuse? You’ll just have to have me stay another time.”

“Oh, I will,” he replied, then kissed your neck again.

“Your house is gorgeous. I really love this room and I’m sure this wall of windows out to the deck will look even better when it’s finished.”

“It’s going to be great. Like a second living space. At least that’s what the designer tells me. How are you likin’ Boston?”

You turned to face him slightly, tucking one leg underneath yourself. You licked your lips nervously.

Now or never.

“Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that.”

“Okay, what’s on your mind?”

“Now, don’t get mad,” you started, Chris raising his eyebrows. “That’s not what I mean. Um. Okay, so you know how I mentioned that with this new job, I can spend time here with you or I could spend time with my family and work at the same time?” He nodded his head. “Well, I’m thinking about maybe relocating. I’m not sure what I want to do yet and I don’t need to make a decision right away. My lease isn’t even up until February.”

Chris face lit up, his smile as big as you’ve ever seen it. “What are you saying, Y/N. You movin’ here?”

“Not sure yet, that’s what I’m getting at. I’m staying in Boston another week.”

“You want to stay with me?”

“That’s the thing. I gotta make sure I’m comfortable being here. You’re not always here. Months at a time when you’re filming even. So, I actually rented an apartment for a week to see if I like the area.”

“Sweetheart, you could still stay with me and figure out if this is the place you want to be.”

“I know, but if I did move here, I’d have my own place so I wanted to get the feel of it. I didn’t mention it to you or Scott because I didn’t want you both insisting that I stay with you.” Chris narrowed his eyes at you. “Don’t give me that look. It’s way too early for me to be moving in with you. We both know that.”

“Fine. You’re probably right,” he murmured.

“Maybe I can cook you dinner at my pretend apartment next week,” you offered.

“You better. Don’t think you’re staying a whole ‘nother week and not seeing me almost every day.”

“Babe,” you sighed out. “The whole point of me staying another week is to see if I can get along on my own. If we are hanging out every day, that’s not how life is always going to be.”

“Five days.”

“Two days,” you offered.

“Two days?! Sweetheart…Four days.”

“Three, and that’s my final offer,” you concluded.

“Deal. But that’s you and me time. No Scott.”

“That’s fine by me. But it’s not an all-day deal. I want to try to work.”

“Yes ma’am,” he said, grabbing your face and pulling it to his lips.

“Let’s go to bed,” you said, standing up and pulling him up with your hand. The two of you walked into his room, you slipping into the en suite.

You pulled off your sweater, cami, and jeans, folding them neatly and placing them on the far side of the vanity. You took a deep breath, admiring the see-through black bra and matching panties. You were ready to be intimate with Chris again and you hoped he was feeling the same. Giving yourself one last look, you ran your fingers through your hair and pinched your cheeks. You were feeling confident and you hoped it showed. Taking one more deep breath, you steadied yourself and opened the bathroom door, walking back in the room to Chris who had changed into a t-shirt that he wore with his boxers.

“Sweetheart,” he said with a shaky breath.

“Hi, Chris,” you said, moving closer to him. He sprung to his feet to stand in front of you. Your hands went to his chest, placing both palms on him. “Make love to me.”

It came out more like a statement than a question and you were proud of yourself in that moment. Chris visibly gulped, licking his lips, he nodded. His arms instantly wrapped around you, caging yours to his body.

“Oh sweetheart, I’ve missed you,” he said softly. His lips trailed from yours to your neck, back up to that spot behind your ear that made your knees shake. He walked you to the bed, gently laying you down with him coming to lay beside you. His knee went between your legs opening you up to him. One hand caressed your pussy over your panties as he mouthed your nipple through your bra, causing goosebumps to erupt down your body. “Are you sure?” he asked.

“Yes, god yes. I want you babe,” you moaned as his mouth went to your other breast.

While the first time the two of you were together was fun and full of nervous energy, this time was the two of you truly making love. Chris took his time worshiping your body. It was slow and soft and you knew that it was absolutely right.

**

Lisa’s home was stuffed to capacity, much of the guests spilling into the backyard. It wasn’t just the Evans clan in attendance today. Everyone brought friends who they considered family. The names of everyone you met started to swirl together. The family was easy enough to get down as you met the kids back in May. Carly’s husband, Shanna’s boyfriend, a few cousins, and uncle were added to the list. Chris had a few buddies there as well as Scott that they introduced you to. Everyone was warm and welcoming and you felt at ease as they all seemed to want to get to know you. These were the important people in Chris’ life, so they were important to you as well.

Chris was relaxed which you loved to see. He had a few beers but wasn’t out of control. When you were around each other, he kept a hand on you. On your back. On your side. Around your shoulders. On your cheek. It was sweet and welcome, especially after the night you spent together.

You decided to stick to lemonade during the day, switching to white wine as the day went on. Getting drunk in front of these people wasn’t something you wanted to do even if Scott was trying to make that happen. He’d walk by with a bottle in hand and you’d quickly cover the top of your glass with your hand. It was slumber party night back at Scott’s, one of you had to be responsible enough to drive you home later.

One person you hadn’t even thought of meeting was Courtney. It was foolish of you to forget about her since Scott had told you she had been a long-time friend of the family, not to mention Chris’ on and off girlfriend for years. You wanted to like her and you wanted her to like you. It was such a weird thought to have. She’s Chris’ ex after all. She had been around for his other girlfriends including his longer relationships.

“Y/N, this is Courtney,” Scott introduced.

She gave you a polite smile and a wave which you returned. “The famous Sassy! I’ve seen you on Scott’s Instagram account,” she said.

Okay. This isn’t so bad.

“That would be me. It’s nice to meet you.”

She was prettier in person than she was in pictures. The kind of girl that didn’t need makeup but wore it anyway and it only enhanced her natural beauty. She was dressed casually in jeans and sweater, yet she looked unbelievably put together.

“You in town long?” she asked.

“Another week, then I’m back to the warmth,” you said with a smile.

“Suppose this is quite the change for you. Plus, the Evans family can be quite overwhelming.”

Scott scoffed at that, pushing her shoulder. “Only some of the Evans’ are overwhelming. I’m wonderful.”

You grabbed him around the waist, kissing his shoulder. “You sure are sweetie,” you said sarcastically, earning a laugh from Courtney.

Scott excused himself, leaving you and Courtney to chat. She was nice and sweet and easy to talk to.  You immediately understood why she remained friends with the family when her and Chris broke up the first time. It was still odd in away to be friendly with your boyfriend’s ex, but if everyone else loved her, you needed to give it a shot. Boyfriend. That was another thing. Chris was your boyfriend. You really liked the sound of that.

It was close to seven and Scott was itching to take off. He wanted to order pizza and have a dance party. Zach was staying with Chris for the night so the two of you could have that sleep over. You both had great boyfriends to put up with you. Confiscating Scott’s keys earlier in the day, you went in search of Chris to tell him goodbye.

You found Chris with a few of his friends you had met early in the day along with Courtney standing on the patio outside. Chris was telling a story, animated as ever. His arms flailing about, head tipped back as he laughed at his own joke. You stood back to admire him as he had the group enthralled with whatever tale he was telling. Courtney stepped forward, wrapping an arm around his middle. It seemed innocent at first until she placed a hand on his sweater clad chest, hand trailing lightly. Chris looked down at her hand and then to her face, neither of them noticing you had stepped outside. He lifted her hand from his chest, much to her surprise, and then stepped out of her embrace. “I have a girlfriend,” he said softly, but you still heard it.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know.” Courtney quickly replied.

You wanted to escape without being seen. It definitely felt like a moment you weren’t meant to witness even though you were happy with the outcome. You were mere inches from the patio doors when Scott popped out, calling out your name drawing the attention of the group standing nearby.

“Hey sweetheart,” Chris said, leaving the group and walking up to you, kissing your temple to greet you. You wrapped an arm around his middle and leaned into him. “Are you taking off?”

“M’hmm,” you replied. “Just coming to say goodnight.”

“I’ll walk you out,” he said.

“Hey, Y/N? Can I talk to you for a moment?” Courtney asked. You turned around to see a small frown on her face.

You nodded your head. “Sure.” You squeezed Chris’ hand. “I’ll see you inside,” you said to him.

Courtney followed you further into the backyard, taking a seat on a small bench.

“I’m not sure what you may have seen, but I wanted to apologize. I had my arms around Chris and If I had known he was with someone, I wouldn’t have been as handsy as I just was. That’s not me and I don’t want you to get that impression of me. M’sorry and I hope that you can accept my apology.”

Scott had not introduced you to Courtney as Chris’ girlfriend, so you did believe that she didn’t know and she did seem sincere. You didn’t want things to be weird, especially if you did end up moving here at some point.

“Already forgotten. I’d like for us to be friends, so no hard feelings,” you replied.

“Thank you,” she said, giving you a soft smile.

Both of you stood up, you walking back into the house and Courtney staying outside. Chris intertwined your hand with his, walking both of you out the front door to Scott’s car. He pulled you into a rocking hug, before pulling back, placing both palms on your cheeks and kissing you deeply.

“I’ll see you Monday for our day one of three?” he asked with a grin.

“I’d like that.” You kissed him again before climbing into the driver’s seat of the car. Scott already asleep in the passenger’s seat.

“Oh, Scott,” you said, shaking your head. He was lucky his car had GPS and you had his address.

Chapter 14

**

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[suchalonelysunflower]

Merry Crisis (a.i)

Pairing: Ashton Irwin (ft.5SOS) X Fem!reader (Dad!Ash)

Summary: Shopping is always stressful, but when you have a baby on the way... it can become a chaos, especially when you have 3 crazy best friends with you.

Warnings: Language. Fluff and some crackhead moments. Reader uses she/her pronouns. Mentions of Birth. Some grammar mistakes (English is not my first language, sorry)

Word count: 4.5 k

Author’s note: Hello! This is my first Holiday fic with 5SOS and it’s Ashton’s turn to shine (even tho each boy gets their moment) This was so fun to write, I did it on my sociology class (so maybe it’s not that perfect) and I love it very much and I hope you do too! Reblogs, feedback and comments are always welcome and encouraged! Support your writers! ❤️ Hope you like it and Happy Reading 🦋❤️

My materialist // wanna be on my tag list?

Twas the evening before Christmas, the streets were filled with Christmas lights and the chill air of Los Angeles made everything cozier as families gathered around the fireplace and enjoyed the most peaceful of times…

This statement does not apply to our favorite band, tho.

Our four Australians were not enjoying a cup of hot cocoa with their families as they were supposed to, oh no. They were doing the most dreadful thing a person could think of doing the night before dear Santa came to visit: They were Christmas shopping.

In their defense - or at least Calum’s, Michael’s and Luke’s defense, this was all Ashton’s fault for he was the one that dragged them to the crowded mall in the middle of one of the busiest days of the year. And, in Ashton’s defense, it was not his fault that the store had called him in the middle of a recording session to tell him that they finally had the only thing he wanted for Christmas: A music box.

He just had to get it before everyone else.

“Why did we come all over here for a little music box?” Asked Michael as they stood at the end of the line for the register. How could they only have one register open? It’s Christmas for fucks sake! but then again, it’s Christmas for fucks sake, so they know that people should be with their families instead of working a poorly paid job.

“It was the last one!” Ashton claimed, admiring the little circular box in his hand “It’s a limited edition and I just had to get it for Y/N and for the baby”

His eyes lit up when your name escaped his lips. Not even a year ago did he officially make you his wife, but now you were carrying his child! People might think it was rushed, but for Ashton it was the complete opposite. He had his life made when he met you, knowing that he will marry you as soon as he could… he had to wait a few more years to do that, but he was extremely happy, more so now that your little family was expanding. He loved you and your child with all his heart, and the boys all knew that so they can't even be mad about it, even if he kidnapped them to the mall with the promise of some cinnabuns later.

“She had one of these when she was little” Ashton continued as he admired the little hand painted details of the box “It always played a little lullaby to help her sleep. But it broke a few years ago and she always complained about not having one like this for her kids one day… But now she will!” The black haired man smiled.

“Shit, that’s actually pretty sweet” Michael commented “Okay, you’re forgiven”

“I don’t know if I want to hug you for being the perfect husband, or to kick you in the balls for being the perfect husband and making the rest of us feel bad” Luke chuckled.

The four boys laughed at the comment and started talking about their plans for the Holidays as they waited for the line to move. The problem was, it has been fifteen minutes and the line has only moved once.

“How long is this line anyway?” Calum said, peeking over the side, furrowing his eyebrows as he noticed at least thirty more people waiting in front of them “Shit, this is going to take a while. That man has at least twenty plushies and eleven race cars”

“I don’t know how people could leave this kind of stuff for the last minute” Ashton huffed, earning a death glare from each of his friends “This one is different, tho! It was the last one!”

“I’ll give you a hundred bucks for that!” Someone said behind Luke, making him jump at the sudden surprise.

“What the-” Luke said, placing a hand over his heart.

It was a short man in a trench coat who pointed to the music box in Ashton’s hand.

Ashton furrowed his eyebrows and said to the man “Uh, not a chance mate”

“Two hundred?”

“Nope”

“Five hundred?” The man would just not cave and Ashton was getting fed up with it, luckily Calum noticed and hurried to say something before his friend started a scene.

“Hey, mr. Devito wannabe. He said no, so just go bother someone else. Okay?”

The man scoffed and turned his face to the side, stating that he was offended. The four Australians rolled their eyes and turned their backs to him once again.

Another fifteen minutes passed and the line barely moved. The guys were not talking anymore, running out of things to say past the twenty minute mark. Each of them were bored out of their minds, well all but Ashton at least, he was still gleaming with pride as he looked at the music box and created scenarios in his head and thought about the joy that would be mirrored in your eyes once you open it tomorrow morning.

After a few more minutes of silence, Luke was the first one to break it “I think I’m just gonna get a coffee and wait in the car. These boots are killing me today” He looked at Ashton as if to ask permission, but the dark haired man just shrugged and nodded, asking him to buy one for him as well and to leave it in the car.

Michael then added “Yeah, I think I’m gonna go and check the electronics this store has. I think I saw a new camera that would be perfect for my streams”

And that only left Calum and Ashton waiting in line. But about five seconds later, Calum opened his mouth.

“Yes, you can go explore, too” Ashton said with a sigh before Calum even got a chance to ask.

“Cool” The curly man said, patting Ashton on the back before muttering a ‘I’ll be right back’ Leaving him alone with the music box.

Ashton didn’t mind. In fact, he kind of enjoyed this time alone. It gave him plenty of opportunities to imagine a new future for the both of you next to your little baby boy or girl. He catched a glimpse of families walking around the mall, buying gifts or eating a snack as they smiled at each other. He couldn’t wait for that to be his new normal.

He remembered the time when you told him you were pregnant. You gifted him a special baby bodysuit that said “My daddy is the best drummer in the world and there is nothing you can do about it” next to your positive pregnancy test. Ashton always wanted to start a family, especially if it was with you, but he never expected it to be so soon. Yet, once he held the test in his trembling hands, he knew that this was the best thing it could’ve happened to him. He remembers how tearful he got the second his brain processes the information, quickly running up to you and pressing an earth shattering kiss to your lips, promising you and your baby that he would be the best father in the world.

And, as he held the little object in his hand, he already thought he was doing a pretty good job. He smiled to himself and thought about calling you. Not only did he want to hear your voice at this moment, but also because he wanted to check up on you. You were having tea with your best friend at the moment, but the pregnancy hormones were hitting pretty hard lately and he wanted to make sure you were doing alright.

But as soon as he got his phone out of his pocket, your name started glowing on the screen.

“Baby! I was just about to call you” Ashton said with a smile, loving this little coincidence.

“Ashton, is coming!” You said in an alarming tone. Ashton, however, did not understand what you meant.

“Yeah? I’m coming home soon, why are-?”

“No!” You cut him off “The baby, Ash! The baby is coming!”

Ashton laughed “Ha, ha very funny Y/N. But the baby isn’t due until three weeks from now”

“ASHTON FLETCHER IRWIN” You yelled through the phone, making Ashton pull away from the phone for a second “MY WATER BROKE AND THE BABY IS COMING NOW. SO GET YOUR ASS TO THE HOSPITAL BEFORE I-” A sharp pain ran through you as you were experiencing the contractions. Ashton could hear your distant groan and immediately went pale.

The baby was coming and he wasn’t ready.

“Ash, hello?” Your friend’s calm voice came from the other end “I’m gonna take Y/N to the hospital right now. I need you to meet us there, okay?”

“Fuck, okay. I’m on my way” He rushed to say before he ended the call.

“Hey, dude. What’s going-?” Michael said as he approached the black haired man who looked like he might throw up.

“The baby’s coming!” He said, trying to concentrate on his breathing before he hyperventilates.

“What?!”

“Hey, Mike, is everything-?” Calum came next, worried about his friends’ weird behavior.

“THE BABY IS COMING”

Michael.

The guitarist started wandering the electronics and new technologies hall. He was secretly glad he got away from waiting in line for what it looked like another hour, but at the same time he was glad he decided to accompany Ashton in his little quest.

The moment he knew you were pregnant he set himself to be the best uncle that little kid will have. He already knew that you and Ashton were going to be great parents, with the way in which you love each other it was hard to think otherwise. Michael was always up for anything you guys wanted to do for each other, from secret dates or help you sneak out after a concert, or even to plan gifts! He always took pride to know that he was part of your epic love story, even if it was with just a little favor.

Michael stepped into the videogame aisle like he usually does, but this time he went directly to the kid’s section, knowing that eventually your baby will want to play videogames with uncle Mikey and he will have to be ready with the most family friendly games he could find.

He started grabbing a few of them and reading the little summaries they had on the back, eventually deciding that he did not understand anything about children’s games and that he might have to ask around in order to find the best ones.

He went back to the electronics aisle and something caught his attention.

“Is that a real megaphone?” He asked one of the workers there “I haven’t seen one since 2014” He said, remembering the last time the boys ever let him play with one of those in the Good Girls video.

“Yeah! It’s the new model” Said the teenage boy that was in charge of that seccion that day “Wanna try it out?”

“Before that, can I go and show it to my mates? I won’t be gone for long, they are just down the checkout line”

“Sure!” The young man smiled and gave him the megaphone.

Michael had a big smile on his face as he started walking towards Ashton to show him what he found. But his smile dropped the minute he saw Ashton’s face grew a thousand times paler.

He carefully walked up to him and asked “Hey, dude. What 's going-?”

“The baby’s coming!” Ashton said, trying to catch his breath.

“What?!”

Calum.

He hated the mall. He really did. There were always too many people, too much noise and the prices were always exaggerated. But he knew that he was here today for a good cause. Calum was not going to let his best mate down.

Ever since you came into Ashton’s life - and the boys’ life for that matter - he could tell that you were special. Not only because of the way Ashton talked about you all the damn time, but because of your energy, your passion, your kindness and obviously your undenying love for the drummer.

Calum was always the protective friend, always keeping his guard up for any new companion they boys might have. But with you it was different. The first time you two met was the day you instantly became best friends. He knew he could trust you to keep Ashton’s heart safe, and he knew that if Ashton ever broke your heart that he was going to have to kick his ass for being that stupid. Luckily, he wasn’t.

He was the first person (after Ashton, of course) to know about your pregnancy. He swore to himself that he would not let anything happen to his future godson/goddaughter. That baby was going to be the perfect mixture of his best friends, there was nothing in the world that could stop him from loving them just as much as he loves all of you. He even got them toys so they could play with Duke when they’re older! Needless to say that he was very, very excited.

As he wandered through the halls of the store he noticed a commotion next to the toys section.

A line of kids accompanied by their parents awaited in front of a huge chair decorated with fake snow and candy canes. Santa Claus was going to be there.

“Oh my god” A female voice said behind him “You are Calum Hood!”

Calum turned around and was faced with a young girl dressed as an elf looking at him like he hung the moon or something.

“That I am” He said with a smile “Hello, nice to meet you!”

“M-my name’s Lizza” The girl blushed “I’m a huge fan! Is it okay if- I mean, could I get a picture? Please?”

Calum smiled “Sure!”

Lizza squealed “Omg, okay. But, can we do it over there? The kids aren’t supposed to see me yet” She said, pointing to a corner with a curtain and some costumes, presumably Santa’s and his elves'.

Calum nodded and followed the girl, catching a glimpse of the Santa Claus outfit “Do you think I can wear that for the picture?” He asked. Honestly, he just wanted to know how it would feel like to dress up as Santa, knowing he would one day have to do it for your child.

“Of course!” The girl said, taking her phone from her purse and giving it to another elf so he could take the picture.

Once the picture was done, he started to strip off the big red coat, the white beard and the hat when suddenly he had an idea “Is it okay if I borrow this for a while? Maybe five minutes? I wanna prank some friends that are at the check out”

“Uhh”

“I’ll give it back, I promise,” He said with a smile.

Lizza sighed “Sure! We have another one for emergencies”

“Cool, thanks Lizza”

Calum walked away with the fake beard, the warm coat and the hat, feeling cheeky as he approached the line.

“What?!” He heard Michael yell. And although Michael always yells, this one seemed important as his voice sounded concerned.

“Hey, Mike, is everything-?” Calum said, approaching his friends with a very confused face. But before he could even finish the question, Ashton looked at him with fear in his eyes.

“THE BABY IS COMING”

Ashton.

This was not good. Not good at all. His wife is at the hospital about to give birth and he is still in the line of the fucking mall.

“Oh shit!” Calum said, looking frantically over the line that was still too long “OH SHIT”

“Okay calm dow- Is that a Santa costume?” Michael asked.

“Calm down?!” Calum said, panicking “My best friend is having a baby and you tell me to CALM DOWN?!”

“I’m having a baby…” Ashton said in a whisper, not really paying attention to what was going on around him “I’m having a baby”

“Not you!” Said Calum “Well... also you but I meant Y/N! She’s the one pushing it mate” But Ashton did not listen.

His whole world paused in that moment. Too many thoughts were running through his head as he tried to formulate a plan, any plan that would get him the quickest to you.

He thought he was doing a good job, he thought that he was going to be the best dad ever and now he was going to miss the birth of his first child because the line wasn’t fucking moving.

“Ash?” Michael called, but he wasn’t listening.

How could he screw this up so early in the game? Your baby wasn’t even born yet but he swore he could already feel their disappointment.

“Ash..”

And you! How could you ever forgive him?! You will surely file for divorce once the baby is born.

“Ashton!”

“What?!” He yelled, looking at Michael who was shaking him by the shoulders.

“Fucking breathe man! You almost turn purple there”

Michael started breathing at an even pace, motioning Ashton to breathe with him and so he did “It’s going to be okay, don’t worry about it”

“How can you say that?!” Ashton almost cried “I’m not even a dad yet and I’m already screwing up! Who doesn’t show up to the birth of his child?”

Michael rolled his eyes, knowing his friend was just talking out of fear than out of reason, and shook him by the shoulders again “Listen to me, you are already a great dad! You were a dad even before Y/N got pregnant and you are not going to miss the birth of my nephew or niece. I won’t allow it. But first I need you to calm the fuck down!”

Ashton looked at Michael and swallowed the lump in his throat “What if I’m not ready? What if we’re not ready?”

Michael chuckled “You asked me the same question when you were about to walk down the aisle a year ago. You were ready even before you knew you were and this is not different”

But before Ashton could say something, Calum walked up to them again.

“There are fourteen people ahead of us” Said Calum, who had just run up to the start of the line “If we asked them to move, we might get there in time”

“Or maybe you could leave the music box to me…” The man with the weird vibe intervened.

“Fuck off DeVito!” The three Australians yelled.

Suddenly, a lightbulb got turned on on Michael’s head “I got an idea!”

A panicked Calum dressed as Santa and a very panicked Ashton watched as Michael ran out of the store for a second, only to come back pushing a Target cart “Get in!” He said jumping in the cart and motioning to Ashton to follow him.

Ashton jumped inside without asking any questions, not even when Calum started pushing the car or when Michael turned on his… was that a megaphone?!

“Attention ladies and gentlemen” Michael said through the megaphone, making every single person turn their heads towards them, as if two large Australians standing inside of a shopping cart being pushed by a very tattooed Santa Claus wasn’t stiking enough “We have a man that’s going to become a father at any moment now while his wife is in the hospital! Please let us through!”

Ashton does not know if it was the weird scene they caused, his desperate face or Christmas magic that made everyone on the line take a step back as Calum pushed them through the checkout.

Once they got there, the cashier took his money, too shocked to say anything else as Ashton yelled “Keep the change!” As they rushed through the doors and towards the parking lot with Calum pushing the cart at a great speed with all of his energy as all the other customers looked at them and wondered what the hell was going on.

“Mommy?” A confused random kid asked “Why was Santa pushing those men on the cart?”

Luke.

His favorite Christmas playlist was playing in the car. He loved the holidays, but he hated Christmas shopping with his life. So he was very thankful that Ashton could understand this and let him wait in the car.

As he hummed through the song “His Favorite Christmas Story” he thought about the gift he got to your little unborn baby. As soon as he found out you were pregnant, he knew he had to spoil that kid rotten. Well, not that he knew he had to, but he wanted to. You and Ashton were the best people he has ever met, and he knew your little baby was not going to be different, so what’s wrong with giving that child the world they deserve?

A few months ago he talked to a friend of his that made customized presents made of crochet, so he asked if they could make a baby mobile to put over the crib. He also made sure to ask that the animals that were to adorn the mobile were your’s and Ashton’s favorites, and also throwing a little kangaroo in honor of their father’s homeland and a little penguin in honor of their future favorite uncle.

He smiled to himself as he thought he couldn’t wait to meet the little pal and how he couldn’t wait to start a family of his own. But his daydreaming got cut short when he heard a commotion coming from the mall’s doors.

Sirens were ringing and a lot of people stood and watched at whatever was causing the disturbance. He even had to take a double look because he thought he just saw Calum dressed as Santa Claus pushing a shopping cart with Ashton and Michael inside, the latter speaking with a megaphone in his hand. And indeed that is what he saw.

“LUKE START THE CAR” Michael yelled from his megaphone. And Luke, being the smart man that he is, did not ask questions as he did just that.

Soon enough, Calum Santa Claus was jumping inside of the car, followed by Michael and Ashton, who just sat in the front seat.

“What is-?” Luke tried to ask, but his three friends were quicker as they all said at the same time:

“The baby is coming!” “We needed to get the music box” “The line was too fucking long”

“Hurry up, dude!” Calum said, giving Luke a pat on his shoulder as he stared at them, very confused.

“Why didn’t you just leave the music box with one of them?” He said, motioning to his friends in the back “I could’ve come back for them after I dropped you off…”

The three Australians all looked at eachother like they were the most stupid people on the planet. Until Micahel turned on the megaphone again and said with a defeated voice: “Just drive”

The ride to the hospital was silent as Luke drove through the streets of LA at full speed. Michael even turned on the siren of the megaphone to make way across the traffic jam. How the hell they didn’t end up in jail? A Christmas miracle if you ask me.

Once they got there, Ashton was the first one to jump off the car, followed by his best friends as they ran through the hospital’s floors.

“Irwin!” He said, once they got to the maternity wing “Y/N Irwin! My Wife-”

Luke followed, almost knocking down Ashton as his boots slipped on the floor “His wife!” He said, almost out of breath.

“His baby!” Calum added, almost falling to the floor as he tripped over his foot.

And last but not least came a small “Help?” From Michael who was completely out of breath as he sat on one of the chairs in the waiting room.

The nurse, apparently not taken aback at the sudden outburst of three grown man and a Santa Claus in her waiting room, just smiled at Ashton and said: “Over here, Mr. Irwin. You are just in time, she just started dilating…”

But Ashton didn’t hear much as he walked behind her, anxious to see you and see your baby. Breathing heavily as he tried to calm his nerves before he got to your room. He gave one last look to his friends and smiled at them.

“You can do it man!” Michael said, giving him the thumbs up.

“You go Poppa!” Luke cheered.

“We will be here!” Calum said, feeling tears of pride gather up in his eyes as he watched Ashton turn into another hallway, ready to become the dad he always knew he could be.

“Did you actually steal a Santa costume?” Michael said as the other two sat down next to him.

“And you stole a cart and a megaphone so shut up”

A new family.

You watched with tired eyes as your husband held your baby girl in his arms.

“She is so tiny…” He said with fresh happy tears falling rolling down his cheeks. Ashton started crying as soon as he saw her little face and heard his heart shattering cry.

You almost thought that he wasn’t going to make it in time, afraid that you were going to have to get through the birth of your child all alone. But he came through the doors just in time and he did not let go of your hand for a second, even when you knew you were crushing it as you pushed.

“I love you so much” He said, just as he’s been saying for the past hours since he got here “I love you so much and I love her so much I- Thank you”

“Why are you thanking me, love?”

“For giving me the best gift of all” Ashton said as he laid next to you with your daughter curled up on his chest “You gave me the family I always dreamed of. I could never thank you enough for it”

He slowly lowered his head and pressed his lips to yours, showing you all the love that he could in only one simple kiss.

“Well, it’s not like you didn’t help on making this, you know?” You teased, making him chuckle “I should be thanking you, Ash.You and her are the best thing that has ever happened to me, I love you”

“I love you” He said, capturing your lips in another kiss as you let the music box play in the background, filling the room with the notes of your favorite lullaby.

“Should I let the boys in?” He asked as he passed your daughter back to you. You just nodded, not wanting to let your friends wait a second longer to meet your baby. “Oh, and just a heads up, Calum is dressed as Santa Claus and we might never be allowed on the mall again”

You laughed “I can’t wait to hear that story”

Ashton smiled as he got out of the room and walked towards where the boys were sitting. Once they saw him walk up to them, they immediately got up, all of them smiling proudly at the new - official, father of the band.

“Boys, come and meet our baby girl: Jane Elizabeth Irwin”

Tags: @iknowyouthinkimbulletproof @talksoprettyjjx @mystic-232

[marmolady]

Livita: Part Three

Book/Series: Endless Summer

Main Pairings: Estela x MC/Taylor (f)

Summary: Post-ending. Freed from Vaanu, Taylor has been building a life with her soulmate… but their family remains not quite complete. Read PART ONE and PART TWO.

Word Count: 3551

Reviews and reblogs are hugely appreciated!

Tagging: @sceptilemasterr​ @saivilo​ @greengroove​ 

La Huerta, June 2023

  The pair returned to La Huerta with a couple of months spare to get ready for their new addition, and come the fourth Catalyst reunion –the very first day-- it was time.

Her waters having broken in the middle of the anniversary party, Estela had quickly been swooped upon by an attentive Michelle, who’d determined it was high time they took the proceedings back to their own home where there was a little more comfort and privacy. Taylor lovingly tended to her wife, cleaning her off and helping her into the back of the car that would ferry them along the track between The Celestial and the hut in Catalyst Village.

“Taylor,” Estela took her wife’s shaking hand in her own. “You don’t have to be so nervous. It’s not like you’re the one who’s gonna be doing all the work.”

“Hey, this is likely to be the most important day of both of our lives. I’m allowed to have a few jitters, okay?”

Taylor caught Estela’s eye and grinned like an idiot. This is actually, finally happening. The smile faltered just a little as she felt Estela’s body stiffen beside her; another contraction. That there was only so much she could do was difficult; all their battles were fought together, as equal partners, and to essentially be a bystander was a role Taylor wasn’t sure she suited.

As she helped Estela up to their bed, Taylor was left with the distinct impression that she was being humoured; the fussing really wasn’t necessary, but the care behind the gesture appreciated. Maybe that was what was most needed after all… just that support that didn’t even need to be spoken. She had to hope so, because there was really little else she could offer.

“You’ve got this, ‘Stel,” she murmured as she kissed her wife’s temple.

“Querida, we’ve got this. Just stay with me, okay?”

“Always.”

Estela approached childbirth in much the same manner that she did most of life’s challenges; just getting on with it. She was no stranger to pain, and refused to be daunted, breathing through contractions with minimal grumbling. Taylor sat upon the bed beside her, offering massages and holding her hand through the worst of the contractions, all the while enjoying a rare opportunity to catch up properly with Michelle, who’d offered herself as midwife.

“First delivery you’re assisting in, hey? That’ll be one for the photo albums.”

Michelle chuckled. “Yes, I’m sure Estela would appreciate those photos going up on the wall. I’d be surprised if this won’t be my only midwife appointment. This isn’t exactly my field.”

Catching her breath after another contraction, Estela nodded. “Thank you for preserving my dignity. And… this. After everything…,” She had to physically shake off the memories… memories of one of the most torturous periods of her life. That kind of fear would only cripple her now. “There’s no one I’d trust more to help us through this.”

“Brain surgery will still be waiting for me once I’ve put that baby in your arms.”

Every now and then, a text message would come through from someone or another, asking for a progress report, and in return receiving an update on the annual anniversary party. Naturally, bets were being made all over the place… the sex of the baby… the time of arrival… whether or not it came out brandishing a weapon…. The attention from the rest of the Catalysts was welcome, breaking up the monotony otherwise punctuated by Estela quietly huffing through contractions.

“I don’t know how you’re so calm….” Michelle was saying.

“You know the thing with ducks?” Estela asked. “Perfectly calm and composed on the surface, but below the water, the legs are frantically paddling? I’m pretty sure that’s me right now.”

“Well, your impression of ‘not freaking out’ is convincing. But it’s good. Obviously, these things tend to be drawn out; you need to pace yourself, emotionally.”

“Right now it’s just… pain. Pain doesn’t worry me. I’ve done pain; I know I can survive it. But what comes later; that’s what’s scary. Nene has to go through a lot to get here… and there’s only so much I can control.”

Again, Taylor offered a hand, and gave Estela’s a soft squeeze. “We’ve already put the med centre on alert,” she said gently, hoping to reassure herself as well as her wife. Those jitters were starting to escalate. “The healers have delivered plenty of babies by emergency C-section; if bub needs a hand, help will be here in minutes.”

Estela stroked Taylor’s fingers. She was a great comfort. Far greater than she could say. They’d been through a lot together, faced down impossible odds; this, Estela told herself, was something totally different. Babies were born every minute of every day, and she was strong, and fit, and healthy. All she had to was grit her teeth and power through.

The sky outside darkened, and it seemed quite clear that the night would be a long one. With progress slow, Taylor killed some time by rustling up some snacks from the kitchen. When she came back upstairs, she couldn’t help but let her eye linger upon the small room, the one that would soon belong to their child. All of a sudden, that their lives were about to change became very real. She’d never had a childhood herself, so to have the blessing of experiencing it through her own son or daughter was a great unknown. Taylor was certain she was ready. The one her friends would turn to with all their problems, she would be an open and supportive parent. And in Estela… well, she couldn’t ask for a more fiercely loving partner. It would be scary, but as Taylor saw it, all the best adventures were.

The hours dragged by so slowly. Taylor found herself fidgety, and took to slowly pacing beside the bed. She still felt like a spare part, and nervous energy built up within her as she picked up the same from Estela. They were now hours in, and there was a sense that they were turning towards the last, dangerous stretch… and still Taylor could do little to ease the process.

Estela’s staunch stoicism began to falter. A trembling bottom lip betrayed her fear as she hit a wall, scared for the first time since her labour began. The contractions kept coming, with barely a pause. Wave after wave, stronger, as if her body was trying to tear itself apart, and no chance to come up for air. It felt as though she had no control over her own body… and by extension, the baby. She was a passenger along for the ride, powerless. After so many hours, countless nightmare scenarios had time to run through her head, now haunting her, and doubt in herself set in with a vengeance. As soon as she let that primal fear take hold, a wave of grief hit her, so strong that she might drown.

Worried, Michelle rubbed her arm. “What’s going on? Estela?”

There was no response. Estela looked away; her expression distant as she retreated into herself. She wanted to cry, to scream, but it would not bring what she needed.

“It’s getting more intense because we’re getting near the time when you need to push. This is normal. Talk to us, okay?”

Still nothing.

Taylor leaned over the bed, reaching for Estela, unnerved by the change, so swift and profound. Something was really not right. She took her wife’s shaking hand and squeezed, and the pressure returned was fierce, panicked. Still, she struggled to get eye contact; Estela appeared lost, far away. “…Hey…” When she finally met Estela’s eyes, she saw a plea for help. The penny dropped.

“Hey, could you give us a moment?” she asked in Michelle’s ear, her voice hushed.

Once they were left alone, Taylor climbed onto the bed and brought Estela’s head to her chest, stroking her sweat-drenched hair. “You want your mom…”

The painful lump in Estela’s throat gave way. She leaned into Taylor, who cradled her as she cried and writhed in agony.

“I’m so sorry, my love, my beautiful Estela… I’m sorry she can’t be here, holding your hand like she should be…”

The floodgates had opened, and Estela sobbed into her wife’s shirt, her hands clutching desperately at her back, hanging on as if afraid of losing her too. It made Taylor’s heart ache.

“That’s it… let it out…” Taylor kissed Estela’s soaked brow and held her close, gently rocking her as her body convulsed through a contraction that just seemed to go on forever. “I’ve got you. You just hold on tight, okay? I’ve got you, and I’m never… I’m never letting go.”

“Taylor… it hurts.”

It hurts so bad. Mami….

“I know… I know…,” Taylor whispered. More kisses, the only inadequate comfort she could offer. It just wasn’t fair.  “She’s part of you always, sweetheart… nothing can ever take that from you. And our little baby… she’s part of our baby too. All that love your mom gave you, you get to pass it on, share it with bub.” Taylor sighed, feeling the weight of her helplessness as her wife gripped her ever tighter, gasping in pain. She couldn’t help with the baby, and she sure as hell give Estela what she really needed. Her voice caught in her throat. “I know it can never be enough.”

Slowly… agonisingly slowly, the intensity receded, the contractions slowed, and Estela could finally catch her breath, her vice-grip on Taylor’s back slackening. It felt as though the worst was over. She felt a tender kiss to the side of her face, and returned it, even as she trembled in Taylor’s arms.

“Sorry,” she panted, offering a weak smile.  “I didn’t expect it to creep up on me like that. I just… started to get nervous about the baby coming, and… God, it hurt so bad… and the more scared I got… it was almost like I was a kid again, needing her so much.”

“That’s natural, Stel.”

“And I guess I can feel that it’s close now. It doesn’t… it doesn’t feel right for the baby to come… and her not be here. I’m sorry, I just…”

“Hey…don’t apologise.” Taylor took Estela’s face in her hands, stroking away tears with the gentlest touch. “This is where your strength comes from; your big heart… even the part that’s always going to be broken. It’s why you’re gonna be the most wonderful, incredible mama to our little baby. Your mom would be so proud of you, Estela. God, I know I am.”

Estela nuzzled against Taylor’s fingers, taking one to her mouth in a soft kiss. She looked at her through her tears, feeding off the devotion that shone back in those brilliant blue eyes. Her mother would be so happy that she had Taylor, in her corner through it all. In a way… it was she who’d brought them together.

She exhaled shakily, and groaned through another godawful contraction. “I can’t wait for you to hold our baby…”

Taylor pressed her forehead to Estela’s, her heart full to bursting. “You are so, so strong, love. You’ve got this.” And I’ve got you.

Estela closed her eyes, soothed by the intimate touch. “Taylor… thank you.” A kiss to her cheek told her that Taylor understood. That they were in this together really went without saying. She took a deep breath. Time to do this. “We should bring Michelle back in; I think I’m ready to start pushing.”

There was a small flurry of activity as Michelle hurriedly resumed doctor duties, and confirmed that things were indeed moving along. Getting comfortable was all but impossible, but Estela eventually settled kneeling up against Taylor, letting gravity help her out.

Another shuddering cry rang out as Estela dug deep to push against the all-consuming pain. Progress felt excruciatingly slow. Her powerful body strained with every ounce of strength, willing the baby onwards, while she held on desperately to Taylor’s hand.

“You’re doing great… you might just break my fingers, but you’re doing great.”

Again and again she switched positions, her frustration growing. She pushed and panted, all the while feeling as though her body was trying to tear itself in two.

At long last --to the expectant mothers it might have been an eternity-- the baby’s head appeared, and Taylor reluctantly eased away from her wife, to be helped into position for delivery by Michelle. Her heart pounded wildly at the first glimpse. There it was. Their baby. Their baby…

Michelle leaned in close, nervous exhilaration clear on her face. “Are you ready? I’ll be right here with you to check baby over.” Receiving a confident nod, she returned her attention to the person who was doing all the hard work. “Estela, you’re so, so close.”

“…I fucking hope so…”

“On the next contraction, I want you to pant through it… gentle pushes so the head doesn’t come too fast.Once the head’s out, I think… I think one more big push should do it.”

Estela whimpered and looked to Taylor for reassurance. This had gone on long enough… she needed to know that the baby was all right. Gentle, murmured words of encouragement and a soft rub against her leg helped to steady her, and she steeled herself for the next wave. In Taylor’s eyes she saw everything she felt herself; fear, exhilaration, and desperate, desperate longing. This was it now; she was bringing her baby home.

A strong cry rang out as the baby entered the world, straight into Taylor’s waiting hands, instantly bringing her to tears. Tiny arms reached out in bewilderment and the baby hollered in shock at the sudden transition. Murmuring gentle words of comfort, Taylor brought the child up to her face, softly kissing as the indignant cries quietened.

“Is the baby okay-- Taylor, is baby okay?”

Taylor bundled the wet, disoriented infant close to her, while Michelle checked it over, and responded with a voice thick with elated tears. “Stel, she’s perfect. Ten fingers, ten toes, and she’s already got a lot to say for herself.”

Tears streamed down Estela’s face as her hands flew to her mouth in sweet disbelief. Their baby was here… she was here and she was safe. Her voice trembled when she spoke, the briefest glimpses of the child enough to send her into emotional overwhelm. “She? She’s a girl?”

“She’s a beautiful girl.”

Receiving an encouraging nod from Michelle, Taylor brought the baby, now wrapped in a towel, and gently eased her into Estela’s waiting arms.

Estela’s breath caught in her throat. When she met her daughter’s eyes, she thought she might never look away. “Oh my god…” She wept, clutching the child to her bare chest, and her heart skipped a beat as a tiny mouth latched onto her breast. “Mi dulce niña, mi bebé, mi bebé…”

She reluctantly tore her gaze away from her precious baby to look up at Taylor, whose eyes were swimming, face shining with love. “Taylor…”

Sniffling helplessly, Taylor leaned in and kissed the top of her wife’s head again and again. “Oh god, I love you, Estela… I love her… I… I…”

Michelle looked on, a hand over her heart and her eyes misty. “Congratulations, both of you. She’s just… absolutely, completely gorgeous. And… and thank you.” The slight shake of her voice gave away her emotions. “That you wanted me to share this with you… it honestly means the world.”

Taylor stood up and wrapped her friend in the tightest, most loving of hugs. “Thank you. So, so much. I don’t know what we did to deserve you, but we love you so much, Michelle.”

Wiping tears from her eyes, Estela have a little nod, looking at Michelle with fierce gratitude and affection. She couldn’t find the words, but a quiet understanding was all that was needed.

“I love you both. And your little angel…” Michelle felt endless satisfaction as she watched the infant nurse at her friend’s chest. To have played even a small part in making that happen, her heart might just burst with pride.

Taylor climbed into the bed and wriggled down under the covers, drawn into the heat of Estela’s body. She nuzzled her face towards her chest and took in a deep breath as she pressed a long kiss to the baby’s soft head, taking in the sweetest of scents.

“So… Olivia?” she asked.

Estela’s eyes welled as she nodded her head. She knew Taylor understood, and in that moment, she couldn’t love her more. “Our Livita. Maybe, Olivia… Andromeda? You should be a part of her name.”

“Oh. Oh, wow.” For a few moments, Taylor was lost for words, and she simply looked at her beloved with starry eyes. She took Estela’s hand and kissed it before going back to kiss their daughter again--how she’d ever get enough of smooching that child’s dear little face, she’d never know. “That’s… that’s perfect. She’s perfect.” She stroked Olivia’s dark, downy hair, her skin so impossibly soft. “Oh, my Livi… our angel… we love you all the way to the stars.”

“All the way to the stars, and back again,” Estela corrected with a wink.

Michelle quietly bustled around them, cleaning up and making sure all the boxes were ticked on her baby delivery checklist. It was some hour later before the afterbirth was delivered and she was confident enough to say that all was well. Completely ecstatic though Michelle was, she was more than ready to collapse into her pillow by the time she headed to the door.

“I’ll give you some privacy,” she said softly, knowing that her work there was done. Both mothers were handling the baby confidently, and with a tenderness that was heart-warming to behold. Tucked up against Estela’s chest, a hand protectively cradling her tiny body, no child could wish for a safer, more loving embrace in which to rest. “I’ll be back in a minute if you need anything at all, but I’ve got a feeling you can take it from here.”

The first rays of sunlight filtered through the floaty drapes, a welcome dawn after the longest of nights, bringing the colour of day to the new life that settled, fed and contented, against the warmth of her mothers’ beating hearts.

Before she turned to go, Michelle left a kiss each on her friends’ foreheads and stroked under the baby’s tiny chin.

“Olivia Andromeda Montoya, welcome to the world.”

[gmariam19]

natthemess

Hate to break the The Old Guard chain in here with some Star Wars Sequel Trilogy teenagers but it is what it is 😌

Thanks so much for the tag babe, I’ll do it like you and post a bit more than the last line because the section is important as a whole hehe

He shrugged again. “I’m scared shitless in general, as we all know. But not of loving him. I always thought I would be, but I’m not afraid of love. Of literally anything else that comes with it, sure, but not of love. That would be stupid.”

“And your mama would be so mad,” Jess grinned, trying to lift the serious mood that Poe was starting to grow tired of.

“Absolutely,” he chuckled and raised his glass of fresh lemonade. “Here’s to her.” He grabbed her dog tags through his t-shirt, as he did so often, and tried not to drown in emotions.

“Here’s to loving just to make Mama Bey proud,” Jess clinked her glass against his with a soft smile, obviously noticing Poe’s sudden change in mood.

“And to spite everyone else,” he added right before the timer for the pizza went off, taking his thoughts away from his mama.

Yep, it’s a lil snippet from YLSA chapter 8 and I love these babies 💕

Tagging: @imthewritingsidekick-baby @mssr-cellophane @gmariam19 and anyone who wants to do this. And if you don’t, that’s cool, just ignore it 💕

Yay, I like being tagged on these things - who doesn’t like sharing their WIP??  @natthemess - thanks for the tag, and hope you don’t mind I did a cut and paste instead of an endless scroll of reblogs. That way people get to read our SW stuff! 😀 Here’s mine - was hoping to finish this week, but online learning kicked my ass today so it’ll be longer, I suspect.  At least I can say it’s about 2/3 done! 

“What the hell is going on, Kriu?” Poe demands. “We had a deal.”

“We did,” the Twi’lek agrees unexpectedly. “And your people will be safely escorted to their ship and released.”

“Then let me go with them,” Poe snaps. “This wasn’t part of the deal!”

“Oh, the deal was that your friends go free. I never promised that YOU would go with them.”

“What?” Poe asks. “Are you kidding me? I want to talk to Grakkus, he will ruin you for this.”

The Twi’lek laughs. “What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” Kriu replies. “I suspect he’d agree anyway: I let them go because you are worth far more than anyone else in the galaxy, except maybe Organa and the traitor. Now, turn around, you’ve got an auction to be getting to.”

“Kriff off,” Poe says, refusing to move. The man behind him slams his weapon against Poe’s back, while Kriu smashes the end of his blaster against Poe’s temple. He staggers, but stays upright as he feels blood trickle down his temple. “I’m not going anywhere,” Poe says, staring down the Twi’lek “Except back to my ship and off this hellhole.”

The Twi’lek shakes his head. “Well, buyers won’t mind a few bruises, I’m sure. Take care of him, then bring him in.”

@mssr-cellophane - you’re getting another tag, since one of those lines is yours, and now you have another person bugging you to post as well! 😉😂

[itsmyusualphannie]

the demons that bring us together (1/5)

Chapter 1/5: between the wars (ao3) Beta: @yourfriendlyblogstalker Artist: @candanandphilnot Warnings: none for this chapter

Summary: Dan knew he should be doing his patrols of London, especially with Valentine still on the loose, but he gets sidetracked and when he goes to a downworlder cafe, he meets Phil. The warlock isn’t like most downworlders. He is kind and caring, and weirdly enough, attracted to Dan.

Author Notes: written for @phandomreversebang! i saw this prompt on claiming and probably gave my fingers friction burn as i frantically picked it. and then it turned out the artist was none other than cal, who if anyone ever reads my tags on their fics i reblog will know, i adore. we nerded out over shadowhunters together and then i did this wholeass thing. it was loads of fun and i hope you like it as much as i loved writing it!

check out the art for this fic here!!

next chapter

~~~

Dan was on the rooftop of a Tesco when he first saw the shadow.

He had been crouched here only for a moment, pausing to catch his breath after scaling the side of the building. He hadn't needed to climb the building, but going around the building, where there a considerable amount of pedestrian traffic, threatened his discovery. He wasn't visible to regular humans of course, with the glamour rune snaking its way around his left forearm, but there was still a chance that someone could bump into him and would be rudely startled by an invisible person. In any case, Dan liked the height. It afforded him a better view of the sprawling city around him, the buildings of various sizes and shapes, and the numerous people and vehicles making their way between them. Dan didn't try to focus on any individual person or item, although it wouldn't be that hard. The delicate lines of a farsighted rune on his temple allowed him hawk-like vision, giving him the ability to distinguish even the minute details of someone's expression from half a mile away.

Even without that rune, Dan likely would have seen the shadow in the alley beside Tesco, the tendrils of dark slipping around a pair of squat dumpsters. It trailed along the concrete wall and slithered across the empty alley, sliding around the corner out of sight.

Dan was on his feet in an instant, throwing himself across the length of the rooftop after the shadow with a recklessness that would have sent him plummeting to the ground two stories below if he wasn't protected by the massive equilibrium rune permanently etched across his back, allowing him perfect balance and a near-inability to lose his footing. The other building that the shadow had slipped around was across the alley, almost ten feet away, but Dan didn't hesitate before throwing himself into the air above the alley, landing with a thump of his lightly-padded boots and rolling to absorb the impact. He was up again in an instant, feet travelling swiftly along the edge of the rooftop. He moved far faster than the shadow had been moving, but by the time he reached the corner that it had slipped around, it was gone.

Dan wouldn't let that discourage him, though. He hadn't seen anything on patrol in weeks, and he wasn't planning on letting this get away from him now. He didn't know exactly what the creature was, or what it was planning, but any second that it was out in the mortal world, people - hunters, Downworlders, and mortal humans - were all in danger.

He grabbed the edge of the roof and flipped over it in a swift motion that sent his head whirling, but only for that instant. He fell, arms outspread to maintain his balance, and he landed solidly on the ground over thirty feet below. The impact jarred up his legs, but it was absorbed almost instantly by the power of the matching stamina runes on both of his thighs. He was off again, feet pounding against the ground as he sprinted down the pavement. There were only a few people back here in this narrow alley behind the main buildings, but he avoided them swiftly, dodging around each person walking toward or away from him. Not one of them noticed him - they were all mortals, after all, and Dan's glamour rune concealed him from anyone who was mortal. It wouldn't do to be noticed either on his patrol, where he regularly climbed the occasional building and jogged through alleys and down pavements, or on this high-speed chase.

It wasn't much of a chase if he couldn't see his prey, though. Dan didn't slow, his eyes keen as his gaze darted from one side of the alley to the other, but he didn't see a hint of movement that gave away the shadow he had seen. There was little chance that it had moved much faster than he had pursued, unless it had seen him. That...that was a possibility. Dan wasn't the most subtle person, after all.

But then, he hadn't seen anything in so long, even with the London forces scattered and bedraggled, that he was eager to hunt down whatever this was. He scanned every article of trash, every toppled bin, every doorway where the shadow might be lurking. His arms pumped at his sides, but his fingers twitched to grab the twin, narrow blades strapped to his sides. Although he had a collection of throwing knives stashed in various parts of his clothes, he was much better with hand-to-hand combat. Despite not having the familiar presence of his parabatai running beside him, Dan had no doubt that he could take down this creature with ease.

If he could fucking find it, that was.

He reached the end of the alley in another dozen long strides, skidding to a stop as he hesitated between the two directions where it branched away. His gaze skipped between them, and he weighed the merits of one over the other. The one to his left seemed to lead out to the open road, packed with helpless, mortal civilians, while the right fell further between tall buildings, dark and dank with shadows. Even his sharp vision couldn't make out all of the details in that one. Dan could only hope to guess the shadow's intentions, since he wasn't quite sure what it was exactly, but...he didn't think that even a creature this vile would be stupid enough to attack mortals yet. Twilight was falling, but the sun was still an hour above the horizon.

Dan's phone buzzed in his pocket, suddenly, and he was jolted from the intensity of his thoughts. It prompted him to move, and so he glanced one last time at the more brightly lit alley to his left, then he threw himself down the one to his right. His foot skidded on something wet, but he kept moving, regaining his balance with a flail of his arm. He didn't risk answering his phone right now. He needed both hands available in case he needed to grab his weapons. He didn't stop running, but he did slow on occasion when he passed a particularly dark section of the alley, glancing over it to make sure there was no movement. He ran, and ran, and ran, and even with his stamina runes, he was a little out of breath by the time he burst from the alley and out onto another main street.

He stopped then, before he ploughed over a woman pushing a dog stroller in front of her, and glanced back behind him at the alley. There was something ominous about it, but Dan did not think that anything living or demonic was inhabiting it now. He pulled in a deep breath, furious suddenly at his loss, and tugged out the phone that had been vibrating in his pocket for some time now.

"Hello?" he answered, voice raspy from his run and its disuse on his lengthy patrol. He hadn't spoken to anyone in over ten hours.

"Dan!" said a chirpy voice on the other end. His parabatai.

"Hi, Louise," he said.

"Just calling to check up on you," she said brightly. "I felt like a...rush of adrenaline or something through our bond. Everything good?"

Dan cast one last irritated glance at the alley behind him. "Yeah, I saw something, but it got away. I'm still looking."

"Where are you?" Her cheerful tone had sobered instantly. "I'm still on my patrol, but I can head that way right now."

Dan turned back to face the main street and his gaze travelled over the buildings. He sighed, something deep and weary. His patrol bordered the edge of an area where Downworlders lived, he knew that, but he hadn't realised that this alley led right to it. "I'm downtown. Don't worry about it, I think I've lost it for good. I'm going to look around, though."

Louise snorted, almost a laugh. "Don't antagonise any vampires."

"That was one time," Dan dismissed. He glanced to his left, where a bustling marketplace intermingled both mortals and Downworlders. This area looked like it was mostly wolves, although no human would be able to tell. Dan knew from his lifelong training how to spot the differences in their gait, their speech, their mannerisms, and he could spot the loping werewolves from a mile away. Here, he didn't have to - there were dozens of them along the pavements and ducking around humans and bustling in and out of shops.

"I'll call you if I need help," Dan said into his phone, and then he hung up and slipped it back in his pocket. He wasn't particularly interested in going into the marketplace, as he doubted the creature could have made its way in there with so many wolves and their keen noses, but - he looked to his right - ah, there was a quiet, snug bakery nestled right up against the alley. A side door, one that looked like it was some sort of employee entrance, was cracked open, a sliver of light spilling across the dark shadows of the alley. Dan's gaze narrowed in on it. It was a clear invitation for anything to slip through.

Dan resisted his own temptation to slide through the door and instead went around to the front of the building. He couldn't see any mortals inside, so he didn't bother removing his glamour rune - any downworlders inside would be able to see him, anyway.

The door tinkled with a bright welcome as he pushed it open and stepped inside, and Dan had to blink at the sudden light inside that assaulted his vision. It was cosy, with a dozen round tables with chairs, a long counter with displays of pastries and breads, a range of coffee machines and devices that Dan was vaguely sure were some sort of torture instruments, and a few scattered customers. It was silent inside, that sort of dead air that made it obvious that everyone had just stopped talking as Dan entered.

The silence was broken a moment later, though, as a tall, dark-haired man stood up from where he'd evidently been crouched behind the counter. He wore a bright pink apron with ruffles over a sinfully tight blue shirt, crooked glasses, and an easy smile that he directed toward Dan.

"Hi!" he said. "Welcome to the Mage Cave."

Dan hurt inside a little at the name. It was horrible. It was evident that it was named for a reason, though, as Dan could see in the next instant as the man behind the counter waved a hand at one of the coffee machines. Sparks of blue and yellow sputtered from his hands, and the coffee machine reluctantly began spurting a steady stream of coffee into the glass container beneath it. He was a warlock, then.

"What can I get for you?" said the warlock, still beaming at Dan. He clearly knew what Dan was, as his gaze travelled briefly to the runes visible on Dan's forearms, neck, and temple, but his smile didn't falter. And he'd just used visible magic in front of Dan, so he didn't seem intimidated in the slightest by Dan's status as a Shadowhunter.

Dan glanced at the other patrons in the shop, who casually looked away from him and returned to their quiet conversations as if he hadn't caused any sort of interruption. They were all clearly werewolves. Dan thought wryly that this barista could probably call the shop 'Wolf Cafe' and it would still ring true.

He crossed the cafe in a few long strides, stopping before the counter and the light gaze of the warlock. He glanced up at the menu hanging above his head, etched in what looked like handwriting but was clearly drawn with magic. The edges were cut a little too sharp, too clean for a hand to have etched it. He barely looked at the options before deciding. "I'll get a caramel macchiato with almond milk. Large iced, please."

"Coming right up!"

Dan saw the scrawled name on the warlock's name badge just before he turned away to make the drink.  Phil :)  it said. He watched as the barista moved quickly behind the counter, hands nimble as he prepared the drink. He didn't hesitate to use his magic, fingers flicking with quick movements at various ingredients to pull them closer to himself in a flurry of colourful sparks. Dan was well aware that he should be keeping an eye on the other occupants of the shop, but somehow he couldn't look away from the warlock. He was lean, but his arms were still corded with muscle, visible through the taut sleeves of his too-tight, bright blue shirt. The shirt was a crime to fashion, Dan decided, but it didn't look bad at all on this guy.

"Here you are," said Phil as he returned to the counter and slid the drink to Dan. His smile was bright and Dan noted the way he let his fingers linger against Dan's. "That'll be three pounds."

"Not a bad price," Dan commented as he pulled his phone from his pocket again and used it to pay for his drink at the machine reader. "You get a lot of business?"

"Sure," the warlock agreed amiably. "Not too much, but enough to keep running."

As if this Phil needed customers to keep his business running. Dan was quite sure that it was just a hobby, something to pass the time. He'd seen a few other warlocks take up such interests when they were bored, or even just a front for their underground potion or magic business. Dan forced himself not to think about that, though. He wasn't here to search for information about this warlock.

"Need your receipt?"

"Nah." Dan waved it away. "Save the environment and all."

Phil eyed Dan's visible runes sketched onto every available body surface. "Yeah," he said, clear amusement evident in his tone. He hit a few buttons on the till. "All right, you're good to go. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

Dan cast a swift glance over his shoulder. None of the wolves in the shop was paying attention to them - that he could tell, anyway. He was sure their ears were pricked for anything he would say. In fact, he was counting on it.

"Actually, yeah." Dan faced the warlock and nodded severely. "As I'm sure you know, the Institute has a few patrols near this area. Mine is one of them."

"Hmm," said Phil, nodding as Dan talked. He wiggled his fingers and a mug swirled into existence, accompanied by a clash of blue sparks. He raised it to his lips and took a casual sip, and Dan couldn't help but notice the gleaming rings on almost every one of his fingers.

“I caught a glimpse of a shadow demon, and although I’m not sure of the type, it looked dangerous. It’s certainly fast, since I couldn’t catch up to it, and I'm pretty sure it came this way." Dan was only half-sure that Phil was listening, with the absent way that the warlock was bobbing his head, but he continued regardless, "So I just wanted to warn you and the other Downworlders here. If you see anything or even suspect something is hanging around, I'd appreciate it if you let me know so I can take care of it."

Phil set his mug down on the counter, and his rings clicked quietly against the ceramic as he did so. "I'll definitely do that," he said, almost casual, but his eyes were sharp. "But I can guarantee you that it didn't come in here. I can tell you're thinking it."

Dan had been thinking it, and he didn't particularly care if Phil knew it. He just shrugged. "Your back door was open."

The warlock waved a dismissive hand. Light sputtered from his hand and, from the back, Dan could hear a door slam shut. "It's fine," he said. "My wards wouldn't even let a rat in within my knowledge, much less an entire shadow demon."

"Your wards wouldn't happen to extend beyond this shop, would they?"

Phil's gaze was keen as he lifted his mug and took another drink. "No," he said. "Too much effort."

Dan greatly suspected that the mug had been conveniently lifted at that exact moment in order to hide a smirk. He wasn't sure what the warlock was hiding, but it could be a number of things. He didn't think it was an entire demon, though. Despite warlocks' half-demon parentage, Dan had never met one who would actually work together with a demon.

Dan also greatly suspected that he wouldn't be getting anything else from Phil. Although downworlders, in general, would work with the hunters if necessary for protection from demons, they didn't go out of their way to help out. Phil wouldn't be any different.

"Well," said Dan, "thanks for the help and the drink." He tipped the icy beverage at Phil, who raised his own mug in reply.

"Anytime," said Phil, and this time he didn't raise the mug quite fast enough to hide his wide smile.

Dan briefly wondered how much trouble he would get into for punching a warlock. It probably wasn't worth it.  Probably. He turned to leave, slipping a glance to the wolves still slumped over their drinks at the various tables. One had been openly watching him, and quickly looked away, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. Good. If they'd all been listening, then they'd all be on the alert for anything suspicious hanging around.

Dan left the shop, the bell tinkling again, and headed back down the pavement toward the alley he'd come from. He considered tossing the drink, almost unwilling to drink the concoction with whatever potions or magic the warlock may have imbued into it, but he didn't want to waste an entire macchiato, so he raised it to his lips and took a short sip. It was good. Surprisingly so. He hummed and continued on his way, resolving to toss it before he got back to the Institute. His patrol was almost over, after all, so he might as well head back and report what he'd seen. The shadow was long gone, but Dan suspected it was still nearby.

Phil was also suspicious, Dan decided, and he would need to return at some point to check up on him. It had nothing to do with the broad stretch of his shoulders beneath that shirt, or his crooked smile, or the wrinkles that sunk around his eyes when he looked at Dan. It was purely business.

Dan took another gulp of his macchiato. Damn, it really was good.

~~~

next chapter

[hiddendreamer67]

Tiny Mer!Sanders Angst pt. 8

Part 7 to a story based on @secretglittersauce‘s tiny mer!sides angst prompt. Logan gets re-homed, and we meet some new characters.

 Check my reblog for links to the previous parts.

Also!!! Happy Birthday to the wonderful, amazing, totally talented @justanotherpurplebutterfly! Very convenient for me that you were born at the start of MerMay, haha. Enjoy some tiny mer boys just for you! <3

Remy gave a yawn, tiredly running a hand through his hair before fumbling to get the store key out of his bag. With his sleepy state it took a couple tries before the key fit into the lock, and a couple more before the key actually turned. The bell tingled as he pushed the door open, alerting the various creatures to his presence. A cacophony of animal calls greeted him, all eager to share their story and get their food.

“Yeah yeah, I’m coming.” Remy waved them off, heading to the back to throw his apron on. He finished off his starbucks drink, refilling the travel mug with the break room coffee. Remy grimaced at the taste, noting that his boss must have used up all the good coffee the day before that Remy usually kept stocked. Guess his boss would have to die for that.

“Alright, who’s hungry?” Remy asked, coming back into the main floor. The answer was, of course, everyone. Remy began with the selection of puppies, hoisting a large bag of dog food with a grunt and pouring it sloppily into bowls which the pups consumed eagerly. Next was the cats, meowing incessantly until their bowls were filled too.

Remy continued his rounds, making sure every creature’s food and water levels were correct. As he went Remy also did his necessary maintenance duties, cleaning everything from parrot cages to frog habitats to keep up sanitation.

“Excuse me.” A man wearing a tweed jacket with pink hair called for Remy’s attention. Remy finished his work, setting aside the shovel he was using to scoop up hamster fluff.

“What’s up, doc?” Remy asked, pushing his hands on his thighs and standing up.

“Ah, clever bugs bunny reference.” Picani’s eyes glinted happily behind his glasses. “Excellent. My name is Emile Picani, and I was just wondering if this establishment carried any supplies for housing...tiny...er, merpeople?” Picani gestured with his hands as though unsure of the terminology.

“Oh yeah, I know mers.” Remy snorted, grabbing his coffee. “We used to have four of them here, I was in charge so I know all about them. Aisle four is what you want. This way.”

Remy led Picani down the aisles, heading back to the aquarium section. On the way to the supplies Remy paused to look in on the only tiny mer left.

“Morning, sleeping beauty.” Remy greeted, smiling over his third morning cup of java. The mer ignored him, choosing to continue to sulk under its rock. Remy frowned. Most of the food from the day before continued to float at the top, uneaten.

Remy scooped this up, sprinkling a new layer of fish flakes on top. As usual these went ignored. Remy sighed, gesturing for the customer to follow him further.

“Is that how they are meant to behave?” Picani asked the employee with the name tag ‘Remy’ as they walked.

“No, that one has just been really depressed lately.” Remy admitted. “Anyway, here’s what you want.” Remy began pulling supplies off the shelves, everything from cleaning tools to basic sustenance. “This is the one they’ll eat. If you give them this they won’t touch the stuff. I even had one splash me in the face. Several times, actually.”

“Noted.” Picani gave a nod. “Mine has already attempted the same maneuver.”

“Oh really?” Remy gave a chuckle, leading him back to the counter to ring up his purchases. “What are the odds…”

Remy thought back to the dark blue mer, and then his thoughts moved on to the rest of the gang, remembering fondly how much trouble the whole group had been. With Red slamming into things and Teal swirling up a storm, there had always been activity in aisle 4. Now it was so...quiet.

Remy found himself actually missing them. Of course, there was still the purple one, but Remy hated just watching the tiny sulk there day after day. That mer desperately needed to get out of this pet shop. Maybe he’d come to life again with a good owner.

Remy waved goodbye to the pink haired man after the transaction was complete, heading back to check in on said mer once more. As expected, it hadn’t moved an inch. Remy sighed, taking the clipboard off the wall to check the schedule.

“Oh, looks like you’re going on sale, little guy.” Remy noted. It made sense. The mer had been in the shop for quite a while now, so store policy was to drop the price. Remy went to the back room, looking for the sale stickers. It seemed his coworkers had helpfully hidden them away in a filing cabinet behind the fridge...for some reason. Remy rolled his eyes at their incompetence, taking a sharpie and scribbling the price down.

Sticker in hand, Remy returned to the tank, surprised to find a man actually looking over the mer. The man didn’t notice Remy yet, and seemed to be talking to himself as his eyes eagerly drank up every inch of the purple tailed fish creature.

“Oh, bill’s going to love you.” His voice came out almost as a sneer, a lisp formed by a few missing front teeth.

“Who’s bill?” Remy said conversationally, taking a swig of coffee.

“My baracuda.” The man answered.

Remy’s coffee made a sudden reappearance as he spat it out in surprise. Remy wasn’t the only one who had a reaction to this response. Eyes widening, the mer for once stopped sulking, deciding instead to try and hide itself behind the stone structure. The man chuckled at this fruitless behavior.

“How much for the lil’ snack?” The potential customer asked, turning now to face Remy.

“Ah…” Remy froze, feeling the sale sticker still clutched in his grasp. He shouldn’t care about this, it was the circle of life after all. No one else wanted this mer. That’s why it was going on sale in the first place. Perhaps this was supposed to be the purple one’s fate, just to be bigger fish food. After all, it wasn’t Remy’s job to question why people wanted fish; he was just there to sell them.

“...he’s not for sale.” Remy answered, crumpling up the sale sticker in his fist.

“What? Why?” The man frowned at this. “Why the hell do you have the darn thing on display then?”

“Because someone bought him earlier in the day.” Remy explained. “They’re coming back tonight to pick him up.”

“This is outrageous.” He growled. “I refuse to be a victim to such false advertising.”

“Gurl, then leave.” Remy rolled his eyes, pointing to the door. The man looked ready to spit in his face, but with only minor grumbling he stormed out the front.

Remy looked at the purple mer, finding the creature was staring back at him. Remy clearly couldn’t let it stay here any longer. If that man came back, Remy would be in hot water for lying to a customer. Not to mention, there was always the possibility that someone with the same intentions could come in on a day when Remy wasn’t working. The thought made his stomach churn.

“Guess you’re coming home with me, buddy.” Remy said, his mind made up.