#to become the owner/occupier she always should have been | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cubestrahm · 8 months ago

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»{ Mark Hoffman x Peter Strahm }« ✦ { ao3 }

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✦ Summary: This moment in time feels inevitable. It is as though Peter was always meant to wind up in the crushing dark with Mark Hoffman, tangled in a deadly situation that neither man can escape from unscathed. ✦ Rating: 18+ for explicit mature content. ✦ Content/tags: Background Angelina Acomb/Lindsey Perez, Alternate Universe - Diners, Slow Burn, Canonical Character Death, Canon Typical Gore, Detailed Descriptions of Wounds, Improper Wound Care, Non-Sexual Nudity, Cannibalistic Thoughts, Mild Feeding Kink, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Divorced Peter Strahm ✦ Word count: 6,488 ✦ Status: Multi-chapter / Ongoing ✦ Author's note: Shout-out to @danime25/@hoffstrap-yuri. I wouldn't be chest deep in Saw hell if it weren't for her. ♥

Rhythmic passes of a damp cloth on a laminate counter, steady whooshes of breath as his body leans into each motion of his arm; this is as calm as Peter Strahm ever feels. Repetitive actions keep his mind occupied enough to not wander in search of some pressing issue to fixate on. Not that there is much to endlessly turn over in his brain at the diner, but he can always find something.

A loud clang of the metal bells bouncing off the front door and the scuff of shoes against the wood floor heralds the arrival of customers. The first ones of the day. Peter doesn’t bother to look up, choosing instead to let Lindsey be the face of the establishment. He is convinced that she’s the only reason this place stays afloat. He’d have run everyone off with his demeanor ages ago if he were the sole owner. As a supervisor had once said to him, Peter would cut off his own nose to spite his face.

Barely listening to his partner’s cheery banter and the responding pleasantries of the customers—two of them, he notes, a man and a woman—he tosses the rag in the sanitation bucket before making his way to the coffee machine. It’s finished brewing the pot he’d started just five minutes ago. He dumps the used grounds and resets the machine with a new filter of freshly ground beans. When they hit a rush, coffee is the first thing to go. Early on, he and Lindsey learned that lesson the hard way. Customers get downright vicious when they can't get their caffeine fix the instant they want it.

“Pete,” Lindsey says, sliding up alongside him behind the counter.

“Mm,” he responds as he takes the offered ticket from her hand. He looks over the order. Simple. Easy. No substitutions or alterations. He can appreciate that. “Need anything before I get this made?”

“No, I’ll try to not burn the place down while you’re in the back though.”

He snorts, amused. If anyone was going to be engaging in pyromania during work hours, it would be him.

Peter retreats to the kitchen. His shoulders relax in the privacy beyond the swinging door. He is used to eyes being on him, every moment analyzed and critiqued, but solace suits him better. He doesn’t have to put on the thin veneer of normalcy that he’s capable of.

Steady hands prepare the ingredients before laying them on the grill top. Cooking is immersive work, a different kind of toil than when he was in the FBI. The constant examination for guilt, the way he would dirty his hands with the worst humanity had to offer… it took a toll on him. He lost himself in his job. Back then, most days, he felt like he should be the one handcuffed to the table while an agent berated him with rapid-fire questions. He had gathered up parts of every criminal he ever investigated. Strahm had ingested those pieces like poison until they had become a part of him, lining his internal organs and threatening to spread like a cancer.

The only thing that had kept him from going into the restroom and closing his lips around the barrel of his own handgun at work had been Lindsey. There had been a day when he was uncharacteristically tidying his papers on his desk and she looked up from where her own desk butted right against his. She had taken in the sight of his drawn, exhausted face, the bags under his bloodshot eyes, and the faint tremor in his hands. She had known. She’d stood up, nearly sending her desk chair halfway across the room on its wobbly wheels. His partner had reached over their computer monitors and grabbed onto his forearm with determined desperation. She’d said, “Fuck this, we’re done.”

They had opened the diner five months later.

Conceptualizing the place had started off as a pipe dream between two friends. Strahm had cooked for Lindsey some nights, when there was a sliver of down time. He’d been the one to teach her how to make more than oven pizzas and the occasional grilled cheese. He had also been the one who taught her how to shoot a man in the chest without flinching.

Five years, they’d worked together as agents for the FBI. Lindsey had been fresh out of the academy, and he’d already begun his downward spiral when they were assigned one another. No one else had wanted the woman rookie or the wild-eyed man they swore must be doing drugs to be acting the way he did, no matter how many piss tests came back clean. Two misfits.

Their coworkers and supervisors thought that he would make her cry, that he would destroy her confidence. Hell, they’d hoped he would go so far as to convince her that a woman didn’t belong at the boys’ table. Instead, Strahm realized that there was someone he could be bothered to live for.

He plates the two meals, reminiscing over and set aside for now. Fingers long since desensitized to the feeling of hot ceramic against them, he carries one plate in each hand to the dining area. The man and the woman are still the only customers. It’s a small town. It’s far enough from the main city that they don’t get much traffic out here this early in the morning. Usually, their clientele starts trickling in a couple hours after they open. It’s a motley assortment of people. They get folks from all walks of life seeking a seat at their secondhand tables. Money had been tight when they opened the place. Now, they keep the mismatched furniture as part of the place’s charm. He leaves the decor up to Lindsey.

As Peter makes his way to the dark haired pair seated at a table by the windows that span the front of the diner, initial thoughts that they might be a couple are blown away by the way the two of them are interacting. She’s engaging in five finger fillet with the straw for her orange juice. The hand that she’s playing the game with belongs to her resigned companion rather than herself. They must be siblings in one way or another.

“Here you go,” he sets the plates in front of them. “Anything else I can get you?”

“Yeah,” the seated man says. He’s wearing a suit. There is a flash of something at his hip. A gun and a badge. Strahm realizes that the man is a cop. Great. “Some decent coffee would be nice.” Peter’s eyebrows shoot up at the brazen rudeness. Across the table, the woman hisses, “Mark! What the fuck!” and swats at the officer.

The man isn’t deterred, just continues to stare Peter down with a dumb look in his blue eyes and a faint curl to his overly large, fish-like lips. Strahm hates him immediately. His dislike is only furthered by the realization that the seated cop’s buttons are straining across his chest. Could he not afford better fitting shirts? Or is he just too stupid to know his own size? Peter isn’t completely sure, but he’s willing to hazard the guess it might be the latter.

He grits his teeth and puts on a smile that’s more similar to a snarl than a genuine stab at pleasantry. “And what’s wrong with it?”

“It tastes like it’s been sitting out for hours,” he says, wincing only a little when the woman manages to land a solid kick against his shin. Peter wishes he could also dig the tip of his shoe into that yielding body.

Snatching the mug off the counter, he barely avoids the impulse to dump it on the cop’s lap and give him something to actually complain about. He doesn’t quite storm off to the narrow space behind the counter but it’s a close thing. He still carries his anger around his throat like a noose. Leaving the FBI hadn’t changed that.

The expression on his face is thunderous enough that Lindsey looks alarmed. Rightfully so. “What’s wrong?”

“Jackass cop. They always think they can come in here and push everyone around. That one probably jerks off onto his badge every night.” He feels a muscle jump in his jaw.

“That was… descriptive.”

“Sorry,” he mutters, ditching the mug on the counter by the machine and picking up the glass coffeepot and a fresh mug.

Peter strides back over to the occupied table. He sets down the mug with a hard thud on the tablecloth-covered wood, enough so that the table rattles with the force of it. It’s a miracle the ceramic doesn’t shatter. Neither of the two men look away from each other as he slowly pours the dark liquid. Only rising steam blocks their view, faltering and diverting as though it were afraid to be in the middle of them.

He fills the mug as high as he can get it, surface tension being the only thing keeping the coffee contained. It will be impossible to pick up without spilling. The cop is going to have to drink from it like a dog if he wants it at all.

“Thank you, Peter.” His voice is low, throaty.

Strahm startles at the use of his first name. His fingers reflexively clench into a fist. He perpetually forgets about the name tags that Lindsey insists they both wear despite her being the only one he has ever grown accustomed to calling him anything but some variation of “Agent” and “Strahm.” Of course this bloated asshole would be presumptuous enough use his name.

Choosing not to respond, he leaves the table and retreats to the sanctuary behind the counter. Any satisfaction he might have felt at watching his customer debase himself is dashed when Mark seeks out his eyes once again with his own as he lowers his face to the table and presses those absurdly full lips against the rim of the coffee mug. Peter can’t look away as he watches Mark’s throat engage in gulping swallows to drain the mug to the point where he can pick it up and drink from it like a slightly more civilized ape. He doesn’t realize he’s trembling, nearly vibrating in place, until his partner taps him on the arm and takes the glass carafe from his hand.

Lindsey attends to the pair from that point on. He lets her. They both know things might escalate, with his fuse being an oil soaked scrap of already burning twine.

The cop is perfectly nice to her, even smiling and thanking her for another coffee refill. Strahm can still feel the other man’s eyes rest on him from time to time. There’s something about the weight of his stare that makes him want to scratch at a phantom itch under his collar until blood burrows its way beneath his nails.

He finds his relief when Lindsey brings out the bill. Mark leaves his sister behind to pay after he hands her his wallet. She approaches the register with the slip of paper, looking meeker, somehow smaller, without her brother around. He barely keeps the frown off his face at her body language. There’s a nervous look in her eyes.

“I’m so sorry about my brother. I don’t know what got into him. He’s never like that.”

She sounds so sincere that he feels his frustration ease off the gas a little. It wouldn’t be right of him to be pissed at her just because she has an asshole for a sibling. “Ah, don’t worry about it.”

“Please, keep the change,” she says, handing him a wad of bills.

He pauses, fingertips already on the smaller denominations in the cash drawer. “This is too much, really.”

“Call it a…” she raises her fingers in scare quotes, “‘Markup’.”

Strahm sighs. Both siblings are intolerable.

“Alright then…?”

“Angelina. Angie.”

“Have a nice day, Angelina.” He very politely does not tell her to inform her brother to go fuck himself. Preferably with his own loaded gun. Safety off.

The young woman gives a little wave to Lindsey on her way out the door. His partner cheerfully returns it, her other arm laden down with the pair’s used plates. Peter loops around the counter to help her with bussing the table. He snatches up a clean rag on the way.

He’s not quite sure why the other man got under his skin so badly. It chafes at him. They have had more than a couple blowhard cops in the diner before, but they’ve never invoked the same visceral reaction from Strahm as Mark had. At least he can find solace in knowing that he will probably never have to see them again. They hadn’t seemed like locals, and it’s unlikely they’ll return, especially given the cop’s behavior towards him.

Hours pass, evening finally settles in after a long day. Diner traffic had ebbed and flowed along the usual patterns after the two siblings had left. Strahm and Perez had had the their typical rush around eight, followed by another burst of customers around noon, and the final crowd at six. There had been nothing else out of the ordinary to get Peter’s hackles up.

“Go on home, Linds,” he says to his partner as he flips the last chair onto one of the tables. He doesn’t want her to be stuck here all night while he meticulously combs over the diner in preparation for opening in the morning.

She stops, looks over at him with raised eyebrows. She’s got one hand on the dustpan and the other wrapped around the broom. “You sure?”

“Yeah, I could use the time to��“

“Get your homicidal urges under control?” she suggests with a grin.

He doesn’t dignify Lindsey with a response, just takes the broom from her before gently pressing his knuckles to her back to nudge her in the direction of the counter. “I’ll see you in the morning. Shoot me a message when you get home.”

“Oh, I’ll shoot you alright,” the woman mutters as she goes and gets her coat and purse.

“I wish you would. It would save me the trouble of doing it myself,” he calls after her.

The look he gets in return, all scrunched eyes and pursed lips, makes him smile. Lindsey’s “agent special”, as they jokingly call the expression they both slip into when agitated, would be enough to sour milk. He and his partner aren’t all that different. Their mannerisms have blurred together over the years. Lindsey is still his better half, though. She always will be.

“’Night, Pete.” She pauses with her hand on the front door’s handle. “You let me know too. When you get back to your place.”

“Goodnight,” he says, grudgingly tacking on “I will.” when she clears her throat in a pointed demand.

He finishes sweeping and is in the middle of mopping when his phone vibrates in the front pocket of his jeans. Without looking, he knows it’s the message from Lindsey. Still, he pulls the device out anyway and flips it open.

The text illuminated on the screen reads Im home :) Dont forget 2 eat

Satisfied that she’s safe, he doesn’t pick at the number pad and work up a reply. Peter merely closes the phone and returns it to his pocket. He’ll be messaging Lindsey about his return to his shitty rental soon enough. He’s almost done here, will be once he’s combed over every final detail down to the level the salt shakers are filled to. Strahm can’t help but treat every night at the diner like a case. All the parts have to be arranged in just the right order to construct the whole picture.

───※ ·❆· ※───

Early riser, is the first thing Strahm thinks the next morning when he hears the bells clatter against the glass of the front door. It is barely five minutes past six. Lindsey is in the back wrangling the day’s special; muffins. Much to his mixture of pride and chagrin, she’s become a substantially better baker than he. She has the patience for it.

“Welcome in,” he says, not looking up from the inventory list he’s in the middle of putting together.

He is going to have to call in an order to their supplier before noon today if they want it by Friday, which they do. Business is going to be elevated above average due to a local softball game on Saturday. One of them will be tasked with catering the event while the other stays behind to run the diner. He and Lindsey are going to have to draw straws for who gets what job. Peter is sure that she’s going to rig the game by changing the rules once the results are in so that she has be the person to go. His customer skills are better left unpracticed.

“Thanks, Peter,” comes a familiar voice.

Nearly snapping his own damn neck when he jerks his head up, he looks at the speaker. It’s Mark. He is holding the door open with a glove-clad hand for his presumed saint of a sister.

Anger sparks along his spine. He had bet wrong on never seeing the cop again, and with an aggressive motion, he snatches up only one menu. It’s only when he’s halfway to their table that he realizes he is rapidly clicking the pen he was using to write down notes for the order. He forces himself to stop.

Strahm can’t help but notice the other man is dressed the same as he was yesterday. He’s wearing the black blazer again, silk shirt is straining over his—what Peter can only call—breasts. He catches the sight of a thick suspender strap pressing into the softness of his chest, and finds that he has to look away and focus carefully on the menu he’s setting on the table in front of Angelina. He can tell that the other man is eyeing him questioningly.

“Where’s mine?” the cop asks, falling right into the trap Peter had impulsively set for him.

Turning to him with a fake as shit, winning smile, he says, “I thought your sister would be reading it to you. On account of you being a brain-damaged neanderthal.”

While Mark looks at him unblinkingly for a long moment and Angelina tries to smother her shocked laugh, Peter doesn’t let go of the smile. He rubs this thumb over the pen as he waits patiently for the cop to speak.

“Hm,” Mark finally says, considering, “Mother always did love dropping me on my head.”

Peter’s grin wavers, thinking the man might not be joking. His tone had been too serious. The amused expression falls off his face completely.

Fuck, he thinks, feeling a tinge of horror. Lindsey is going to kill him if he doesn’t kill himself first. Mark’s sister has her face buried in her hands. He’s royally cocked this up. He’s on the verge of apologizing when—

“I’m joking, Pete. I thought we were all friends here.”

Strahm relaxes, just marginally, but then Mark speaks again “Besides, I didn’t have a mother. In fact, you might be onto som—”

Peter interrupts him, turning to Angie, “What can I get you started with?”

“Orange juice, and some coffee for Oliver Twist over there.”

“Did you take him to the vet to get his taste buds looked at?” He’s still reflexively tapping his thumb against the clicker of the pen, not hard enough to trigger the mechanism.

She snaps her fingers, a smile playing at her mouth. “Damn, I forgot. I’m sure he’ll be nice this time,” she emphasizes with a pointed look at her brother.

Unable to help himself, he hazards a glance at the cop as well. Mark, upon realizing he’s being observed, darts his eyes from Peter’s right hand to his face. There’s something off about his expression, only furthered by a hard swallow. He looks almost… No. The idiot is probably just creaming himself over the thought of breakfast.

“I’ll be right out with that.”

When he pushes through the swinging door into the kitchen, he finds Lindsey pulling out another tray of muffins. She slides them onto the wheeled cooling rack and hums along to the radio blasting dad rock. His partner looks over at him with a smile. “Got a customer already?”

“Yeah,” he grumbles, snagging a glass serving decanter off a shelf, “jerkoff cop and his sister from yesterday.”

Peter can hear the frown in her voice as she speaks. “Want me to handle them?”

“No. I got it,” he calls on his way to the walk-in, decanter in hand. He fills it with orange juice from the dispenser before slipping out of the cooler and back into the main room of the kitchen to find and wrangle the lid onto the glass vessel.

Perez speaks like he hadn’t walked off, used to his comings and goings, “I’ll take the softball game then.”

“Not your call,” he says, thumbs bleaching white as he presses the sloped, metal lid down into the decanter until the rubber seal catches.

“Sure is, buddy. You’ll be using up all your goodwill today. I don’t want you terrorizing entire families this weekend. It’s bad for business.”

The retired agent lets out a ragged sigh on his way through the swinging door, finding himself unable to disagree. He knows his own limits, as much as he resents them, and so does Lindsey. Unlike her, he is willing to ignore them if it means getting the job done. It’s a miracle how she’s managed to stick around all these years. No one else has managed to tolerate his unwavering dedication. His first wife had left him for turning a blind eye to everything other than work, and the second had done the same for his devotion to Lindsey. Strahm is ever the dog with a bone, gnawing until he has reached the marrow and licked away every last trace of it.

He loves Perez like the sister he never got to have. Peter has both put his life on the line for her and taken the lives of other people for her continued survival. He has the unfortunate affliction of being willing to do anything for her, even going so far as to let her take some of the burden of this job off his shoulders. Atlas gets to have a partner.

Fetching a glass from under the counter, he tops it off with orange juice before stashing the serving jug in the mini-fridge where they keep the other cold items they need close at hand throughout the day—beverage pitchers, whipped cream, sliced lemons, the works.

Laughter travels across the diner, quick-footed and noisy. Strahm looks up at the interruption. The cop is holding the menu upside down and attempting to read the inverted text as he trails a thick finger over the print. He clearly cares about his sister. The love is written all over his stupid face, so thick that it’s enough to choke on.

Tamping down any lingering irritation as best as he can, Peter makes his way over to the siblings’ table. He is careful when he sets Angelina’s glass of orange juice down but doesn’t take the same care in the dismissive way he thunks Mark’s empty mug on the surface.

“Decided what you want yet?” he asks, pouring too much coffee into the mug in a repetition of yesterday. It laps the rim, begging to escape over the side.

At Angelina’s affirmative, Strahm sets the coffee carafe on the table and withdraws the notepad from his belt. While he jots down their order, he can’t help but be unsure if Mark is actually stupid or if he is just pretending. Either way, the man grates at him in such a way that he’d like to sink his fist into his face. It might relieve the inexplicable feeling crawling around under his skin like its trying to make a home. If he doesn’t act, it might buy real estate nestled away somewhere under his ribs.

Once he has everything marked down, he trades places with Lindsey after passing her the coffeepot and cooks the meal up in the back while she mans the front. They swap again as soon as he serves the places.

Behind the counter, he works at finishing up the restock order. Peter keeps finding his eyes wandering to the eating man rather than the task at hand. The solitude of the front only serves to allow him all the free rein he could possibly want to watch the man consume the meal Strahm had put in front of him. Each mouthful, each bob of that thick neck as he swallows, the tines of the fork disappearing between those overfilled lips; there’s something about it that he cannot look away from.

For now, he tells himself that the rapt attention is borne of disgust, that he’s watching for a complaint so he has cause to let out the aggression boiling inside of him. Later, once he has closed the diner for the night, he tries to convince himself that the tinge of satisfaction he’s feeling in this moment is because he is looking at proof of a job well done. The cop is clearly enjoying his food, and Strahm takes pride in his work.

Either way, he ignores the stirring that he feels in his jeans. He curses himself under his breath and puts all his focus into finishing the list he should have been locked into all along. He barely marks down the last item on the sheet before Lindsey pops through the swinging door, flushed from having completed her baking.

She ducks right under his arm and pulls the paper out from under his hand. Lindsey ignores his outraged noise. “Is this everything?”

“Yeah. Business has been picking up.”

“Mmm… Go water the plants for me? I’ll take over here.”

His partner makes a shooing gesture at him. She had been the one who insisted they have flowers in front of the diner and around the lot’s tree. Of course, the task of caring for them has fallen to Peter. He’d seen the state of her houseplants time and time again. Each of them inevitably finds a place at his rental home, handed over by a sheepish Lindsey. He all but has a jungle tucked away in his living room. Perez has many qualities. Unfortunately, a green thumb is not among them.

Casting a quick glance over at the table, he sees that the siblings are nearly done. They will be needing the check soon.

“Fine,” he says, giving in. It’s probably better for everyone is he’s not looking at the cop.

The bell chimes as he ducks out the front door. He checks the soil before he bothers to get the hose. In doing so, he finds out that Lindsey was right, the plants do need watered.

Peter is in the middle of watering the bed under the window when a shadow falls over the box. It consumes his, merges with it to create a twisted creature. There is something familiar in that figure, something deep in the core of his body groans in approval. Everything else fades away for a moment as he quietly observes it.

“Angie told me to apologize.”

Peter jerks, surprised by the rolling voice behind him. His finger slips off the sprayer. The water cuts off abruptly. He narrowly avoids clutching at his chest with his free hand like a stereotypical old man having a heart attack. With his heart pounding in his ears, he turns around to face Mark. Strahm doesn’t spay the cop with the hose. He wants to.

“So are you?” he asks with forced nonchalance.

Mark considers him. Those pale eyes survey the damp patches on Strahm’s jeans where the water had blown back. His stare seems to catch on the wet patch of t-shirt clinging to his stomach. “I don’t know. Is there something in it for me if I do?”

Strahm feels his neck go hot. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say the other man is flirting.

“Depends on how good the apology is.” The words are out of his mouth before his brain catches up. Damn it, Strahm, damn it, he thinks. His tendency to spout out whatever leapt to his tongue was a barely leashed thing that often broke free of its tether at the most inopportune of moments.

A smile curves the edges of Mark’s over-sized lips and the shorter man leans his bulk in just enough to make him feel cornered. Strahm has to fight not to react in any direction; either to shove him away or to pull him in. Disgust is warring with interest. He frowns. He barely knows this man. The retired agent would like to know what the fuck is wrong with him.

Sudden surprise flairs in those eyes and Mark withdraws, saying, “I’m sorry. Excuse me.”

Peter is left standing alone on the pavement, hose in hand, as the other man lumbers away to the navy Crown Victoria parked at the meter. He’s wet and confused. His jeans feel as tight as the scar cutting across his cheek.

───※ ·❆· ※───

Wednesday passes without further incident. Thursday’s only outstanding feature is the arrival of the order they had placed on Tuesday. Friday night sees Strahm helping to prepare everything for Lindsey’s catering on Saturday. There is no sign of Mark during the three day span. Only his sister stops by the diner. She gives no explanation for her brother’s absence and Peter does not ask.

Over the days, Strahm and Perez get to know Angelina. They learn that she loves her brother just as much as he loves her. She reveals that she and Mark were system kids. He has taken care of her like his own family since the moment they met at the home of shared foster parents. The adults had ended up not wanting Mark and despite only intending to send him back, they’d had to send both children away. Hoffman and Acomb had been stamped with a “do-not-separate” notice when Mark had later broken the nose of one of the staff members in response to being told they were going to be split up. Another family had wanted to foster just her.

Hoffman had filed for custody of her as soon as he aged out of the system and the means to show he could provide for her. He had been the youngest cop the precinct had assigned the role of detective to. Angie wishes her brother would hover less and worry about himself more. She thinks that he is burning the candle at both ends.

Over those days, Strahm’s worldview around the man shifts. The flames of disdain that had been raging inside of him peter out and turn into a charred bed of ash. He still wants to punch the man in the face, still wants to rough him up until he’s marked with the proof of Strahm’s fists—of his mouth—but he might soothe the man’s wounds afterwards with careful passes of his tongue.

───※ ·❆· ※───

Lindsey has just barely left for the softball field with her small truck laden down with the necessary food and supplies for the catering ordeal when the bell above the door jangles. Strahm looks up from the coffee filters he’s separating to see that it’s Mark. He is the first customer of the morning.

The detective doesn’t take a seat at the table, instead, he settles himself onto a stool at the counter. Strahm can’t help but notice that the seat Mark chooses is the one beside the stool that his sister has been occupying for the past few days. It’s as though his body instinctively knows where Angie resides and always keeps that space carved out for her. Peter is sure that if something were to ever happen to her, there would be a gaping hole in the detective’s life, a place where his sister should fill.

Something gives way in his chest at the sight of him. He’d never admit it, but he’s irrationally missed him.

“Morning,” he says, putting a mug down in front of him. He leaves enough room for Mark’s sugar this time as he pours the coffee in, unprompted. He’s being uncharacteristically nice. It could be that he’s making up for the lack of his partner. His rough edges can’t be too sharp when she’s not around to patch up the cuts he might make.

Any positive feelings at the other man being back at the diner are dashed when the first words out of his mouth aren’t a good morning in return, or even a thanks, but a “You wife has been getting real close with my sister. You guys a pineapple couple or what?”

Mark’s eyes are flat, deceptively calm. Uncomfortably, Peter feels as though he’s looking into the eyes of an attacking shark. He barely keeps the coffeepot he’s holding from slipping from his grasp. He’s suddenly all too aware of the wedding band weighing down his ring finger. It had been the same one from both his previous marriages. The retired FBI agent should have known the second marriage was doomed to fall apart from the moment he decided to not pick out new wedding rings with his fiancée. It probably hadn’t helped, that unbeknownst to ex-wife number two, he had proposed to her with the engagement ring he’d gotten back after the divorce of his first wife. Both women had been right to end their marriages to him. He’d been a shitty husband. His heart hadn’t been in it. Neither woman had been what he was really looking for.

On the Lindsey’s behalf, he’s offended for Mark even thinking she would stoop so low as to be married to him. She deserves better than his negligence and repression. He knows it and she knows it. In all the years that they’ve been partners, they have never done anything more than share a few awkward hugs.

“Lindsey and I aren’t married,” he says firmly.

“Just you then?”

“I’m not married. Neither of us are married.”

“You wear a ring. Seems awful married to me.”

“It keeps some of the old ladies from trying to mount me in the stock room,” he answers, dry.

They sit on that in silence. Strahm places the carafe back on the hotplate. Something nags at him. He turns to Mark only to find that he’s still staring at him. “What the fuck is a pineapple couple?”

“Swingers, Pete. I asked if you were a swinger.”

“What? No. Mark. No. No.”

The seated man looks strangely smug. “Good. I don’t share,” he says as if it were the most casual thing in the world and flips open a menu.

For a moment, Strahm thinks his brain shuts off. He reaches blindly for a rag out of the sanitizer bucket and starts scrubbing the counter with it. Mark’s voice comes to him like Peter is under water, distorted and faint.

“Eggs and bacon for me today. Some multigrain if you’ve got it.”

Pulling his notepad from his belt, Strahm scribbles down the order. He doesn’t need to but he needs to fight for a finger hold of normality here.

“Small breakfast. Sure you don’t want to stuff your mouth with anything else?” As soon as the words hit the air, Strahm wishes he could somehow suck them back in. Why is he forever incapable of thinking before he speaks?

Hoffman shrugs. “Nah, Angie’s not here to steal half the food off my plate. Besides, what I want isn't on the menu anyway.” His eyes feel like a physical caress as they map over Peter’s body. The meaning is blatant, not remotely subtle.

Peter opens his mouth, closes it.

“I’ll be back with that,” he says. On his way to the kitchen’s swinging door, he tries to keep his pace measured as he escapes Mark’s all too interested eyes. He doesn't want the detective to see how much their interaction has rattled him.

Once in the kitchen, he realizes that he needs to get ingredients out of the walk-in and pops the latch to step inside the small space. Instead of gathering what he had come for, Peter finds himself sitting on a tomato box. He leans back, pressing the sides of his clenched hands to his brow bone. Letting out a loud sigh that’s more of a growl, the diner owner sags into the cold metal of the wall behind it. The change in temperature is enough of a difference to shock his system back into some sense of reality.

What the fuck? he thinks, irritation creeping into his thoughts like an old friend. The detective had acted like he would gladly engage him in a physical fight over coffee and now he’s making overt passes at him. It’s enough to send his head spinning. Going over their interactions, he’s drawing the conclusion that perhaps the other man had been flirting with him since the start, trying different tactics to get his attention like a snot-nosed brat pulling a girl’s hair on the playground before realizing that honey catches more flies.

Being in the cooler finally catches up with him and he wastes no time in getting to his feet. He hates tight spaces, always has. Eventually, they make him feel like the walls are closing in inch by anxiety-inducing inch. A nonsensical section of his hind brain fears he will get crushed between them, rendered into a pool of fat floating atop pulpy innards and shattered bones.

Once free of the walk-in, he fries up the bacon and the eggs. He slips some toast onto the plate before carrying it out to the front. It’s hot against his fingers, the heat soaking through his callouses.

Peter has a moment to observe Mark when he pauses in the doorway. The swinging door is propped open against his elbow. The detective is sitting quietly, sketching something out on a napkin with the pen that Strahm must have unintentionally left behind after he took down the order. Once Mark catches sight of him, he flips the napkin over. As he does, Peter gets a glimpse of the drawing. It’s depicting something mechanical, like a medieval torture device made modern. An alarm bell clangs in the back of his head.

Neither of them bring up the drawing. Mark steadily tucks into his breakfast. Peter pretends not to be watching him. He thinks part of his brain dies when Mark has to lick away a smear of ketchup off his own lip. For a moment, Peter has the thought of his own tongue doing the work for the detective instead.

The retired agent ends up nearly snarling at him when he asks for a coffee refill.

next chapter -»

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#saw franchise #saw movies #hoffstrahm #coffinshipping #mark hoffman x peter strahm #hoffstrahm fanfic #peter strahm #mark hoffman #saw fanfic #.my posts #.my work #.my fanfics

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myeuphoricmindset · 1 year ago

Text

Haunted by you — Eddie Munson

↳ chapter five

chapter one | chapter two | chapter three | chapter four

Read on ao3

Summary | Eddie Munson's ghost is haunting the house recently occupied by Daisy Morgan. Having been deceased for years, Eddie becomes visible only to her. As she adjusts to sharing her living space with an otherworldly presence, their relationship develops into a compelling yet forbidden romance between the living and the dead. But, how could that ever truly work?

Warnings/tags | here.

Word count | 4.2k

There he was, Eddie Munson.

Daisy's fingertip grazed over his photo. There was a strange feeling that bubbled up in her chest at the sight of him. It was evidence that his existence was beyond the confines of her mind. He was real. She withheld a smile, her eyes teeming with restrained tears. This feeling belonged solely to her; because who else has experienced this? Many have tasted the bitterness of loss, the uncertainty of the future, and the loneliness that follows, but none could truly fathom how this feels.

Eddie's beauty remained undiminished, even in photos. His vibrant and playful energy was evident. Daisy never saw him when he was alive, but his glow persisted even in death.

Daisy checked the names under the Hellfire Group photo and jotted them down, then found his senior class. Her eyes gravitate to his photo. In it, he looked happy and full of life. She stared at it for a long while, reading his name over and over.

"Ma'am, we're closing," the librarian gently interrupted.

Daisy complied, returning the yearbook to its place. She retrieved her belongings, resisting the urge to hide the book in her bag, aware of watchful eyes.

The crunch of leaves beneath her feet accompanied the cool breeze as she contemplated confessing to Eddie that she was looking into him. He had said he wasn't ready, but was it fear that held him back? Daisy was determined to help him, her thoughts consumed with the thought during the drive home.

When she got home, Eddie wasn't there. She often wondered where he went on his occasional disappearances. Where does he go if he can't leave the property? What was he doing? He remained a mystery she couldn't resist unraveling.

A box lays near the front door and Daisy opens it to find her wedding dress. Her heart almost stops at the sight. She knew they were going to send it, but it still felt unexpected. Either nauseous or dizzy, Daisy sits down next to the box and tries to take a few deep breaths.

Her fingers brush over the fabric. She can't help herself when she pulls it out of the bag and holds it close. It's a beautiful long gown with a lacey beaded top, but it was sublet. She didn't like the puffy sleeves like most of the dresses had, so she opted for the caped sleeves. She can remember the day she tried it on in a small locally owned shop, only the owner and Sloan there to see her stand in front of the mirror with tears. Now, the tears don't come, only a pain ache in her chest.

Before she even realizes what she's doing, she is slipping out of her clothes and pulling the dress on. It's tight but hugs her curves perfectly. Daisy walks over to the large mirror that hangs near the front hallway and stares at herself.

Daisy's fingers fiddle with the fabric as her eyes look over every detail of the dress. She doesn't stand here sad because of Nick and that was a strange thing to realize, but she is thinking of her future which is now gone, and her mother.

It was an odd thing to see, Daisy wearing her wedding dress in the house that her mother lived in. It was the closest she got to having her mom see her in the gown. She's always felt the absence of Grace in her life, but it was stronger in moments when a mother should be present. As much hate as Daisy felt for Grace, you'd think she wouldn't have any room for the pain of yearning for that relationship but it still lingers within her —deep below it bubbles up at the worst possible moment.

"Is this my white light moment?" Eddie speaks as he approaches Daisy.

She turns, her white dress swirling around her. Eddie steps back, completely taken by her beauty.

"Dais, wow. You look..." Eddie searches for words, in absolute awe of her. "Angelic," he says softly, then adds, "Are you the angel guiding me home?"

Daisy playfully swats at him, fingers passing through his form as she moves. "Oh, stop," she says, smiling.

He's looking at her in a way she's never experienced before, a look she's never received from any man. It makes her heart race, and her cheeks flush.

Eddie walks into the living room, and a moment later soft music fills the air from the new record player. It's their first time using it since she bought it a week ago. He returns to her, offering his hand. Daisy stares at it, confused.

"May I have this dance?"

"Dance? You want to dance with me?" Daisy stands still.

Eddie chuckles softly, "Yes, Dais."

"But, I don't dance. I mean, I'm not good at it, and I—"

Eddie cuts her off, "Neither am I, but don't you want to see what it's like to dance in that dress?"

They hold each other's gaze for a moment. She steps forward and reaches out her hand to him. Her emotions swell as she wears her dream wedding dress with no intention of making a lifelong commitment or changing her last name. She's accepted that she won't marry Nick, but it's not what causes her inner ache. It's the hope of marriage that's been crushed. The only man willing to offer her love took that away.

But Eddie stands before her, offering a glimpse of what it's like to dance in the dress and imagine a future where she's loved and wanted. So, why not indulge in this fantasy?

The cool touch lingers as he guides her into the living room. There's no physical connection between them, but she follows, falling into the fantasy.

Facing each other, Eddie slides his hand around her waist. The dress creates a barrier from the cold touch, but at least his hand in hers provides a sense of his presence. Daisy focuses on that. It appears as if they're truly holding hands, even though she can only feel the temperature. It brings some sense of comfort.

"I'd pull you closer if I could," Eddie says softly, looking down at her.

Daisy steps forward, pressing her body where his should be. They sway gently, trying to stay in sync. Occasionally, one steps too close, and they both gasp and step back.

The music envelops them as they dance slowly around the living room. Daisy is finally getting the dance she was meant to have in her wedding dress. She even thinks that maybe it was always meant for Eddie. Life has a way of unfolding, and Daisy firmly believes in fate. It's amusing to think that when she tried on this dress months ago, she was trying on the dress she'd eventually dance in with the ghost haunting her house.

Nick has held her many times and it doesn't compare to this. Even though she never wanted this house, she's glad she came here because meeting Eddie has been the best thing that's happened to her.

These thoughts leave her feeling conflicted with what she was doing earlier today. Did she really want to set Eddie free? Was she ready to be completely alone and potentially never see him again? How often do people have the opportunity to hold on to loved ones who have left this world? Why would she give that up?

"I'm sorry you didn't get a real dance," Eddie says as they continue to sway.

Daisy looks at him and says, "This is real."

Eddie gives her a look and scoffs softly before saying, "You know what I mean. You deserve more than this."

Daisy stops and says, "No one has ever done something like this for me. Don't downplay your kindness."

Eddie smiles but adds, "It's just practice. Your future husband will be able to hold you the right way."

Daisy rolls her eyes. "There is no future husband."

Eddie is surprised. "What? Just because your asshole ex made the mistake of a lifetime doesn't mean you won't find the right person later."

Daisy teases, "I didn't take you for a romantic."

Eddie shrugs and continues to sway with her. "I wouldn't say that. But I also don't dance with just anyone."

"So, I'm special?"

"Of course you are," Eddie says with a warm smile, and they lock eyes. Daisy feels like she might melt.

"Would you kiss me if you could?" Daisy blurts out suddenly, regretting it almost instantly. "I mean, if we weren't just friends, and you were really here, like alive, you know, hanging out with me and doing this," she motions between them, stumbling over her words and regretting everything she's ever said and done.

Eddie watches her with amusement, unable to contain his laughter. "Relax, Dais. Take a breather."

Daisy breaks away from their dance, turning away from him with an awkward laugh. The next song on the album begins, which she's thankful for as it eases her exit from their dance.

"Sorry, I'm just being stupid. This dress is messing with my head. I'm drowning in my feelings," Daisy says in a panic. Needing to clarify she added, "Feelings about the wedding, you know. It's a lot."

Eddie shoves his hands into his pockets, nodding. "It is a lot. So, don't apologize for saying or doing things while you're going through all this."

Daisy looks at him, taking a breath and feeling calmer. "Okay."

The phone rings, breaking their eye contact.

"Probably Sloan," Daisy mutters, suspecting it's regarding her birthday party next week.

Eddie smiles softly. "Shouldn't keep her waiting." He starts to leave the living room, whispering as he passes Daisy, "And to answer your question, yeah, I would kiss you."

Their eyes meet one last time, and then he disappears.

★

The house has never been this loud. Daisy wasn't accustomed to seeing people within these walls who weren't either Eddie or her own reflection.

Spending her birthday surrounded by mostly strangers and already half-drunk wasn't her idea of a celebration. Daisy enjoyed a drink on her birthday and most days, but she tried to avoid getting drunk. Every time she got drunk, it seemed she acted on impulse and did things she typically regretted. Sloan reassured her that it was normal, something everyone did, but Daisy already had enough regrets in her life.

The first thing she regretted tonight was wearing her wedding dress. It was only a partial regret because spilling wine on it felt oddly liberating. The dress no longer looked the same, now stained red, and that made it easier for Daisy to wear it.

"I can't believe it's ruined," Sloan shouted over the blaring music, touching Daisy's dress. "But it looks so good. What are you supposed to be again?"

"Carrie," Daisy corrected her for the fifth time that night.

Daisy cut Sloan some slack since she was frazzled by the fact that she and Robin were in a fight. Daisy has reassured her that things will be fine and she will be here tonight. Robin stayed with Steve last night, but both Robin and Steve said they would be here. If not for Sloan then they would be for Daisy. It was guaranteed that Robin and Sloan would work things out once they saw each other. Their fights never lasted long.

"She will be here, stop worrying."

Sloan responded with a groan and downed another shot. Daisy caught the look Sloan gave her and joined in for another shot. Sloan didn't like drinking alone, and Daisy was too considerate to decline. Besides, Daisy needed it because Eddie had been absent all day. It was her birthday, and she hadn't seen him at all. She knew he didn't owe her anything, but she had assumed they were close enough for him to at least mention he would be gone. Where did he go, anyway?

Another shot down, and the hurt of his absence grew. She could feel it transforming into annoyance, which would soon become anger.

"Let's dance," Sloan declared, grabbing Daisy's hand without waiting for a response. She followed and watched Sloan's black witch hat bounce with her steps.

A few strangers in costumes shouted Happy Birthday at Daisy, and she responded with a smile and a small wave as she pushed through the crowd. The full moon outside the window served as a stark reminder that Eddie was still absent. She scanned the faces around her but couldn't spot him.

Rather than dwelling on it, Daisy turned her attention to Sloan and danced to the booming music in the house. People were drinking, chatting, and dancing, making it a lively party. Bodies pressed against them on the dance floor, yet another reminder that he wasn't there. Someone called her name, but it was just another casual birthday wish. This absence was slowly consuming her thoughts.

Daisy stumbled, and Sloan quickly caught her, lifting her with a laugh. "Don't fall,"

"Too much alcohol," Daisy slurred, realizing how she sounded as she quickly covered her mouth before laughing.

"It's your birthday. You're allowed to have fun!"

Was she really having fun, though? She pondered it. To some extent, yes, she was having fun, but she would have preferred enjoying a movie on the couch.

"You know what you need?" Sloan suggested.

"What?"

"A guy, that's how you have real fun."

"What? Absolutely not," Daisy protested, though she found herself laughing, perhaps because it all sounded absurd or due to the alcohol.

"Seriously! Get laid or have a fun make-out session. A good time in the bedroom can help get you out of this funk."

Daisy scoffed, "I'm not in a funk."

"Clearly you are. But it's okay. The past few months have been crazy, but you deserve to get back out there. At least have some fun."

"I don't know..." Daisy trailed off as she continued to dance with Sloan. She had thought about it, what it would be like to be with someone else. She hadn't kissed or been with anyone since Nick, and she had been with him for years. Her curiosity was piqued. Eddie's absence came to mind again, stoking her anger and hurt, and she unexpectedly found herself agreeing with Sloan.

Sloan twirled Daisy in excitement, and they both laughed, heading to the nearby kitchen to grab another drink. Sloan scanned the room, on the lookout for the right guy for Daisy. It felt a bit icky to be in that position, so Daisy downed another shot while keeping an eye out for the one person she truly wanted to see. But there was no sign of him.

Sloan gasped, grabbing Daisy's arm, and they both looked towards the front door, where Robin and Steve had just walked in.

"She looks great, doesn't she?" Sloan commented without taking her eyes off Robin.

"She really does."

"Oh my god," Sloan turned to Daisy with a big smile. "It's Steve. Steve can be your birthday fun."

Daisy shot a glare at Sloan. "No!"

"Yes. Oh, yes!" Sloan's smile took on a mischievous look.

"No way, he's just...," Daisy tried to find the right word.

"Hot? I know. And I'm a lesbian. I've never been attracted to men in my life, but Steve Harrington? I can acknowledge how attractive he is."

"He is, but come on," Daisy shook her head.

"Here they come, act casual," Sloan said, pulling Daisy closer and putting on a normal smile.

"Happy Birthday, Daisy," Robin greeted her, hugging her.

"Thank you," Daisy replied.

Steve smiled at Daisy. "Happy Birthday."

Daisy thanked him and tried to act normal, despite the conversation with Sloan. Steve offered her a drink and she accepted. Steve and Robin seemed like they had pre-gamed before arriving, likely because Robin was anxious about talking to Sloan. Steve's cheeks were slightly flushed, and he seemed more at ease as he asked about how Daisy's birthday had been, while Sloan and Robin stepped outside.

“It’s good, just a little extra for me,” Daisy remarked.

Steve looked around and nodded, "Sloan and her parties."

"I'm trying to stay sane," Daisy raised her almost empty cup, smiling.

"Is it working?"

Daisy chuckled, "I can't vouch for my sanity, but it's certainly making this all more bearable."

Steve lifted his cup, "Cheers to that."

They clinked their cups together and downed the remaining liquid.

"More?" Daisy offered.

Steve glanced at Robin and Sloan outside and sighed, "Screw it, sure."

They made their way to the kitchen near the keg and refilled their cups. Time passed, but Daisy was too engrossed in the conversation with Steve to notice. He was funny and witty, holding her attention when most couldn't. Eddie crossed her mind a few times, but she pushed those thoughts away, focusing on Steve. He actually showed up for her birthday. And, damn it, he was real. She could touch him, kiss him, or even fuck him. She wouldn't admit it, but she'd considered Eddie in all three of those ways, and it was just a cruel tease, an unattainable desire. It was torturous to be constantly teased with the perfect guy she couldn't have. So, it was a relief to have a genuine shot with someone attainable.

"Wanna dance?"

Daisy looked at Steve's outstretched hand, and her stomach dropped. For a split second, she imagined Eddie's hand and his words echoing in her mind, "May I have this dance?" Then reality hit, and it was just Steve standing before her.

"Sure," Daisy agreed.

Steve led her through the crowd, actually guiding her with his hand in hers. It felt warm and real, making her feel strangely uneasy. Because why couldn't this be Eddie?

"Daisy,"

His voice continued to echo in her mind, and she bit her inner cheek, trying to ignore it. But she heard it again.

"Daisy?"

And there he was. Eddie walked alongside Daisy as she followed behind Steve, his eyes shifting between her face and her hand in Steve's. She couldn't decipher if there was sadness or jealousy in his eyes. Perhaps it was neither, and the alcohol was playing tricks on her.

"Where have you been?" Daisy hissed, her voice a low murmur, as she tried to conceal her conversation with the invisible ghost walking alongside her. Steve didn't turn around as he navigated through the crowd, gently pulling her along.

"I've been caught up. I'm sorry, I tri—"

Daisy glared at him. "Caught up with what?"

"I'm sorry, Dais. But I'm here now."

Daisy ignored him, clutching Steve's hand tighter.

"It looks like you're having fun. That's great," Eddie said, still hovering beside her, his eyes locked onto her.

"I am, no thanks to you."

Daisy knew she sounded somewhat irrational, but she couldn't help herself. She was frustrated, hurt, and her clouded mind had eroded her filter.

Steve came to a halt in the middle of the dance floor, pulling her in gently. Daisy glanced at Eddie as she wrapped her arms around Steve, and they began moving to the music. It wasn't a slow dance; instead, they moved with a quick beat, and unintentionally, it had a somewhat sensual feel.

Eddie's jaw tightened as he watched Steve's hands around Daisy's waist. "Daisy, come on."

She met his gaze and raised an eyebrow.

"I didn't mean to miss your birthday. I'm torn up about it, okay?"

At that moment, Daisy glanced at the clock and saw it was nearly 3 a.m. He had indeed missed her birthday, and he offered no explanation. She turned back to Eddie, shook her head, looked away, and drew closer to Steve, moving with him in sync with the music.

"You're a good dancer," Steve whispered in her ear.

She giggled, and maybe under normal circumstances, she wouldn't have, but Eddie was still watching her. "It's the alcohol," she replied.

Steve laughed, while Eddie fidgeted with the rings on his fingers. Daisy noticed it all.

"Fine, be mad at me, Daisy. That's fine. I probably deserve it."

"Yeah, you do," Daisy retorted.

Steve pulled back, puzzled. "What?"

Daisy played it off, saying, "I said, you too."

Eddie rolled his eyes. "Is this your birthday date?"

Daisy shrugged, a nonchalant gesture.

Steve held onto her hips as she swayed with him, and something flickered in Eddie's eyes just as the dim lights in the house flickered. Only a few people noticed, but Daisy knew the cause.

"Oh, are you upset?" Daisy mouthed, speaking to Eddie.

Eddie tilted his head, "Not at all. Why would I be?"

Something abruptly shifted within him, and she could sense it.

Daisy stared at him briefly before turning her attention back to Steve. She turned around, pressing her back against Steve. He hesitated for a moment, but his hands found their way back to her hips. Daisy met Eddie's eyes as she raised her arm behind her to rest her hand on the back of Steve's neck.

"Do you like the way he's touching you?" Eddie asked in a low, steady tone.

Eddie had drawn closer, now standing in front of her. He watched her body move against Steve, his gaze trailing down her figure.

"Do you like it?" She asked of Eddie while continuing to grind against Steve.

"Yes," Steve whispered in her ear.

Daisy felt a shiver run down her spine from his warm breath. Was this wrong? If she weren't so intoxicated, she might care more, but this was the most enjoyable part of her night. Her anger seemed to be fading, and she leaned further into the fun.

Eddie moved closer to her, and Daisy pressed further back into Steve. She found herself sandwiched between them, staring directly into Eddie's eyes as she continued her movements.

"Do you wish it was me touching you like that?" Eddie asked, his cold finger almost brushing against her bottom lip.

A warm, arousing sensation surged between her legs, and she felt a heat that went beyond the influence of alcohol. Her eyes locked onto Eddie's, and Daisy could see the corner of his mouth curving up.

Eddie's eyes took on a lustful look. "Look at how well you move those hips."

"Stop," Daisy mumbled, her voice filled with a mix of desire and uncertainty.

This wasn't how it was supposed to unfold. Daisy had aimed to provoke jealousy in Eddie, not to arouse him. And, damn it, why was she feeling turned on as well?

Steve didn't hear her words because he had brushed her hair back before planting a kiss on her neck. A moan escaped her lips, but she couldn't tear her eyes away from Eddie.

His lips parted, and he inhaled slowly, "God, is that how you sound?"

She mouthed his name, trying to signal him to stop, but he paid no heed.

Eddie lowered his face towards her, "Do it again," and he turned his head so his ear was near her mouth.

On cue, Steve kissed her neck once more, and she moaned again.

"Jesus Christ, Daisy," Eddie said breathlessly, looking down at her. "What I would do to have your pretty little lips moaning my name."

"Stop," Daisy felt like she might explode with desire.

"What?" Steve stopped to look at her.

"Oh, no. I didn't mean—" Desperate for this growing need to be satisfied or perhaps to get back at Eddie, she flung her arms around Steve and kissed him.

Steve didn't pull away; he leaned into it. He was a skilled kisser who knew how to hold her just right. It made her feel comfortable, even though she felt conflicted about the whole situation. Initially, being with Steve wasn't about Eddie, but she realized how wrong it was to imagine that she was kissing Eddie's lips.

"You're so sexy," Eddie whispered in her ear.

She's never felt sexy in her life, but she believes him.

Daisy tilted her head, exposing her neck for Steve to kiss again. He accepted the invitation, and Daisy ran her hand through his hair, keeping him distracted.

"Didn't know you liked to watch, you creep," Daisy whispered, a sly grin hidden behind her lips.

Eddie glanced at her swollen lips and ran his tongue over his bottom lip, "Only you."

Steve recaptured her attention by kissing her lips once more. Everyone around them was lost in the music or too inebriated to notice what was transpiring. She could feel his hands moving down over her ass, giving it a tight squeeze.

"Okay, alright," Eddie said, "Come on."

So, what, he's an ass guy, and that's where he draws the line? Daisy wanted to laugh, but she now had Steve's tongue in her mouth.

Eddie's voice reverberated around them, and Daisy sensed that he'd reached his limit. "Hey."

Daisy opened her eyes as Steve pulled back. What the hell? She scanned the area but couldn't find Eddie, though Steve was standing there frozen.

"Steve?"

He gazed down at himself and then at his hands. His face contorted with confusion, and his fingers reached up to brush over his shoulders, searching for something.

"Are you okay?" Daisy asked, worried.

Daisy looked around for Eddie again but tried to keep her focus on Steve. Had Steve consumed too much alcohol? Why did he appear so pale?

Steve fixated on Daisy with wide eyes, his touch gentle against her cheek. "Dais?"

The way he said her name didn't initially register until Daisy realized that Steve had just called her Dais. Her breath caught in her throat.

"Eddie?"

★ chapter six coming soon ★

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#eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x original character #eddie munson angst #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson series #eddie munson fluff

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wisteriashouse · 1 year ago

Text

wind blows, petals scatter

pairing: kamado tanjirou x sumiyuri hayami (oc)

genre: fluff

word count: 13.6k

remarks: thank you for trusting me with your commission @hinokami-s 💖

“Mitarashi or kusa dango?”

Hayami scrunches up her face, one finger hooking around he long strands of her ponytail as she contemplates the two sticks held out to her.The mitarashi dango has a wonderfully sweet and charred flavour after being grilled over an open fire, but the steamed mugwort leaves give the kura dango a subtly earthy taste that reminds her of roasted tea. Both are delicious. How can she possibly be asked to choose between the two?

Tanjirou smiles as she continues to mull over her choices. “Still can’t decide?”

“Don’t rush me,” Hayami scolds without looking up at him, but her tone is playful. “This is a very important decision. I would have no problem eating both if you hadn’t made me participate in that soba eating competition…” she pats her tummy with a rueful smile, “I’ve never felt so full in my entire life. If I try to eat more than a stick of dango, I think I might explode.”

Tanjirou lets out a laugh at that, and Hayami can’t help the way her own lips twitch upwards in response. This entire evening has been the most relaxed she has been for a long time. The past few months for her have consisted of back to back missions, and travelling all over the country to chase down high level demons. It’s meaningful work, of course, but exhausting as well.

She had been on her way back to the Butterfly Estate after completing yet another mission, tired and hungry, when she’d run into Tanjirou in the nearby town. The two had then caught up over several bowls of soba. And now, they are wandering the streets in search of something sweet to fulfil Hayami’s craving for dessert.

Hayami doesn’t remember the last time she simply ventured the streets, searching for delicious snacks instead of demon tracks. Being able to spend such leisurely time with one of her close friends feels like a breath of fresh air — one that she hadn’t quite realised that she needed.

“We should definitely try to avoid exploding, if we can.” Tanjirou agrees, still smiling. “Still, both dangos look good to me. Should we buy both of them and split them between us?”

“Oh, that’s a good idea.” Hayami pulls out a few bronze coins from her money pouch and drops them into the stall owner’s waiting hands before Tanjirou can get a word in. “No, no, let me pay.”

“But I wanted to treat you…”

“Perhaps next time, if you manage to move more quickly than me,” she tease, before grabbing his wrist and pulling him after her. The stall owner is starting to look exasperated with them. “Thank you, ojisan.”

The two of them continue to make their way down the streets, now with dango in hand. The sun has not quite begun to set yet — orange light rippling over the mountain tops in the distance. Ever since becoming a demon slayer, Hayami has always found herself acutely aware of the sun’s position in the sky.

Hazard of the trade, she supposes.

“Has your sword been fixed yet?” Hayami prompts Tanjirou, as the two of them aimlessly amble along. This part of the town is less crowded than the food street they’d just left, with the merchant shops and stalls starting to close shop for the night. She takes a bite of the skewer in her hand. The kusa dango is rich and earthy in her mouth. “I heard Haganezuka-san has become incredibly busy as of late.”

“He’s working to make a new sword for another slayer, so fixing my sword has been put on a waitlist.” Hayami can feel the sigh that Tanjirou lets out all the way to her bones. “I know it was my fault that it got chipped, but I’m just glad that he’s too occupied to try to kill me again.”

“Swords chip all the time, it wasn’t your fault,” Hayami reminds him, but Tanjirou refuses to hear any of it. The two debate back and forth as they walk. She’s barely gotten him to concede that Haganezuka’s swords, like all other swordsmiths’ blades, can’t be completely infallible when Tanjirou suddenly comes to a halt. They’ve reached the border of the town.

Following the path that they’ve been on would lead them back to the Butterfly Estate for the night. As though the same thought has just passed through their minds, the two glance at each other before sharing a quick laugh between them.

“Tired?” Tanjirou asks, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Not really, no.” Hayami’s reply is immediate. She had been exhausted earlier, but now she feels as light as a feather on her feet. She wants to spend more time with Tanjirou — perhaps they could wander the town just a bit longer. “I could fight a demon right now.”

“Let’s hope that doesn’t happen.” Tanjirou glances down at the path once again, before he turns back to Hayami, the tips of his sandals scuffing the ground idly.

Now that Hayami has a chance to look at him properly, she can’t help but notice a few things about Tanjirou that she hadn’t previously. In the time they’ve been apart, Tanjirou has grown quite a bit. Stronger, definitely — he fills out the demon slayer uniform a little more nicely, and he’s lost some of the baby fat around his cheeks. His jawline is a bit more pronounced, his shoulders broader. And his hair has grown a bit longer than what she’s used to, chestnut brown tips curling just beneath his ears.

It’s a good look on him. Hayami quite likes it, she thinks.

Tanjirou’s cheeks warm slightly under her gaze. “Wha—” he clears his throat, reaching up to push his bangs out of his eyes. Oh, wow. “What is it? Is there something on my face?” he continues, sounding completely unaware of the existential crisis that he’s just caused poor Hayami.

“Ah, yeah. You have a bit of sweet sauce from the mitarashi dango here…” She reaches out and brushes a stray spot at the corner of Tanjirou’s mouth. His skin is warm under her fingertips. “There, got it.”

“Thank you. I didn’t even notice.” Tanjirou scratches his cheek awkwardly as he smiles at her. It’s a terribly endearing look on him.

“Your hair has gotten a little long,” she comments in an attempt to distract herself.

“Has it?” He reaches behind his head to tug at the longer strands at the back, gaze shifting as he tries to gauge the length of his own hair. His eyes end up crossing and he sighs, letting the dark strands slip from his fingers with a defeated smile. “It’s been a while since I’ve had the opportunity to get a haircut, to be honest. Perhaps I can look for a barber tomorrow…”

“I could,” Hayami interrupts, before she knows what she’s saying. What she had meant to say was that Aoi could trim his hair, but she suddenly feels the urge to try it herself. “I could help you trim your hair, I mean.” A sheepish laugh escapes her. “If you’re willing to take the risk, that is.”

Tanjirou looks at her, surprised, before he smiles. His eyes reflect the gentle glow of the street lamp overhead as he meets her gaze. Hayami’s mouth goes a little bit dry. “I’d appreciate that.”

“Then, tomorrow—”

“Caw, caw! Caw!”

Both Hayami and Tanjirou look up at the same time to see a familiar jet black crow circling above their heads. “It seems that Aiya has returned,” Hayami comments, extending her arm so that her crow can perch comfortably on it. Tanjirou coos over her, coaxing her into standing still with a small piece of dango while Hayami focuses on removing the tiny container strapped to Aiya’s leg.

As usual, there’s a tiny slip of paper rolled up and squeezed carefully inside. Hayami extracts it carefully, unfurling it to read its contents aloud.

“Demon sightings… oddly secretive… prevented entry… Warabi Village…” Hayami hums, her eyes scanning quickly over the short message. What concerns her is the paper, stamped with the Ubuyashiki house crest rather than the usual wisteria kamon — this must have been a letter personally written by the Master himself.

Whatever it is that is happening here, Oyakata-sama must have found it concerning enough to reach out to Hayami directly. And with good reason, it seems.

Hayami understands why. Warabi Village… just seeing those familiar words again had made her stomach churn uncomfortably and her fingers itch for her sword. She flexes them instead and resists the urge.

“Hayami?” Tanjirou says. “Is something wrong?” He’s watching her with a frown on his face. There’s an inquisitive little dip forming between his brows, and Hayami wants to rub it away with her thumb. Instead, she simply shakes her head and hands him the message.

His frown deepens when he reaches the end of the message. “This must be a serious situation if Oyakata-sama is contacting you directly.”

“The Warabi Village is where I grew up, ever since I was a child,” Hayami explains as Tanjirou hands the message back to her. The paper feels weighty in the palm of her hand. “The secretive estate mentioned in the letter… it is most likely the Sumiyuri Estate.”

And if anyone were to be aiding the demons, Hayami adds on in her mind darkly, it would most definitely be her family.

“But for humans to be cooperating with demons… that seems impossible.” Tanjirou shakes his head, openly frowning. It seems as though he is genuinely bewildered by such a prospect. “Maybe this is similar to the situation that occurred with Lower Moon One, and the humans are being used by the demons for some sort of purpose...”

“Or, they might be the ones harbouring the demon,” Hayami tells him as the two of them start walking once more, to make their way back to the estate. It’s a pity that their night together had to end on such a sombre note. Aiya caws once, taking flight once more and disappearing into the night sky. “That’s what Oyakata-sama thinks, at least.”

“But it doesn’t…” Tanjirou struggles to piece together his thoughts before giving up with a sigh. “I just don’t see how anyone could bear serving a demon.”

“My family would, for one.” Hayami says, and Tanjirou whips around to look at her so quickly she almost worries that he might get whiplash. She can see the hesitation to believe her words in his eyes — and even though it sends a twinge of annoyance through her, she understands why. Tanjirou has always been determined to see the best in others, and while that is a trait that she deeply admires in him, the truth is unfortunately much uglier than either of them would like. “If it would benefit them in any way, it’s likely — no, definitely true — that any Sumiyuri would accept such an offer. That’s the sort of people that make up my clan.”

Tanjirou’s expression twists uncomfortably — caught between his kind nature and his desire to believe her. “But they are humans… all humans must have some sort of humanity.”

“No,” Hayami answers shortly. “Not all of them.”

The walk back to the Butterfly Estate is one shrouded in silence, an uncomfortable tension thick in the air between the two of them. Hayami can tell that she’s letting her bad mood seep into the air — and Tnajirou can probably smell it coming off her in waves, with how sensitive his nose is. Still, as apologetic as she is for that, her mind is occupied with more pressing matters at the moment.

Matters such as this mission.

Hayami doesn’t want to accept it. In fact, she doesn’t want to step foot within a ten mile radius of Warabi Village ever again, let alone enter into that hellhole of an estate once more — a pit of nightmarish memories she would much rather stay dead and buried forever. But Oyakata-sama has personally called on her, and as a newly appointed hashira, it is her responsibility to eradicate the demon.

Moreover, she understands why Oyakata-sama needs her to go. The Sumiyuri Estate’s security is second to none, and to make another demon slayer risk life and limb to investigate would weigh on her conscience.

Still, her memories of the Sumiyuri Estate cling to the edges of her mind like shadows that refuse to fall away. If she could have a choice…

But there isn’t much of a choice, is there?

The two of them disperse to their rooms for the night upon reaching the Butterfly Estate with a muttered ‘goodnight’. In her futon, Hayami tosses and turns for hours before she finally falls asleep.

>>>>

The next morning, Hayami is packing her bags in preparation to leave when there is a light rap at the door. Frowning, Hayami sets aside her packing for a moment to answer it.

To her surprise, it’s not Aoi or Kanao or even Shinobu, but Tanjirou standing at the other side of the door… with his sword at his side and Nezuko’s box strapped to his back. He beams at her like a ray of sunshine when he sees her -- far too enthusiastic compared to the awkward tone that they had parted with last night. Hayami feels like she’s being eviscerated by the sun. “Good morning, Hayami!”

Hayami would like nothing more than to crawl under a blanket and rot away there, but she nods slowly. “Good morning to you too. Are you, uhh,” she gestures at him, “going somewhere?”

He nods brightly. “Of course. I’m going with you to Warabi Village.”

She must have heard him wrong. “Warabi Village?” she repeats after him, trying not to sound too incredulous. “Did Oyakata-sama also order you to take part in this mission?”

“No.” Tanjirou shakes his head, which only makes his determination seem even more baffling. “I decided that I am coming with you.”

Hayami blinks at him, unsure if she’s heard him right. Tanjirou is coming with her to Warabi Village. Why?

“Hagazenuka-san likely won’t be done with the other sword he’s fixing for another week or so. The Butterfly Estate is nice, but I’ve been wanting to stretch my legs for a bit now. I thought I could accompany you ”

“But your sword is broken.”

“Not broken, chipped,” Tanjirou reminds her, drawing his blade to show her the small notch along the edge before sheathing it once more. “Besides, the demon can’t be very strong if it’s still relying on humans. I can handle myself just fine with a chipped sword.”

The danger isn’t the demons, but the people living within that compound. It’s not that Tanjirou is weak either — while he had been assisted by Rengoku-san, Zenitsu and Inosuke, Tanjirou has still managed to cut through the neck bone of Upper Moon One with his own strength.

“But…”

Tanjirou’s expression softens. “Unless, it’s a bother to you, Hayami?”

Tanjirou is not a bother to her, and Hayami would never intentionally make him feel like one. Besides, both of them are aware that this is not the true reason Tanjirou wants to come along. With the mere thought of the mission hanging over her like a dark rain cloud, Tanjirou probably does not even need his sense of smell to know just how unsettled she is.

Hayami sighs sharply, turning away to tug at the end of her ponytail. “The Sumiyuri clan is dangerous, Tanjirou. I can’t in good conscience allow you to go there — the risk of you getting hurt or being harmed is too high.”

“And I can’t in good conscience let you go alone either, knowing what it means for you.” The two of them stare down each other for a while, neither willing to yield first. Tanjirou is easygoing most of the time, but in situations like this… perhaps Tanjirou should have mastered Stone Breathing like Himejima with how stubborn he is.

Finally, she relents. “Fine,” she tells him, dropping her ponytail from her fingers. His eyes light up at her words, but she is quick to clarify herself. “However, when we are in the Sumiyuri Estate, I need you to defer to my decisions and my judgement.”

Tanjirou’s brows begin to furrow, and she steps forward to press a finger to his lips before he can speak. “I am aware that you are a very kind person, Tanjirou. I admire that about you.” Tanjirou blinks rapidly. His next exhale is a beat late, warmth whispering against her fingertip. “But in the Sumiyuri Estate, cruelty, not kindness, is the local language. Do you understand what I’m trying to say?”

Slowly, Tanjirou nods, and Hayami takes a step back, her hand falling back to her side. “Good,” she says — when had her heart started beating so quickly? “Then, let’s sit down for a bit. If you are to come with me, we will need to make some preparations before we leave.”

The two of them sit cross legged on the floor of Hayami’s room, facing one another. “A quick history of the Sumiyuri Clan,” Hayami begins seriously. “My… family is an old clan with a… prestigious lineage tracing back to the Emperor Go Mizuno-o. Despite the fact they can be considered nobility, their money is earned through all variety of criminal activities such as human and narcotics trafficking.”

Tanjirou’s frown deepens, but he does not interrupt her. She continues. “Vipers, scorpions, the whole clan is a den of beasts waiting for any sign of weakness. I understand that this is difficult to hear, but not a single one of them are good people. Some demons would be closer to heaven than they are.”

“Surely there must be one or two good people left…?” Tanjirou asks softly. Hayami shakes her head.

“If anyone has any power in the clan, then no, there’s not an ounce of goodness in them. All those with any goodness have either left… or are already dead.”

The two of them remain quiet for a while. Hayami shifts uncomfortably on the tatami, head lowered. She’s never really spoken about her family to anyone aside from Oyakata-sama. Her family’s history is stained with blood, and not something that she is proud of. Tanjirou is a person with a gentle heart, who cannot stand cruelty. If the way he looks at her changes… Hayami doesn’t know how she would handle it.

While she’s lost in thought, a warm hand suddenly settles onto her shoulder. Surprised, Hayami looks up to see Tanjirou’s eyes as gentle as they have always been. “I’m sorry to hear that you were raised in such an environment, Hayami,” he tells her. “I can’t begin to understand what you’ve been through, but no child should ever have had to grow up feeling unsafe.”

There’s a sudden prick of heat in her eyes, and Hayami glances down quickly to hide her expression. Fortunately, Tanjirou does not comment, remaining silent while she collects herself.

“Right.” She nods, subtly wiping her eyes and forcing her voice to steady once again. “If we do enter the Sumiyuri Estate, I will likely… clean up my clan for good. I cannot be a demon slayer while letting the clan run amok. Do you think… would you think less of me if I find it necessary to slay humans?”

Tanjirou removes his hand from her shoulder to ponder this in silence. Hayami finds herself missing the warmth of his hand. “I am conflicted,” he admits, finally. “But I have to concede that I understand your point of view. Especially if they have taken the lives of innocents…”

“Of course they have. They still do.”

Tanjirou takes a deep breath, staring down at the tatami mat between the two of them. “And if they do… What makes humans different from demons?”

Hayami’s eyes widen at his words. She hadn’t expected Tanjirou to say something like that, not when he has always had such a straightforward view on humans and demons. “Um, Tanjirou?”

“No, I was just… thinking.” He shakes his head before smiling at her once more. “No, I don’t think I would think less of you. I trust your judgement. If you believe it is necessary… then it must be.”

The thought that Tanjirou has so much faith in her… she can’t help the smile. “Thank you, Tanjirou. I promise that I’ll only kill those without humanity… and if possible, I’ll try to get them locked up instead.” She shrugs. “Death is too quick of an atonement for them, anyway.”

“Alright.” They smile at each other, before Hayami turns to the travel pack that she had been carrying earlier. “Since you’ll be coming with me, we need to get you a change of clothes.”

Tanjirou blinks at her. “Change of clothes? Why?”

“The Sumiyuri Clan would never let a demon slayer inside, especially if they are really hiding a demon inside the compound. We would be chased away even before I have the chance to identify myself.”

“Ah.” Hayami gives up on rummaging through her pack, turning to stare at Tanjirou instead. “Hmm. I’ll just have to buy one with your specifications in mind. I’ll let Shinobu-san know once we are done here.”

Tanjirou looks flustered. “That’s a lot of money, Hayami… you don’t have to spend that much on me.”

“Oh, no. It’s for the sake of the mission,” Hayami reassures him. “The members of the Sumiyuri Clan are used to living in opulence — they’ll be able to tell at a glance if your kimono is well made or not. Going there dressed in anything less than luxury would expose our ruse as lovers right away.”

“So they’ll be able to tell…” Tanjirou is nodding when his eyes widen all of a sudden. “Wait, our ruse as lovers?”

“Yes, our ruse as lovers— oh, I forgot to explain to you. Aside from servants of the household, only spouses of clan members can enter the compound. So, if you want to come with me, you’ll have to pretend to be my fiance.”

Tanjirou’s face is pink all over. “Oh. I, uhm, I didn’t know that.” He scratches at his head. “I suppose I didn’t think that far.”

Hayami can’t help the laugh that escapes her. “Having second thoughts now?”

“No, no!” Tanjirou shakes his head vigorously. “I just, I was thinking… will I really be able to pass as your fiance? I don’t know anything about your family and the happenings of high society… and we both know that I’m awful at lying in any way. What if I end up giving the both of us away?”

“All you need to do is stay silent and act very shy,” Hayami reassures him. “I’ve already come up with a cover for you — the youngest son of a rich, influential family. It’d make sense for you not to have knowledge of business dealings, so you wouldn’t need to know a thing. My father was in a similar position.”

“Your father?”

“Yes, my father. He was the one who married into the Sumiyuri family. My mother wanted a man who would be subservient and meek, so that she would be able to retain all the power as head of the clan. If you behave the same way,” Hayami shrugs, “the rest of the clan will simply think that I am following in my mother’s footsteps.”

“This all sounds rather nerve wracking…” Tanjirou lets out a defeated sigh before turning to look at Hayami. “But as I said, I trust your judgement.” He picks at his sleeves absentmindedly, cheeks turning pink once again. “Will we… have to act as lovers?”

“Act as lovers?” Hayami repeats after him, confused. Tanjirou coughs a little.

“I mean, behave intimately with one another,” he clarifies, the colour of his cheeks deepening. “Acts such as holding hands, or perhaps even… kissing…”

“No, not at all.” Hayami’s tone has turned sharp, and Tanjirou seems taken aback by how serious she has become. “Showing love or affection is seen as a weakness by the family, and is in direct violation of the family pledge. If they suspect that I value you as anything other than a means to produce heirs or to acquire legitimacy as the matriarch… they will certainly attempt to use you against me.”

Tanjirou nods slowly. “I see.” With every new thing he learns about Hayami’s family, the more he’s horrified that his good-natured friend was raised in such an unforgiving environment. To think Hayami suffered so much as a child, when she should have been surrounded by nothing but warmth and love… Still, all these things are already long past, and Tanjirou is helpless to change those things. What he can do, on the other hand, is to support Hayami on this mission and give her all the help she needs. Yes, that’s what he can do.

“Ah.” Hayami holds up a hand, as though only just remembering something. She glances awkwardly to the side, fingers twitching for her ponytail before she puts her hand down once more — a sure tell that she’s nervous. “I forgot to mention this, however. We will need to share a room and a bed. It is, umm, expected of married couples to, so…”

She trails off, leaving the two of them to stare awkwardly at the ground and stew in silence. Tanjirou cannot see the colour of his own face, but his cheeks feel warm enough to catch fire. Sharing a bed with someone… The only people he’s shared a futon with are his sister, Zenitsu, and sometimes Inosuke.

“I’ll, um, go ask Shinobu to contact a tailor right away.” Hayami gets to her feet quickly before the air can grow too thick with awkwardness. Tanjirou nods, unsure of what else to say, and watches Hayami disappear out of the sliding door.

Just what exactly did he get himself into?

The rest of the day is a whirlwind of preparations. Shinobu-san summons a tailor to the Butterfly Estate, who examines him all over with a measuring tape and dresses him in luxurious fabrics expensive enough to buy years worth of firewood. All the while, Hayami coaches him on the appropriate mannerisms and behaviours expected of him. Right after the fitting, the two of them leave for Warabi Village.

It’s also the first time that he travels in a car, dressed in the many layers of his ceremonial kimono. The car is a box of metal, and very much similar to the train that they ridden on not too long ago. Unlike it, however, the car is a lot smaller, and Hayami and Tanjirou must squeeze a little in the back as the vehicle makes its way to Warabi Village. A little overwhelmed by the new sights and smells, the hours-long journey passes by in nothing more than a blur.

They arrive at Warabi around sundown, right when the sun is about to set in the distance behind the mountains. The car drives through the village, and through the windows Tanjirou can see the people whispering among themselves and pointing at the car. Feeling slightly uncomfortable with all the attention, Tanjirou presses himself back into the seat and glances over at Hayami.

Unlike him, Hayami appears to be perfectly poised. Dressed in a pale lilac kimono embroidered with crystal snowflakes, she sits with her hands folded in her lap, her gaze affixed out of the window. Her long platinum hair is pulled back in an elaborate ponytail and held in place with an ornamental chopstick. She looks like a statue carved from ice.

Hayami had told her that her family were descended from nobility, but Tanjirou hadn’t noticed how vast the differences were between the two of them when they were demon slayers. Now, however…

The car stops in front of an estate. The Sumiyuri Estate, Tanjirou identifies at once the second he steps out of the car. The clan name is proudly etched into bronze plaque at the main entrance. And the estate itself… well, it’s so massive that Tanjirou is having trouble wrapping his head around the fact that it belongs to a single clan. It looks like the size of a small town by itself.

“Let’s go,” Hayami turns to him. Her eyes, while usually gentle and warm with friendliness, have become as cold as ice, as sharp as a blade. It’s a little unnerving to see her like this. But Hayami had already warned him prior that she would have to behave this way in front of her clan. So, nodding tentatively, he extends the crook of his elbow to her.

Hayami takes it with nary a nod of approval, and the two of them begin to approach the looming gates of the entrance. There are two guards stationed at the entrance — both armed with swords at their hips. Tanjirou’s hand itches for the familiar grip of his own katana, but it is back at the car with the rest of their luggage. It wouldn’t make sense for the youngest son of a wealthy family to be carrying a blade, after all.

The moment they get too close, the guards immediately pick up on their presence. One of them drops a hand to the sword at his hip. “This is the private property of the Sumiyuri Clan,” the other guard says, his voice even. “Please remove yourself from it.”

Before Tanjirou even has time to feel nervous, Hayami is already answering the guard. “Who dares to deny me access to my own property?” Her voice is cool and unbothered, as though the man that she is speaking to is nothing more than a mere inconvenience to her. The two guards exchange a look, clearly not expecting this response, before the other guard rests a hand on his sword as well.

“Miss, please—”

“I will not entertain this disrespect twice,” Hayami says coldly, her eyes narrowing. Her lips are pulled thin into a sneer of displeasure. “As dogs sitting at the gate, isn’t it your responsibility to recognise the master of your house?”

One of the guards takes a closer look at her, her lilac eyes, the long platinum hair, before he does a double take. “Lady Sumiyuri…” He shakes his head, clearly stunned. “Lady Sumiyuri Hayami?”

Hayami lets out a sharp huff, dripping with disdain. “It took you long enough to recognise me. Now, stop barking pointlessly and prepare the residence for my arrival.” She continues walking forward without another glance at the guards, her hand on his arm gently guiding him after her. “A few years without a legitimate head and this place falls to shambles, truly. How embarrassing for the proud Sumiyuri clan!”

The guards hurry to escort the two of them into the building. The floor is made out of dark wood, polished so vigorously Tanjirou can see his own reflection in every wood block, and the walls decorated with various pieces of art so abstract that Tanjirou cannot even begin to wrap his head around them.

All the while, Hayami simply stands by his side, unimpressed by the luxury that surrounds them. Servants from the inner annexes come out to greet them, bowing profusely. Tanjirou can see many of them peeking multiple times at her platinum hair.

“We deeply apologise for our lacking welcome, Clan Head Sumiyuri.” A middle aged lady bows low to them, her hands folded in supplication. From the way the servants crowd nervously behind her, she must be the higher ranking servant in the estate. “We received no notice that you… would be visiting the estate.”

Or that you were even alive at all, goes unsaid.

“Must I send a notice to visit my own house?” Hayami’s voice cuts through the air like an iron whip. The tension is suffocating. “Don’t make me laugh. Who is the rightful master of this clan?”

“You, Clan Head Sumiyuri.”

“Finally, a correct answer. I have half a mind to get rid of all the servants in this place, with how incompetent all of you are.” Tanjirou sees the collective shiver that runs through all of the servants present. “You,” Hayami points at a servant with her head bowed, “go prepare our rooms for the night. My fiance and I will be using the Head suite. If I find even a speck of dust on the floorboards…”

The servant shrinks back, before bowing. “As the Clan Head commands. I swear, it will be done!” With that, she hurries off down the corridor and out of sight.

“The rest of you, gather the rest of the clan members in the main hall. Gods know they’ve been leeching off this place for too long— no wonder the entire place smells rotten.” Hayami sniffs, twirling a lock of platinum hair around her finger. The servants hesitate, and Hayami’s eyes narrow again. “Don’t tell me that you can’t even accomplish such a simple task?”

The servants scatter like mice at Hayami’s command, leaving the head servant to escort the two of them to the main hall. They pass through corridor after corridor, the estate a maze of endless walkways and excessive opulence. By the time they reach what is presumably the main hall — the sliding screens are embroidered with gold thread — Tanjirou can already hear a commotion going on inside.

“... she was… alive…”

“... should have… made sure… killed her ourselves…”

“... didn’t you kill her..”

“... thought you did…”

Tanjirou has to resist looking at Hayami in alarm. How can they talk about having Hayami killed when she’s right on the other side of the screen? The servant clears her throat, before sliding open the door.

The doorway opens up into a large hall that Tanjirou follows the servant into. Instantly, he feels the weight of several piercing gazes on him. After having been a demon slayer for so long, Tanjirou is sensitive to the scent of what he now knows is bloodlust. And right now, the room is reeking with it.

His eyes scan the room quickly — twelve members of the clan appear to be in the hall as well, all of their eyes on the two of them. Most of them don’t even bother to conceal the looks of resentment on their faces.

“Good, it seems that everyone is already gathered here, so I won’t have to repeat myself.” Hayami tugs on Tanjirou’s arm lightly, and the two of them step into the hall. Hayami does not stop among them, however, and instead walks right past them to the raised dais at the far wall.

“Hey, what are you—”

Hayami steps comfortably onto the dais, before turning around to look at her relatives coolly. “I am Sumiyuri Hayami, the rightful head to the Sumiyuri Clan, am I not?” she asks, her tone so matter-of-fact it sounds nearly mocking. “Do you have a problem with me standing in my rightful spot?”

“You—”

“You, Clan Head? Don’t make me laugh.” Someone steps towards the dais, and instantly every nerve in Tanjirou’s body fires off warning signals. His hair and skin are strikingly pale, as though he has never once seen the sun, but what truly sets Tanjirou on edge are his eyes — so crimson that they remind Tanjirou of fresh blood.

“Nakamura.” The way Hayami hisses his name in response… it seems that her distaste for him is not purely an act. The man strides over to them, his steps slow and deliberate, like a snake stalking its prey.

“You’ve only just returned to the Clan, Lady Sumiyuri.” The man drawls, twirling his pipe between his fingers before exhaling smoke in their direction. Tanjirou’s nose wrinkles at the pungent smell. “Perhaps you should reconsider… the Clan has been running perfectly well without your presence for the last few years, after all. Perhaps your leadership is not necessary… or wanted.”

“What does that matter? As the rightful heir, I am here now.” Hayami shoots him down at once, her eyes narrowing. “Unless you have a problem with the traditions of our clan?”

“You might be in line for the position of head, but that’s all you have in terms of credentials, Hayami.” His voice sounds more like a threatening snarl now. “I bet you haven’t killed half the people I have. How can we approve of a clan head that faints at the sight of blood, hmm?”

Hayami scoffs, and takes a deep breath. One moment, she is standing next to Tanjirou, and in the next, she is holding an unfamiliar sword to Shou’s throat. She had moved so quickly that even Tanjirou is taken by surprise.

“Wait,” one of the other members cries out, “she took my blade!”

The blade presses against Shou’s throat, its razor sharp edge kissing his Adam's apple. Hayami tilts her head to stare up at the man. “Is this enough ‘credential’ for you, Shou?” she asks, pressing the blade forward just a little more. A thin line of red appears on Shou’s neck as the man swallows, his eyes burning with shame and fury. “Or do you need more ‘evidence’ of how easily I can kill a man?”

Shou grits his teeth. “... No,” he says at last, although Tanjirou is sure that is the last thing he wants leaving his lips. But Hayami isn’t done with him yet.

“No?” Hayami prompts, her voice deadly calm. “No, who?”

Shou looks like he’s about to throw a fit, but with a blade to his throat, he can’t afford to run his mouth. After what feels like minutes of teeth grinding, he finally manages to spit out, “No, Clan Head.”

“I’m glad you understand where I’m coming from.” Hayami pulls back, striding over to the shocked clan members and sheathing the sword back into the scabbard hanging from the hip of its owner. “Well then, since I’ve said everything that needs to be said, I’ll be retiring to my rooms for the night. My fiance and I are tired from our long journey.”

The rest of the clan members must still be in shock over what had happened earlier, because no one makes another noise of protest when Hayami steps down from the dais. Tanjirou follows along obediently, head lowered like Hayami had told him to. Before she leaves the room, however, Hayami pauses to look at Shou over her shoulder.

“And speaking of place… you should remember your own, Nakamura Shou.” Her voice is chilling. “The affairs of the main family have nothing to do with you.”

With that, she sweeps out of the room, with Tanjirou behind her.

It’s only in the safety and privacy of the Clan Head’s suite that Hayami finally lets out a long, deep exhale of exhaustion that seems to come from the depths of her soul. Before Tanjirou can say anything, Hayami strides over to the perfectly made futon — how had they managed to get all the wrinkles out of the sheets? — and faceplants straight into the blankets.

It’s a little jarring, to see two different sides of Hayami back to back. Tanjirou has always known her to be kind and protective. She enjoys braiding Nezuko’s hair and treats her with the gentle tenderness of an older sister. To know that this is the household she had grown up in… Tanjirou finds it difficult to wrap his head around that. And the way she had acted earlier…

At times like this, when Nezuko is feeling moody or under the weather, Tanjirou would pet her head to make her feel better. But he can’t do that to Hayami, so instead, he walks over and sits crossed legged next to her on the floor.

“Are you alright, Hayami?” he asks. Hayami makes a long, muffled noise into the blankets before flipping onto her back to look at Tanjirou.

“I’m alright, don’t worry about me.” She huffs out a tired laugh before shaking her head. “Acting like this… like my mother… is just exhausting. The thought of keeping up this little charade for the next few days until investigations are done makes me feel even more tired.”

“I hope that you can bear with it for a while longer,” an unfamiliar voice says. Tanjirou whirls around in surprise to see a stranger dressed all in black slipping in through the window. His hand instantly falls to his sword, but there’s nothing there.

“Don’t worry, he’s with me.” Hayami reassures him, standing up to greet the man. “Yoshi. How are the investigations going?”

“Finished.” The man steps into the room, eyeing Tanjirou carefully before he glances at Hayami. “Lady…”

“He’s with me, you can trust him,” Hayami tells the man. The man gives him another appraising look, and begins to speak.

“The demon in the Sumiyuri Compound is Sumiyuri Akame, second daughter of one of your uncles. She was turned two years ago, but the clan agreed to give her sanction if she was willing to massacre rival households for them.” Tanjirou’s stomach turns. “The clan loots the estate afterwards and takes away all the goods for ‘inspection’, but usually keeps the luxury items for themselves.”

“I see.” Hayami doesn’t look surprised by this news in the least. In fact, she looks like she knew all along. “Where is she being kept?”

“Under the main building, and she is usually escorted by Sumiyuri clan guards. I have also yet to discover where exactly she is being kept..” Yoshi looks at Hayami directly. “With your authority as head, however, I believe that you can summon the servants to bring the demon to you.” Hayami tugs at her hair for a moment, seemingly deep in thought, before she nods decisively.

“I’ll see what I can do, then. Carry on with your investigations and report to me as necessary.” Yoshi bows his head to her.

“As you wish, Lady Hayami.” With that, he disappears out of the window as quickly as he had come. Tanjirou stares after him, trying to process everything he’s just heard.

“That was—”

“Yakunin Yoshi. He’s one of the assassins under the Sumiyuri family.” Hayami tells him, as she returns to her seat on the futon. “He tried to kill me after I left the clan, at the behest of my remaining family members.”

“He tried to kill you?” Tanjirou repeats after her, horrified. Hayami nods, as though this is perfectly normal familial behaviour.

“They probably wanted to make sure I was dead so that they could instate someone else as clan head. Or put a proxy in place, perhaps — I have no interest in their intentions.” She shrugs. “But yes, Yoshi has been working with me for a while now. He updates me on the happenings of the clan, but it seems that even he isn’t privy to everything that goes on within these walls.”

Tanjirou still finds it difficult to wrap his head around the idea that Hayami could be working with someone who had once tried to kill her, and it must show on his face because Hayami laughs. “Thinking some difficult thoughts, Tanjirou?”

“No, well, yes.” He shakes his head. “Is it really… safe to work with someone who has attempted to kill you before? How did the two of you even… agree to cooperate?”

“Well,” Hayami begins to tug the pins out of her hair. “Yoshi’s situation is somewhat similar to yours, Tanjirou.” Before Tanjirou can question what she means by that, she continues to explain. “He is a talented assassin, yes, but he has a younger sister in the clan as well, called Naoko. She’s a meek but sweet child, and works as a maid in one of the side buildings. Yoshi has always worried about her living in a place like this.”

“Why don’t they leave?”

“No one leaves the Sumiyuri clan alive,” Hayami says matter-of-factly. Tanjirou suddenly feels a strange coldness come over him. Every time he thinks that Hayami’s childhood home is bad, it gets worse. “They didn’t bother me for a good amount of time because they thought I was dead. If they had caught wind that I was alive… they would have sent more than Yoshi to hunt me down.”

“So, he needs you to help her escape?”

“That is our arrangement, yes.” Hayami nods. “Although, I would probably have wanted to help her escape regardless. Naoko is a kind spirit. It is not good for a child to have to grow up here.”

Just like I did, goes unsaid. Tanjirou is suddenly overcome by an overwhelming urge to comfort Hayami, but he cannot find the words to say.

Before he can try, however, Hayami removes all the pins from her hair and smiles at Tanjirou. “Well, it’s been a long day,” she tells him. “We should get some rest and prepare for tomorrow.”

“Right.” Tanjirou still wants to say something, but the moment is gone. Next time, he promises himself.

The two of them change out of the many layers of their kimono and get ready for bed. Outside, the lamps have been extinguished, allowing the sole candle in their room to cast a gentle glow over the screens.

Hayami crawls under the blankets of the futon and beckons for Tanjirou to join her. He carefully follows suit, making sure to wrap his blanket tightly around himself. “Comfortable?”

“Mm, very.” Hayami nods, already yawning. She rolls on her side to look at Tanjirou for a moment, before she suddenly smiles at him. “Thank you for accompanying me here, Tanjirou. It comforts me knowing that you’re here to support me.”

“It’s nothing,” Tanjirou reassures her, and Hayami looks satisfied at his words. She closes her eyes, platinum blonde hair spilling over her pillow. “Well then, goodnight, Tanjirou.”

“Good night, Hayami.”

She falls asleep shortly after, her soft breathing washing over his ears. Tanjirou, instead, stares up at the dark ceiling for a long, long time. The mattress and blankets are the softest that Tanjirou has ever had the privilege of experiencing, however…

It is hard for him to fall asleep in this place.

A few days pass in the Sumiyuri Estate, and Tanjirou is slowly starting to get used to his role in it. Always walk around with his head bowed, preferably always be by Hayami’s side, and always let her do all the talking. He makes a few appearances at family meals — which are nothing like the family meals he used to have back home — before Hayami complains that the food tastes bad and gives them an excuse to retire to their rooms.

More than once, Hayami has told him, had the meals been poisoned. Tanjirou had almost panicked before Hayami had reassured him that she had a resistance to most poisons. This was not due to any special natural constitution, but because of the training her mother had made her undergo as a child.

“I find it a little amusing that my mother’s training is coming in handy now,” Hayami had remarked. Tanjirou, on the other hand, could find no humour in this knowledge.

That aside, things have been relatively peaceful at the Sumiyuri Estate — or rather, as peaceful as it can get in a compound inhabited by killers and a demon. The other clan members, after realising that Tanjirou is unwilling to say a word without Hayami present, have gradually learnt to leave him alone. That was a relief to both him and Hayami.

As far as Tanjirou knows, Hayami is still gathering intelligence from Yoshi and planning on how to take out the demon without the rest of her clan interfering. It is difficult, no doubt, but Tanjirou has confidence in Hayami.

Tanjirou is returning to the suite one day when he comes across the last person he had been expecting to see. Nakamura Shou stands outside the doors to the Clan Head’s suite, one hand shoved into the folds of his robes while he holds a smoking pipe in the other. He looks up when Tanjirou steps towards him, his mouth curling into a smirk. Had he been waiting for him this entire time?

“Fujiwara-san,” Shou remarks, stepping towards him. Tanjirou almost doesn’t register that the man is talking to him until he remembers that the Fujiwara clan is the cover that he and Hayami had agreed on. He hastily nods in response. “Nakamura-san.”

Tanjirou quickens his steps, intending on getting past Shou as quickly as possible when a firm hand clasps onto his shoulder. “Where are you running off to so quickly?” Shoc chuckles. He looks nothing like the day that Tanjirou had first met him. Instead, he now has a jovial smirk on his face that one might even consider charismatic. “Can’t I get to know my clan head’s fiance a little better?”

Fortunately for him, however, Hayami has already informed him about all the key members of her household — and even among all their dark and sordid deeds, Shou had stood out to Tanjirou the most. “Irreverence for life, unnecessarily cruel, endlessly ambitious,” was how Hayami had chosen to describe him. “He’s willing to lie and cheat and trample on others to get what he wants. Don’t be taken in by anything he says.”

“I’m not comfortable speaking without my fiancee present,” Tanjirou gives his best apologetic look before making to move past him. “I’m a little tired from today, so I’d like to get some rest—”

“You’re not suited for a place like the Sumiyuri Estate, you know?” Shou laughs behind him, and Tanjirou stiffens. “You’re like a rat scurrying among vipers. Don’t you feel embarrassed at all? It must be humiliating to be bowing and scraping to a woman like a dog.”

“I don’t mind,” Tanjirou answers, trying to figure out what he can say to end this conversation as quickly as possible without coming across as rude. He doesn’t trust himself not to slip up around this man. “Excuse me…”

“Especially when the woman in question is nothing more than a prostitute dressed in finery.”

Tanjirou’s hand clenches into a fist instinctively, and he has to take a quiet, deep breath to calm himself. “What exactly are you trying to imply about my fiancee with those words, Nakamura-san?”

“Oh, I’m not implying anything.” Shou laughs, shaking his head. He reaches up to take another long drag of sweet smelling smoke. “Didn’t you know? Her mother was training her to be a courtesan with the intention of getting her sold off to a noble family. If she hadn’t been so incompetent at seducing men, well, she would have been married off by now, hmm?” He pauses to look at Tanjirou with a thinly veiled smirk. “Not that I’m questioning your tastes, of course. Or hers, I suppose.”

Tanjirou wants to open his mouth and give the man the biggest dressing down he’s ever received, or at the very least to give him such a good headbutt he sees stars, but manages to resist the urge. Although this is not his mission, he cannot afford to slip up now.

“Think as you wish,” is all he manages to say, before he brushes past Shou. It’s only when he’s in the safety of the suite once more that he allows himself to sag onto the tatami, fully drained from that encounter.

“Hayami,” he mutters under his breath, “please come back soon.”

>>>>

A few more days pass, and it seems that the mission is progressing smoothly, at least on Hayami’s end. Tanjirou is starting to feel a little suffocated having to put on a timid face everywhere he goes outside of the suite, but Hayami has reassured him that everything will be sorted out soon. That is enough to make his mood brighten up a little.

He’s returning to the suite from the dining hall when he accidentally bumps into yet another stranger. To his relief, it is not Shou this time, but a servant dressed in a maid’s outfit. What is unfortunate, however, is that the tray of hot tea slips out of her hands as a result.

“Ah,” Tanjirou says in mild alarm when some of the tea splashes on his robes. The cup lies on the ground in a mess of wet shards.

“I am so, so sorry!” The maid gasps, falling to her knees straight away. From what he can see, she appears to be rather young — around Nezuko’s age, if he had to take a guess. Tanjirou is shocked by the fact that she’s trembling in fear. “Please, I didn’t mean to do it! I’m sorry for being so careless.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Tanjirou says instantly, before hesitating — perhaps he wasn’t supposed to say that, but the poor girl is practically shaking. “Do you think you can stand?”

She wobbles to her feet, nearly falling once, but Tanjirou catches her before reaching down to pick up the shards. The girl gasps, immediately crouching down beside him. “Please don’t! I can do this myself, you don’t need to trouble yourself—”

“I’m fine with this as well,” Tanjirou reassures her, continuing to pick up the shards. When all of the pieces are sitting in the palm of his hand, he offers them to her. “Here you go.”

“T-thank you…” The girl’s voice trembles a little more as she takes them. “You are… um… very kind.”

Tanjirou smiles at her. “I have a younger sister who has the tendency to be a little careless as well,” he tells her. “What’s your name?”

“My name is… Naoko.” The maid’s eyes widen, before she looks down, blushing shyly. “I… I have an older brother too.”

“Oh?”

“He’s very quiet, but very kind to me.” The maid nods, carefully pocketing the shards into her pocket. At least it’s good that she’s not trembling any longer. “But I haven’t seen him for a while…”

“He’ll definitely be back for you,” Tanjirou reassures her, and she’s beginning to nod when a familiar voice interrupts them.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?”

Tanjirou turns around to see Hayami striding up to the two of them, her expression cold and her eyes sharp. “Oh,” he frowns, a little confused by why she looks upset. Perhaps something went wrong during the meeting earlier? “I ran into the maid on accident earlier, so I was helping her pic up the shards—”

Hayami turns to the young maid. “Go,” she snaps, and the young maid lets out a little squeak, bowing her head low before scurrying off.

Tanjirou whirls around to look at Hayami, aghast. “What was that for? You didn’t have to be so short with her.”

“Haven’t I warned you about speaking to others when I’m not around?”

“Yes, but she’s not one of your family members,” Tanjirou argues back, suddenly feeling wronged. The maid that he’d met had been a good-natured person, Tanjirou is sure of that. “What’s wrong with speaking to her?”

“There’s nothing wrong—” Hayami gives up with a frustrated sigh, grabbing him by the sleeve before tugging him after her. “Let’s talk about this in the suite.”

The two of them make their way back to the clan head’s suite, where Hayami rounds on himthe second the screen slides shut behind them. “Look, Tanjirou,” she starts, her voice sharp and tight with stress, “you should have just brushed her off. The usual practice for a Sumiyuri would be to punish them severely — the fact that you acted differently will raise suspicions if the others catch wind of it!”

“There was no one around,” Tanjirou insists. Why is she so adamant on this? “She was shaking like a leaf — I couldn’t possibly leave her with the thought that she was going to be punished.”

“You could have endangered both yourself and Naoko!” Hayami retorts heatedly. “I told you before—” she cuts herself off in the middle of her sentence to stride over to a wall at the opposite side of the room, arms crossed over her chest. At first, Tanjirou is upset, but realises that she is trying to calm herself down before resuming the conversation.

Sighing, he sits on the futon and tries to calm himself as well. It’s not as though he really believes that Hayami doesn’t want to treat the young maid so callously. But was it really necessary when the maid looked so terrified?

The two of them stew in uncomfortable, awkward silence for a while. Tanjirou is about to get up to ask if Hayami is still upset when she turns around all of a sudden and walks back over to him, looking more calm now. Their eyes meet, and both of them glance away simultaneously.

“I… apologise for that,” Hayami finally says, looking slightly embarrassed. “I was out of turn earlier.”

“No, so was I.”

“No, I was…” The two of them look at each other again before laughter escapes. “This is so silly,” Hayami shakes her head, smiling. “It seems that the two of us are really ill-suited for this place.”

Tanjirou nods in agreement. Hayami sits opposite him, her expression contemplative for a moment, before she speaks. “Kindness is weakness, here in the Sumiyuri Estate. Being kind here… the rest of the clan members would see you as an easy target if they were to know of what you did today. Naoko is a maid who can be trusted, but many of the household servants are in my relatives’ pockets.” She reaches out to squeeze his hand tightly. “So even if I know it is against your nature… please try to refrain from being nice for now. For your own safety.”

When Hayami asks him this so determinedly, Tanjirou finds it difficult to refuse. “Alright,” he concedes. “I understand your point. I should follow your lead since this is your mission — I’m sorry about that. I’ve just been a bit tense, staying here for so long.” Hayami brightens up at his words.

“Oh! I have a piece of good news for you.” Hayami’s sudden excitement takes Tanjirou by surprise. “My investigations are complete, and I’ll be moving to eliminate the demon tomorrow. If everything goes well, we should be able to leave this place soon.”

“Really? That’s great to hear.” Tanjirou feels a sense of relief and pride wash over him. Of course Hayami could do it. Well, it’s not that he was doubting her in the first place as well. “You’ve done great, Hayami.”

She smiles at him. “Thank you. I have no doubt that you’re itching to get out of this place, and so am I.” She shuffles a little closer to him, and Tanjirou leans in to hear what she has to say. “Tomorrow, the compound will probably be thrown into some chaos because of my plans. I’d like you to stay in the suite while everything happens.”

Tanjirou frowns, but Hayami interrupts him before he can say another word. “Things might turn bloody, and I know that you would prefer not to see it,” she tells him gently. “I swear, I can handle myself.” She nudges his shoulder playfully. “Come on, trust me.”

“You know I do,” Tanjirou answers immediately, and Hayami’s smile brightens. “I was just worried about you.” He lets out a slow sigh. “If that is what you want, then I won’t interfere. But let me know if you need any help, alright?”

“Thank you, Tanjirou.”

The next evening, Tanjirou is about to turn in for the night by the sounds of cries and shouting.

He jerks upright in the futon. His body is tense and ready to react to the potential threat, but his mind needs a moment to catch up. Just what is happening?.

Alarm rushes through him, which is only exacerbated when the shouting outside intensifies. What if something has happened to Hayami? What if her ploy to slay the demon was discovered by her relatives?

Tanjirou races to grab his outer robe and shoves his arms through the sleeves, before rushing out of the room. He races straight towards the source of the noise, his lungs burning from the sudden exertion. Please, please don’t let anything have happened to Hayami—

“— and hence, I declare the two of you charged with treason!”

His gut instinct had been right — Hayami is indeed in the courtyard, surrounded by the rest of her kin. There are a small group of maids in the corner of the courtyard, faces pale and their heads bowed. There are two people kneeling at her feet, two people who are starting to seem more familiar with each passing second…

Yoshi and Naoko.

Tanjirou edges closer to see the commotion more clearly. Who is being charged with treason? Is this part of Hayami’s plan to lure the demon out of hiding? What is going on?

That question is soon answered when Hayami starts to speak once again. “Yakunin Yoshi and Yakunin Naoko,” the young girl kneeling in the gravel clings on to her brother, crying inconsolably. Her face is stained with tears. “Both of you have been found to be double-crossing the Sumiyuri family, and selling internal secrets to rival clans for profit. These charges are punishable by death. What do you have to say to that?”

“We did not do any of it!” Yoshi snarls at Hayami, cradling his sister protectively to his chest. “How can you just accuse the two of us like that? Investigate the claims! Show me the evidence!”

“Are you telling me that I need to present you with evidence?” Hayami scoffs, scorn dripping from every word. “I am the clan head. I have ways of obtaining my information, but I owe you nothing.”

“We haven’t…” Naoko sniffles pitifully, and Tanjirou’s heart clenches as though there is a fist tightening around it. “We haven’t done anything wrong! Why are you…” She breaks down into tears, unable to get another word out through her sobs and hiccups.

Hayami, however, is unmoved — as though her heart is made of stone. She gestures for a servant, and he comes forward bearing a sword which she takes from him. It’s not her nichirin sword, Tanjirou somehow notices amidst the chaos. Hayami gives the blade a cursory glance, testing the edge with the tip of her finger, before turning back to the pair of siblings.

“As the new clan head, I will set an example to all of my family right here, right now,” Hayami declares out loud. Her strong voice carries her words clearly over to Tanjirou. “Both of you shall be executed for treason today!”

Tanjirou feels as though his feet are rooted to the ground. What is happening? How can Hayami be accusing Yoshi of treason? He clearly saw the two of them working together, with the man providing Hayami with information about the demon. Hayami had even said that she wanted to save both him and his sister from this place — has she somehow forgotten all of that?

This is completely different, compared to slaying demons. When he has an encounter with one of the monsters who have spent years killing humans and eating their flesh, his sword is straight and unwavering — there is no hesitation in his strikes. He has witnessed bloodshed, death and loss. But to see someone who he trusts — or thought he trusted — hold a sword to an innocent person’s throat, that is something different altogether.

No, no. This has to be part of Hayami’s plan. Something will happen that will save the two of them, and…

Hayami swings her sword with two quick slashes, and red spurts from the two siblings. Naoko crumples, followed by her brother, blood seeping into the bone white gravel around them. The thick, heavy tang of iron hangs in the air, and Tanjirou feels as though he cannot breathe.

For a moment, all is silent.

It is broken by the sound of slow clapping, and Tanjirou looks up to see Shou applauding slowly. There’s a dangerous look in his eyes. “It seems that you have more guts than I thought you were capable of, Lady Hayami.” He glances at the two bodies lying in the courtyard. “Although, lady would be a bit of a stretch now, wouldn’t it?”

“You,” Hayami says shortly, returning her blade to the servant, “will address me as Clan Head, so whether I am being called lady or not is of no consequence to me.” Before Shou can make another pithy remark, she turns to the servants. “The two of them are not yet dead, and death by the sword is too merciful of a punishment for them. Fetch me the thing in the basement. I’ll have it deal with what’s left of them.”

One of Hayami’s relatives makes an audible gasp of shock. “You knew…?” Hayami laughs, the sound high and cruel.

“Did you take me for a fool, uncle?” she retorts coolly, and the servants scurry off to obey her bidding. “I will make the beast submit to me personally today, so that it will be chained to the will of our clan. As for the rest of you,” she dismisses them with a flick of her wrist, “get out of here.”

The servants usher the rest of the family members out of the courtyard, and as Tanjirou allows himself to be led out with the rest of them, he overhears the other members of the clan speaking of Hayami’s impressive display of ruthlessness and steel. “This will surely spell a great decade of prosperity for us, if she doesn’t die in the courtyard with that demon, at least,” one man chuckles to his partner.

“Those two traitors deserve a death far more terrible, in my opinion,” another one pipes up.

Naoko’s shy smile burns in Tanjirou’s mind, juxtaposed over the image of her cheeks stained with tears and her lips splattered with blood.

Tanjirou wants to throw up.

Hayami stands in the courtyard alone, glancing down at the two wounded people lying on the ground in front of her. Just a while more, she promises. It’ll all be over soon.

“Clan Head, we have brought the demon.”

She turns around to see a pair of Sumiyuri clan guards pulling something along with them — a demon, with a thick metal collar around its neck. She — no, it —growls and snarls at her, saliva dripping from its jaws. So this is the demon that her family has been harbouring all this time.

Its skin is bone white, the colour of ash, and there are a pair of feline ears perched on its head. Orange-yellow eyes glow at her like a pair of burning lamps in the darkness of the night. Hayami recognises the look in her eyes, a hungry, desperate gaze that devours everything in its path.

Red lines decorate its face, reminding Hayami of a tiger on the prowl for prey. Upon seeing her, the demon snarls and tries to lunge, but the guards force it back with their metal chains and burning torches.

“Very well.” Hayami gestures to the guard, and he secures the end of the chain to a large nail driver into the ground before backing away hurriedly. “Leave us.”

The two guards scramble out of the courtyard as quickly as possible, leaving Hayami alone in the courtyard with the demon. Behind them, the doors to the courtyard swing shut. Hayami waits until she hears a heavy thump — the sound of the door being held shut by a bronze bar, before turning back to the demon.

“So, you’re the one who all the fuss has been about,” Hayami comments mildly, as she takes a step closer to the demon. It tries to lunge forward, but the metal chain around its neck prevents it from getting too near. Hayami stares at it for a while, wondering if she remembers any of her relatives with the name Akame… and finds herself empty handed.

Well, even if she had remembered, Hayami doesn’t have any love for her family in the least. The most she can give the demon now is a quick and merciful death.

Turning around, Hayami makes her way to where she’d stashed her nichirin sword behind a large rock in the courtyard. The demon seems to recognise the nichirin steel instinctively, because it begins to howl and scrape at the metal holding it in place. A pitiful sight, really, but Hayami does not waver in the least.

“I hope that you’re reborn into a better life,” Hayami says, before she cuts down with a quick slash of her sword. The edge of her blade cuts through the demon’s neck like butter.

The demon screams and falls to the ground with a heavy thump. Hayami doesn’t have to look over her shoulder to know that her blade has severed its head cleanly from its neck. Instead, she rushes over to where Yoshi is lying prone and the ground and begins to shake him vigorously.

“It’s over,” she says sharply, and Yoshi’s eyes immediately fly open. “The demon has been killed. We must move quickly — there is no time to waste.”

Yoshi springs to his feet, rushing over to the trees where the spare demon slayer uniform they had prepared is hidden. Naoko takes a moment longer to rise, her feet trembling a little as she wipes the tears from her eyes. “Did I do well, Hayami-sama?”

Hayami smiles at her warmly — she had wanted to do that, ever since that incident she had been forced to be harsh with her. Yoshi had chosen not to tell her anything until the last moment, fearing that his sister would not be able to keep such a big secret. He and Hayami are somewhat similar in that respect, Hayami thinks to herself ruefully. “You did beautifully, Naoko,” Hayami says reassuringly, reaching up to pat the top of the young girl’s head. Her face flushes slightly despite the tears. “Now go, and don’t look back. Be safe, alright?”

“Yes, Hayami-sama!” With that, Naoko casts one more fleeting look at her brother before fleeing in the direction of the side gate. With all the guards removed from their posts (she had summoned them into the courtyard earlier to bear witness to the execution), Naoko should be able to escape without hindrance.

“Is she gone?” Hayami turns around to see Yoshi striding up to her, doing up the final buttons on his uniform. The black demon slayer’s uniform looks good on him, Hayami thinks, and she hands him a blond wig. When he’s put it on, even Hayami nearly doesn’t recognise him. She’s almost impressed by her own work.

“Here,” she holds out her nichirin sword to him. “You know what to do?”

“Of course.” Yoshi takes it with a firm nod.

“You look as though you would make a good demon slayer,” Hayami jibes in an attempt to lighten the mood. Yoshi looks at her seriously. “If Naoko and I make it out of here successfully, I’ll consider it.”

“Oh?” Hayami is both surprised and a little amused. “I look forward to seeing you joining our ranks soon, then.”

“Alright, enough jokes,” Yoshi glances at the side gate before he returns his gaze to the closed doors of the courtyard. He’s definitely worried about his sister. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

Hayami nods and waits until he’s suitably near the treeline, before she takes a slow, deep breath…

… and lets out a piercing scream.

“Guards!” She yells, trying to sound as furious as possible. “Guards, what are you doing? Get here, now!”

A few minutes later, the Sumiyuri clan guards hurriedly rush into the courtyard just in time to see the remains of Akame fading to ash and Yoshi scrambling over the wall of the courtyard. They’re followed by a few clan members and… Tanjirou? Didn’t she ask him to stay in the suite regardless of the circumstances? Hayami’s heart drops when she sees him, but she cannot afford to drop the act now.

Instead, she turns to the guards, baring her teeth. “You incompetent fools!” Hayami shrieks, getting up in their faces. “How could you allow a demon slayer to infiltrate your ranks? He’s gone and done it! How are all of you going to take responsibility for this?”

One guard is brave (or foolhardy) enough to speak up, voice shaking. “Done… what?” Hayami rolls her eyes to high heaven, but she is secretly glad that the guard asked. It makes it much easier to explain the situation.

“Do I have to spell it out for you?” she snarls, rounding on the guard. The man shrinks back before her. “A demon slayer infiltrated the guards and killed our newest source of income! He saw everything — how the demon ate those two servants before he slayed it! Why did you let him get away?”

“Clan Head, we couldn’t possibly—” Hayami cuts off his words with a firm slap and the guard reels back in shock, one hand clasped to his reddening cheek.

“You dare to give me excuses?” Hayami snaps, raising her voice. “If he reports back to his superiors, those bothersome demon slayers definitely will not give up on searching our estate until they find evidence of us harbouring a demon. Think of all the trouble that will bring us!” With that, she turns and storms off in the direction of the main building. The guards, all too terrified to chase after her, allow her to leave without any issue.

She makes a beeline straight towards the clan head’s suite, and only when she is inside does she allow herself to slump against the wall, completely exhausted. Playing all her family members is one thing, but to keep up that facade in front of so many people, Tanjirou included, was exhausting…

Tanjirou!

Hayami has barely had time to panic when the door to the clan head’s suite slides open once more to reveal Tanjirou standing behind them. He eyes Hayami as he walks in, and Hayami instantly knows that she needs to fix this right away. Tanjirou looks furious — it’s the same expression he makes when coming face to face with a particularly sadistic demon, or when he’s enraged with good reason. Hayami has never seen this look directed at her before, and it makes her stomach churn uncomfortably.

Tanjirou slides the door shut behind him, and takes a deep breath before staring at Hayami. “Tell me,” his voice is painfully even. “You promised— you promised me that you would only kill humans with no humanity. How could you get Yoshi and Naoko killed just to lure the demon out?”

Hayami holds up both hands. “Tanjirou,” she says slowly, trying to keep her tone calm. “Please, calm down. I can explain everything.” To be honest, this side of Tanjirou is scaring her a little, even though she knows that he would never try to hurt her in a million years.

Tanjirou stares at her for a while before he exhales sharply. “I don’t know if I can trust that,” he mutters under his breath, but the sentence hurts Hayami all the same. The two of them have been friends for so long — does he really think that she would do such a thing?

“I didn’t kill Yoshi and Naoko,” Hayami begins to explain. “What I did was—”

The knock outside the window startles the both of them, but Hayami immediately lets out a sigh of relief when she realises who it is. “Come in.”

Yoshi slips into the room like a shadow a few seconds later, taking a moment to brush the leaves from his clothes — he’s still wearing the demon slayer uniform that he’d escaped in, but the wig is gone. “Lady Hayami,” he greets her bluntly.

Tanjirou gasps at the sight of a dead — well, supposedly dead — man walking. “What—”

Yoshi holds out Hayami’s nichirin blade to her. “Take it.” He glances at Tanjirou, seems to realise what had been going down before he had come in, and looks at Hayami. “Was I interrupting something?”

Hayami takes her sword from him. “No, no.” Yoshi gives her a longer stare, before he shrugs. “As you say. I have found the provisions in the forest, and will be leaving soon with my sister.” He hesitates for a moment before he speaks once more, this time bowing his head to Hayami. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for my sister and I, Lady Hayami.”

“It was no problem at all,” Hayami reassures him gently as he makes his way back to the window. “Make sure to take care of your sister well, alright?”

“That goes without saying.” Yoshi pauses with one foot on the window to bow his head once more. “I wish you all the best, Lady Hayami.”

“You as well.”

With that, Yoshi disappears out of the window. Hayami stares after him for a while before turning back to Tanjirou, who looks unsurprisingly confused. “What… how is he alive?” Tanjirou asks, stepping closer to the window as well. “Is Naoko alright as well?”

“Yes, she is. If everything goes well, she and Yoshi should escape the town by tomorrow and the Sumiyuri family will never find them again.” Hayami nods. “I learnt that the demon is only summoned by the clan to slaughter rival clans or to finish off misbehaving servants — feeding her more will make her stronger, after all, and there’s nothing that the clan wants more than power. So we came up with this plan to lure her out.”

Tanjirou rubs his head. Things are starting to fall together, piece by piece, but there are still parts that do not make sense just yet. “The blood that I saw…”

“Sheep’s blood. I had bags of them prepared, and both Naoko and Yoshi had them strapped to their chests before the entire incident occurred. We had to make sure the slash looked real.” Hayami glances out of the window. “If the two of them want to escape the Sumiyuri estate, then there must be enough reason for the clan to believe that they are dead. As an assassin on the Sumiyuri clan’s payroll, he knows too many secrets to be left alive.”

“So you decided to do all that…” Tanjirou says slowly, “to kill two birds with one stone?”

Hayami nods. The two of them sit there for a long moment in silence, as Tanjirou tries to process everything that Hayami has just told him. Truly, her acting had been so convincing that even Tanjirou had felt himself doubting whether he had truly known her at all. But he supposes… well, he supposes that he should have chosen to trust her.

“I…” Tanjirou takes a deep breath. “I am sorry. For rushing to conclusions, and not giving you a chance to explain. I’m sorry.”

Hayami shakes her head. “The fault was mine too,” she admits ruefully. “I could have— I should have told you. You’re on this mission with me, after all.”

Tanjirou hesitates. “Why didn’t you?”

“After that fight about Naoko, I didn’t want you to see me acting like that again in front of the entire clan,” Hayami explains. Her fingers fiddle nervously with the ends of her hair. It’s hard to be so vulnerable like this, especially after such an emotionally charged day. But it’s Tanjirou, and if she cannot be honest with him, then who else? “I told you to stay in the room and I didn’t think that you would leave, so I thought I wouldn’t have to explain a thing.”

They stay silent for a while after that, each taking some time to process through everything properly. In the end, it’s Tanjirou who breaks the silence. “I think it’s just… sad. And upsetting.” His eyes are downcast. “That you had to grow up in such a terrible place. The thought that you had to endure all of this for so many years…”

He trails off, but Hayami understands, even without the words. And the fact that he feels so deeply for her, even though he’s never had to experience it himself… well, that makes Hayami’s heart feel very soft and warm on the inside.

She reaches out to squeeze his shoulder lightly. “Honestly, I don’t think that I suffered very much. Of course, I’m probably only saying that because it’s over.” A light laugh escapes her. “But I’m used to it, and it has made me stronger. And if it means I can save more innocent lives because of it…” Hayami smiles at Tanjirou. “Then I feel as though all that pain I endured wasn’t without reason.”

Only those who have gone through great adversity can grow truly strong, and the same is reflected by most, if not all of the Pillars in the demon slayer corps.

Tanjirou looks at her for a while longer, before he suddenly shakes his head and laughs. “You know, you’re really cool, Hayami.” She blinks at him, caught off guard by the sudden praise.

“Ah?”

“I mean, the fact that you can still have such a positive outlook on everything you’ve been through, I think it’s quite amazing.” Tanjirou tells her. Her cheeks turn warm and she glances away for a moment, unsure. What is going on with her, really?

“Well, since we’ve finished what we came here to do, shall we go now?” she suggests, in an attempt to cover up the colour on her cheeks. Tanjirou’s eyes widen.

“We can leave? Just like that?” he asks, looking hilariously (and adorably) confused. “Aren’t you the head of the clan now?

Hayami beams, nodding. “Yeah, of course! I’ll just have anyone who opposes that killed.” At that, Tanjirou’s face goes flat, and Hayami can’t help the laugh that escapes her.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” she winks at him. “How about we elope together?”

“Hayami…”

Hayami laughs again, and suddenly, even though she is still in the place that she has hated more than any other… things suddenly feel bright and warm once again. She glances at Tanjirou. If only she had someone like him by her side while growing up… perhaps things would have been more tolerable back then.

But he is here now, and that is enough for her to be content.

#demon slayer #demon slayer fanfic #kimetsu no yaiba #kny fanfic #kamado tanjirou #kny tanjiro kamado #commission

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dejwritesarchived · 3 years ago

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✧˖*°࿐ synopsis + warnings — could you imagine spreading your legs for the kid you’re babysitting older brother? ( she/her pronouns, female anatomy reader, cam work, dabi has multiple piercings, fingering, squirting, recording, mean dom!dabi, he calls reader a slut once, blackmail, slight cheater!reader, dacryphilia, told in third pov, minors dni )

✧˖*°࿐ xxxhub collab event — congrats to @druighoney & @manjiken for their follower milestone. congrats again on your milestones. (also happy bday dabi!)

✧˖*°࿐ read on ao3

✧˖*°࿐ tags — @misss-chrisss @gabzlovesu @fiona782 @warmchick @fairiechuu @itzgabz22 @etherealluvrr @caribbeanwifey19 @sindinminpin @bbgiirrll @potterbell @gardenof-venus @indiecursor @thicksimpx @godessofbucky @maydayaisha @etherealluvrr @chieflawyerpastatoad @plussizeficchick @littlemochi @celi-xxmoon @queenmjp @po3ticb3auty @sunkissedebony97 @gaiasmight @@babe-im-bi @sakusakwiyoomi @festive @pervysenpaix

BEING HOME FROM UNIVERSITY FOR WINTER BREAK WAS A HUGE BURDEN FOR DABI. Not only did he have to deal with being the black sheep within his family, but he had to set up a quite particular schedule to entertain his ten thousand subscribers on the popular camboy website. He figured to do cam shows when the house was down for bedtime or when he knew no one was home. However, with his family all crowding the traditional Japanese home for the holidays, he’s been abandoning the subscribers that tipped him wonderful just for stroking his cock on camera.

The thing is, Dabi didn’t really need the money. He came from pure old money. It just stroked his ego reading the comments people said about him. From complimenting his toned torso and pecks that were accessorized with a nipple piercing to adoring his Lorum piercing on his pretty cock. It made his ears grow so hot like an excited dog getting ready to play with its owners. He adored the ego stroke of what he did, but his gloomy eyes didn’t light up in excitement seeing his bank account grow. It was as if the money didn’t phase him. He didn’t spend much of the money on himself, usually buying his siblings’ stuff. Which usually was more of him throwing the item at them and mumbling how he remembered they mentioned to him that they needed or wanted it.

He even took it upon himself to give a gift to his younger siblings’ babysitter (Y/N). A beautiful young woman around his age who’s been the family babysitter for years now. Dabi never paid attention to the girl. Giving her a sly wave before slamming his home door to go hang out with his friends. However, it all changed when she went on the annual family trip with them one hot summer. Perhaps, Dabi should have concluded that something was going to happen when the two were stuck sharing a hotel room due to a hotel mistake. A night that was filled with stealing miniature vodka bottles from the hotel bar when the bartender was occupied led to a breathless night of Dabi taking the pretty babysitter’s virginity.

When the two parted ways due to college, Dabi expected the girl to become clingy. Who wouldn’t become clingy to the guy who took your virginity? But she didn’t. However, Dabi did notice something. He noticed that her skirts got shorter. Her tops got tighter. She always would let her fingertips graze against his hand when they were in the kitchen together. Her eyes even lit up with so much lust when she saw he was home. She was driving him so crazy because he couldn’t read her.

That was until he was in the kitchen munching on the dinner his mother cooked for the family before she and his father went on a date, (Y/N) was sliding her phone across the counter looking at him with such an intense stare. Dabi’s cold glare traveled down to the phone screen and he nearly choked on the rice ball that was in his mouth.

“You should really not use your most common fuckin’ nickname for your account,” (Y/N) chuckle as she looked at him.

Dabi swallowed the food he was chewing and quickly exited the website that once had his profile right on it. He even saw that she had an account on the website, assuming that she was only there to view the content and not do what he does.

“At first, I didn’t believe it. It’s just a coincidence,” (Y/N) explained. “But that piercing gave it all away,” She soon added as her alluring eyes traveled down to his crotch.

“Okay, I stroke my dick for fuckin’ strangers, now what?” Dabi asked as he stepped closer to her. “Going to snitch off to my parents?” His head tilted slightly, challenging the young babysitter in front of him.

“Yes.” (Y/N) bluntly admitted.

Dabi’s fist clenched tightly, “Seriously (Y/N)? Don’t be such a bitch.” He uttered.

“Maybe I am one. Your father will be so upset hearing how his son gets an ego stroke by stroking his dick for strangers on the internet,” (Y/N) says as her hands went up to toy with the chain around Dabi’s neck.

“Well, what do you want for you to keep your mouth shut?” Dabi asked. “Money? Shoes? Another necklace?” He motioned to the diamond pendant necklace around her neck. A gift he gave her for being such a good babysitter for his siblings.

Once that question left Dabi’s lips, he watched as her lips curled into a smirk. Her fingers dragged down his chest in a slow manner as she batted her lashes at him. She stopped at the string of his grey Nike sweats, “I want to be featured on your show.” She says.

“No,” Dabi says. “You’re not being in my show, I never do collabs. I won’t start now because of a brat trying to blackmail me.” He went back to eating, leaving her pouting at him.

“You’re really okay with your parents seeing this? Especially your dad,” She asked.

Dabi throws his hands up in the air in a careless manner. His shoulders shrugging before he’s speaking once again, “Guess he’ll see what he gave me huh?” He chuckled as he placed his plate in the sink and walked by (Y/N).

Her mouth gaped open at his comment before she’s chasing after him like a lost puppy. “Touya, it would bring you so much more money though.” She whines as she’s following him up the stairs.

“Why do you want to be on my show anyway?” He asked. “Wouldn’t want to tarnish your innocent image right?”

“Your shows are always filmed neck down, not like anyone would see my face,” (Y/N) blurted out.

As the dark-haired male caught on to what she said, he turned around to face her. His back pressed against his room door eyeing her up and down. He took in the way her plaid skater skirt moved as she switched her weight from one leg to another and the way he could tell she was wearing a push-up bra to show off her perfectly sized breasts. His teeth grazed at his lower lip as he was mentally weighing out the pros and cons of it. For her to notice that he always streamed from the neck down, she must have been a daily viewer.

“Fine. But if you utter any of this to my parents…” His voice trailed off. “I’ll tell them about when Shoto had to go to the emergency room because your irresponsible ass gave him something he’s allergic to.”

“How’d you know that?” She asked, her arms crossed over her chest pushing her chest forward.

Dabi’s eyes traveled down to look at her chest before he gave her a smirk. “I have my ways, now are you ready or not?”

“What? You want to do it now?” (Y/N) questioned.

“I was planning on streaming now that everyone is asleep and I have about an hour before my parents return,” He said before he twisted the doorknob to his door and pushed it open. His head motioned for her to come in. (Y/N) would give him a cheeky smile before skipping into his room like a child going into a toy store. Not knowing that Dabi was about to practically ruin her pretty little cunt for his subscribers.

He didn’t really let anyone in his room, it was his space. He was very protective of his space. The blue neon lights hardly helped with lighting in the room, which Dabi didn’t mind. It added a unique atmosphere and view to the way he stroked his cock for thousands of people online. The walls of his room were decorated with covers of vintage Rolling Stone and Playboy Bunny magazines. In the corner of his room, he had a record player with a neat pile of vinyl records. (Y/N) was expecting anything out from the camera view on his desk that had his multiple computer monitors would be messy, but he took her by shock. She sat on his bed staring around his room while Dabi sat at his desk going to the website.

“I want to finger you,” Dabi bluntly admitted, his eyes never leaving his computer monitor. “I think us having full-blown sex will be too much for my subscribers considering I only do solo content,” He soon explained.

“Don’t you think that’ll be pretty difficult?” (Y/N) questioned. “Your viewers won’t even be able to see it fully,” she huffs crossing her arms over her chest.

Dabi didn’t even have to turn to look at her to know that she was a pouting mess behind him. He logged into his account announcing that he’ll be starting a stream in about three minutes. His ears growing hot seeing the number of people liking his status update despite him just posting it. “Just take off your panties and come sit on my lap.” He said as he pushed himself a little from under his desk.

(Y/N) eyebrows raised at his comment before she stood up. Her hands up her plaid skater skirt she wore to tug down the lace panties she wore. She throws them over her shoulder before going over to Dabi’s lap, comfortably sitting down as if she sat on his lap multiple times before. Dabi’s fingertips traced alongside her thighs as he sat in the large gaming chair. Such a small intimate moment caused a chill to travel down (Y/N)’s spine.

“This still doesn’t solve our problem that they won’t be able to see you fingering me,” (Y/N) argued.

“You never shut up, do you?” Dabi asked, her remarks were causing the boy to grow annoyed.

“Only if you stuff my mouth with something,” She snapped back giving him a smirk.

Dabi chuckles at her comment, leaning over to start the stream. It was a one-minute count down until the stream would be broadcast to the world, “Lay your back to my chest, pull your knees up and place your legs on the armrest of the chair.” He urged. “Or just place your feet on my knees and keep your legs open for the world can see,” Dabi says. “Whatever makes you comfortable.”

(Y/N) glanced at the thirty-second mark on the screen before she does what she was told. Her cunt was now exposed for his subscribers to see, her gold anklet reflected at her on the screen. Looking at herself in such a provocative way turned her on. Despite you could only see from the neck down, it was a wonderful view to both her and Dabi. Her eyes filled with lust and her pussy throbbed to be touched. She could feel Dabi’s breath tickle at her earlobe and seeing his devious smirk caused her to swallow the harsh lump that formed in the middle of her throat.

“Look how good you look,” Dabi whispered in her ear. “You’re probably going to steal the show from me, doll,” He adds before a little tick noise could be heard as the stream was counting down from ten. “Make sure you don’t moan my real name like you did last time I had you like this during that family trip,” His fingers inched slowly and slow in between her plump thighs.

The show was now live for all his subscribers to see. Dabi was about to finger fuck (Y/N) for his subscribers and she couldn’t wait for that to happen. The pretty babysitter felt the harsh slap at her cunt when the countdown had finally hit zero. The tingle her cunt felt at the sudden slap caused her to be soaked. Dabi’s fingers swiped at her puffy lips collecting her wetness and she could feel his teeth nibbling at the bridge of her ear. “I slapped that cunt of yours and you grew so fuckin’ wet. You like it when I do that?”

“Yes,” Her words stumble out in an intoxicating way. “Please touch me some more,”

The pad of Dabi’s index and middle finger rubbed at her sensitive bud in a circular motion. The tipping notification was blowing up on his profile, but he ignored it. He wanted to see her fucked out just by his fingers. “Like this, doll?” Dabi questioned.

“Or like this?” His two fingers entered her sopping entrance without a warning.

(Y/N)’s mouth gasped open at the sudden action. Her hands grabbed at Dabi’s wrist. “Like that,” She cooed. Her eyes fluttered closed as if she was put into a trance.

“You’re so fuckin’ wet all for me, may have to fuck you until you’re seeing stars after this,” Dabi commented as he begin to move his two fingers inside of her. Her wetness pooled into his lap staining the grey sweatpants he wore.

The audience was loving every second of what was going on as the comments were moving so quickly that Dabi couldn’t even read them. His mind was making sure that (Y/N) felt the wrath of her silly con of trying to blackmail him. His fingers thrust inside her at a pace just like she liked him. A pace she was familiar with when the two shared a moment together during the Todoroki family trip.

“Fuck—” (Y/N) stuttered out as her back pressed against Dabi’s toned chest. Her head fell back as her eyes lolled in the back of her head. The pleasurable feeling of Dabi’s slender digits stuffing her pretty cunt caused her to quiver. Her eyes watered as if she was enduring so much pain, but just she was just enduring the intoxicating pleasure of Dabi fingering her.

“Look at them pretty lil tears.” Dabi cooed in her ear as his finger tugged out of your wet pussy. His fingers were coated with your slick as he rubbed at your clit once again. “I just fingered you and you’re already cryin’ out like a desperate lil slut.”

“Screw you.” (Y/N) spat at him as she was panting, her hips bucked upon his wet fingers for more friction upon her throbbing cunt.

“You’re telling me this as you’re bucking against my hand like a poor little wolf in heat.” Dabi slapped at her cunt once again before his fingers disappeared into her pussy again.

The only sound that bounced off Dabi’s room walls were the moans that tumbled off (Y/N)’s lips and the pornographic sound of Dabi’s fingers aggressively thrusting inside her cunt. At this point, the young babysitter soaked Dabi’s lap as she could feel her orgasm pooling at the pit of her stomach. Her back arching slightly off his lap just for his hand that wasn’t buried in between her thighs to push her back from not leaning forward to expose her face to his viewers.

“If you’re going to cum on my fingers go ahead,” Dabi urged as his fingers still were inside her. “I want to feel your pussy pulse around my fingers anyway,” He adds.

Dabi’s inebriating words only was responded with a string of moans. His free hand reached over to rub at her clit. The beautiful sight of (Y/N) on his monitor had Dabi rock hard under his sweatpants that were currently soaked. (Y/N) had reached to slowly Dabi’s hand but he moved it out the way as if she was being disobedient.

“Just let it all doll, I know you want to,” Dabi assured as his thumb flickered at the sensitive bud once again.

It was as if he had her in a trance because once those words fell off his tongue, (Y/N) let it all out. Her walls fluttered around his fingers as if it was his own thick cock. But that didn’t stop Dabi. His fingers still thrust inside her tight cunt, lunging through the overpowering orgasm she was currently enduring.

“Dabi, that’s t’much’” (Y/N) cried out as her tears decorated her lashline causing the once black mascara that she wore to be smudged and staining her face.

“Shhhh…I said let it all out didn’t I?” Dabi questioned as his lips kissed at the side of her temple sweetly. His fingers still pounced forward until the gush of liquid escaped from her cunt. Dabi could feel it staining not only his pants but his wooden floors right below him and even on his desk.

The sight of seeing the way (Y/N)’s toes curled as his fingers removed themselves before he’s back massaging her clit. She was a wet quivering mess in his lap as the tipping notification on his profile was going off like crazy.

“Don’t ever think about blackmailing again, okay?” Dabi whispered into her ear before he eventually ended his stream.

(Y/N) couldn’t feel the lower half of her body, her brain felt like a frozen Windows tab on a computer, and she felt so exhausted. As she sat on Dabi’s lap, she could feel the same fingers that once were inside her tracing alongside her thighs that still were shaking just a bit.

“You need to get up and go shower before my parents come back” Dabi interjected her thoughts.

“Yeah, you’re right.” was the only words that could come out of (Y/N)’s mouth as she climbed off his lap. Her face felt so hot when she saw the wet spot on Dabi’s pants.

“It’s just a pair of sweatpants,” He responded as he began to clean the mess (Y/N) made.

When the stream ended, both Dabi and (Y/N) were in the living room watching television. Sitting in silence trying to gather up all the thoughts of the intimate moment you two shared. He heard her phone ring, expecting it was his parents notifying her that they were a couple of minutes away from the house and it was okay to leave now if she’d like. But instead, he watched as her teeth bit down on her lower lip.

“Connor, you left me on read for three days and now you want to respond because I got finger fucked on camera! Fuck you!”

At that moment Dabi realized that (Y/N) didn’t care to blackmail him and use him being a cam boy against him. She used it for her own gain. To make her boyfriend jealous.

“How’d he know it was you?” Dabi questioned as his eyes tore from the television to look at her.

(Y/N) threw her feet in Dabi’s lap, lifting her left leg shaking her leg slightly so the gold anklet that had a ‘C’ pendant would be in his view. “This. He gave it to me last Monday for our four-month anniversary, just for him to cheat two days after that. I sent him the link to your profile before I even approached you about the whole blackmailing thing.” She said with confidence in her voice.

“You’re fuckin’ insane.” He added.

“I know.” (Y/N) says as she smiled at the dark-haired male.

Silence once again overcame the duo as they went back to watching tv, but Dabi broke the silence with a quickness.

“Do you want to do another stream together?”

song — visuals. visuals.

#XXXhub collab #mha smut #anime smut #dabi x reader #dabi smut #touya todoroki x reader #mha x reader #touya x reader #dabi imagine #anime x reader #mha imagine #x reader #x reader smut #dabi #dabi x you #dabi x y/n

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geliditramonti · 3 years ago

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My One-Finned Fish

Steven Grant x F!Reader

Warnings: None, just fluff

"Hey, did you see that guy over there?"

"That loser at table thirteen?"

"Yeah, he’s been sitting there for over two hours and nobody showed up. Almost feel for him"

I approach my coworkers trying to figure out what they’re whispering about, I just hate it when they make me feel left out.

"Who are you two talking about?"

"That weirdo at table thirteen. Can you see him?" she asks me pointing her finger at the big window that opens onto the street. I lean a little bit to see better, continuing to dry the glass of wine in my hands as my gaze rests on the figure of a man. His shoulders are curved in a little clumsy posture, from time to time he looks around in the hope of seeing the person who's waiting for and I can easily feel his frustration when the matron approaches him to ask if he still wants to wait.

"I feel so sorry for him...how do you do that?"

"He must have done something wrong to deserve this."

I just don't answer, shaking my head and called back to my work in a full dining room. I do my best not to think about it but from time to time my eyes point back to table thirteen, finding it always occupied by only one person who doesn't give up, in the embarrassment and comments of the people around him. The bouquet of roses and the chocolate box in the shape of a heart on his table make it all more heartbreaking while the restaurant slowly empties and the chatter becomes more and more feeble. We're closing, how much longer is he going to wait?

"Honey, I can’t wait to go home to get drunk and smoke some pot, so...someone should go tell that weirdo we’re closing."

"I think he’ll figure it out on his own." I answer a bit annoyed "I’m going to change."

I undo the bun that has picked up my hair all night, loosening my hair that fall light on my back. What a relief.

"Finally..."

Quickly taking off my uniform and putting back on my clothes I suddenly realize that my hurry comes from the fact that, for some reason...I hope the man from table thirteen will still be there when I walk out the door. For no reason, shelving reason, just...gut feeling.

"See you tomorrow, goodnight!" I say out loud waving my hand as I quickly leave the restaurant, looking around immediately and noticing that all tables are now empty. All but one. On the thirteenth table is still the bouquet of red roses, left to wither on the tablecloth like its owner tonight. I take it, and all of a sudden, I think I see him walking in a dimly lit street.

"Hey!"

He doesn’t turn around, keeps walking without distracting and I decide to reach him with a small run.

"Hey! Wait!"

When he turns to me and stops, looking at me with curiosity, my heart skips a beat.

"Hello, what-"

"You forgot these. On the table."

"Oh," he says taking them back "thank you. I didn't really...thank you."

His dark eyes look at me and then just go down on his feet. He seems so nervous and...tired.

"It was a pity to see them abandoned there, so-"

"Yeah..." he says in a sigh "well, thanks for bringing them back to me."

For a moment I think I’ve chosen the worst excuse to start a conversation. This man seems to be so bashful and I'm not sure that after the evening he spent he wants to converse with a perfect stranger.

"You...you work at the restaurant, right?" he asks me with furrowed eyebrows.

I nod. Now I can’t pretend anymore that I wasn’t a bystander to his disastrous no-date.

"...it was pretty sad, wasn’t it?" he asks as a sad smile appears on his face and his eyes fall back on the bouquet, embarassed. I know there’s nothing I can say to make him feel any better right now, I just wish he didn’t know I’d seen everything.

"I'm really sorry about your date"

"Yeah, well...it was my fault. I mixed up the days, thought today was Friday and screwed up..."

"You thought today was Friday?"

"Yes, uhm...I have a sleeping disorder, and this makes it really hard for me sometimes."

I can’t quite figure out what he’s talking about. In what strange way a sleep disorder can affect a person’s life enough to make him lose track of time? But the last thing I want is to make him uncomfortable in any way, I won’t ask any more questions.

"I also have to go this way, so...if you don’t mind we could take a walk together."

He fakes a smile again and then nods.

"Yeah, sure."

"I'm Y/N, by the way"

"I'm Steven. With the 'v'. "

"Nice to meet you, Steven with the 'v'. "

He smiles shyly while observing his steps. A strand of black hair falls on his forehead and my heart is lightened seeing the first real smile of the evening.

"What do you do, Steven?"

"Oh, I work at the museum. Just this morning as I was going there I noticed a major blunder on the banner outside, on the Ennead one...the super group of Egyptian Gods...you know, Horus, Osiris, Tefnut...anyway. I tried to tell my superior but she didn’t listen to me at all and it bothers me so much that I’ve been thinking about it all day"

"What kind of blunder?"

"They've got seven Gods there, and the Ennead has nine. Can you believe it?"

I listen to him with a half smile on my face, admired and a little amused by all this sudden enthusiasm shown to me. His gaze has changed and he talks about it with so much passion that I would listen to him all night.

"You can tell how much you love what you do. I bet you’re the best tour guide in there"

"No I, uhm...work at the gift shop, actually."

Steven’s voice releases a small laugh at the end of the sentence, in the embarrassment and difficulty of a man who thinks he's not enough in this life.

"You know," I say "the gift shop is always my favorite part in a museum. You don’t want to leave without a memory of that beautiful day, right? You want something to take you back there with your mind, to remember. What would you do without the gift shop?"

When I turn to Steven he's looking at me. His eyes got softer and I can see his lips curling up in a smile as we walk side by side on this cold London street. His presence makes everything warmer, actually.

In our carefree chatting, in our laughing together, in our discovering small sides of each other the road that was to take us to our respective flats has become longer and longer, making us lose in the streets of London lit only by the dim lights of the street lamps. I don’t even know what time it is. I don’t care.

"Look at the moon," he says pointing at the sky "it’s beautiful, innit?"

He slows his pace and we stop in the middle of a road I’ve never been on. Looking up I lose myself for a few moments in the beauty of a wonderful full moon that silently peeks at us and, when I look down, I realize that Steven is no longer looking at the sky. He’s looking at me. His big dark eyes flicker on my face without a word like I’m the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

I smile.

"What is it?"

"No-nothing," he stutters "I just...we are here. I live here."

In an instant I feel a knot in my stomach. Our night is already coming to an end? I didn’t even realize we stopped right outside the front door of a condo.

We're standing in front of each other, our breaths get faster, my heart is in my throat while his eyes are lost in mine and his body seems to get a little closer.

*Don't go, Steven*

"Well...thanks for the nice walk, Steven with the 'v'."

*Please stay with me one moment more*

We look into each other’s eyes for a time that seems infinite and for the first time tonight he doesn’t look down.

"Thank you for being with me tonight. It’s nice to talk to someone who actually listens to you."

As I look at his face and the shy smile on his lips, I can’t help myself.

"Steven"

"Yes?"

"I really want to kiss you right now."

"Oh please, do it" and without hesitation finally my mouth is on his, tasting his lips as my fingers sink into those black curls, messing them up a bit. It’s like the first breath of oxygen after a long apnea. I hear the sound of the bouquet of flowers falling on the ground at the same time my tongue caresses his, his hand on my back and the good smell of his aftershave goes right to my head. As I wrap my arms around his neck Steven holds me closer, softly tasting my lips as I can feel his heart beating against my chest and pounding like mad. If I could make one wish in life, I'd wish this kiss would never end.

As we slowly separate our lips to catch our breath, Steven keeps his eyes closed smiling gently. I don’t want this night to end, this moment to end.

"I have some delicious Norwegian chocolates that would be a shame to throw away," he whispers on my lips "if you'd like, you know...to come up with me...I- I don't want to sound creepy, I just want to...you know, sometimes the night, for me...sleeping is-"

"I'd love to."

Steven, smiling, puts a hands in a pocket of his dark jacket before opening the door with a set of keys.

"It might be a little messy, but I’m sure Gus will be happy to meet you"

"Gus?"

"My one-finned fish."

I smile.

"I cannot wait to meet this guy."

#steven grant #steven grant fanfiction #moon knight #marvel #steven grant smut #steven grant imagine #marvel imagine #fanfiction #steven grant x reader #steven grant x f!reader

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boldlyvoid · 3 years ago

Text

Of Quartz I Will

Amethyst You So Much✨ Part 2: Of Quartz I Will

Summary: after 2 years of dating, Spencer decides it's finally time to get Y/N something to match her Amethyst bracelet.

Warnings: fluff, gun violence, shooting tw, Reid's season 5 knee injury, hurt/comfort, emotional smut, body massage, hand jobs, riding, penetrative sex.

word count: 6K

Spencer notices her as she walks in, through the briefing room window, she’s wearing his purple shirt. He wanted to wear that for work today but couldn’t find it anywhere, now he knows why.

“Excuse me,” he says to his group of teammates as they contribute reading case files.

“Hey,” Spencer grabs her attention from the railing beside the briefing room. “I’ve been looking for that shirt everywhere.”

“It’s mine now,” she smiles, setting her things down at her desk for the night. “I’ll buy you a new purple dress shirt.”

“Buy yourself one, I like that one,” he whines.

“Finders keepers, doctor Reid. Either stop leaving your shit on my bedroom floor or move in already.”

Everyone hears it. All eyes are on them as they bicker in the middle of the bullpen, including the team of profilers just beyond the window.

“Okay,” he agrees. “We’ll talk about this later.”

She climbs the stairs quickly, giving him a good morning hug even though it was 9pm. “I love you, that’s why I’m wearing your shirt.”

He smiles against her shoulder as he holds her, “I love you, more so in my shirt.”

When he sits back down at his chair at the round table, everyone is waiting with a raised brow. They want details, they want his opinion, they want to hear him stutter and see him blush like he used to. But he doesn’t.

“Yes, I will be moving in with her. We have people to save,” Spencer reminded them. Avoiding eye contact and flipping through the files.

Derek tugs on his amethyst bracelet, he hasn’t taken it off since he got it, almost 2 years ago. “Are you ever going to get her any other jewellery?”

“When she goes home I’ll show you,” he whispers, still avoiding eye contact as they all gasp. “Keep it cool or I will kill you.”

He keeps an eye on her at her desk, smiling when she looks up to see him. She blows him a kiss and waves softly a few times, but other than that, they don’t talk for the rest of the day.

—

The next time She sees him, he’s in her bed sound asleep as she’s coming home from work. She sits on the edge of the bed and brushes his hair away from his face to wake him up gently, he blinks into the morning sunlight to see her.

“Good morning,” he smiles.

She’s in his pink shirt today. She liked to keep something of his close on bad cases that take him out of town. In this case, out of the country. He was in Canada for a few days, the case was horrific and she had to deal with all the office work in Penelope’s absence.

“Amethyst,” she whispers, it was part of their secret code.

Spencer, being a cunning linguist, he loved anagrams.

They had Amethyst for I miss you, Quartz for of course, and Olive for I love you. It was easier to keep the PDA to a minimum at work, not wanting to sit in a seminar like Derek and Penny about sexual misconduct and hostile work environments.

“Olive,” Spencer replies, pulling her down into the bed so she can cuddle in.

“We can’t stay, there’s another case. JJ told me to bring you in on my way home,” she explains softly. “They need you to go to ER Doctor Barton’s house, in McLean, he got a note saying someone was going to kill his son. So far they’ve also connected him to a few surrogate kills of Hispanic men, they need the speed reader to go through all his recent surgeries.”

He sighs, holding her tightly and snuggling in against her back, “no.”

She laughs, “Spencer, you can read really fast and the faster you read the faster you can come home to me.”

“Fine,” she has perfect logic, he always tells her that. “Are you driving me to the guy's house?”

“Yep, so we can stop for coffee and talk in the car, I really did miss you a lot,” she struggles out of his grasp to turn and face him, opting to hold his face in her hands as she looks at him. He’s exhausted, just like her.

“I missed you too, I’m sorry I was gone so long,” his voice is barely a whisper, “We should take a day off together soon.”

“Yeah,” she smiles wider, completely in love with him. “I’d really like that, maybe we can look at apartments?”

“Apartments?” He repeats the word with a grin, raising his eyebrow softly. “I thought you liked it here?”

“It’s too small, I want to get a cat, if you’re bringing your closet here we’re going to need a bigger one,” she ranted. “And actually, I was thinking if you’re on the same page as me and this is a long-term thing for you too, what if we just got a bigger place and got a mortgage and start a little life outside the FBI, together?”

He’s so in love with her, “get my bag?” Is all he can say.

“What?” She’s so confused, shaking her head softly as she comprehends it.

“On the floor there, grab my bag, please there’s something for you in there,” he points behind her, trapped under her and the blanker so it’s not like he could get it himself.

She gets up, placing the bag on the bed for him as she watches him dig through it for a little box. “Arminius helped me pick this out.”

He had become best friends with the owner of the rock shop, she wasn’t surprised to hear that he had gotten something else from there for him. It made her giggle with excitement, bouncing softly as Spencer sat up and moved his bag out of the way.

But then he got out of bed, he’s in a pair of purple boxers and his hair is a mess and he’s so nervous and she has no idea why until he gets down on one knee.

“I was waiting to do this.”

“Holy shit.”

He nods with a shaky laugh, “yeah, I’m in it long term if you are?”

“How the fuck am I supposed to drive you to work now?” She laughs, unable to stop smiling as the two of them stare hopelessly at each other. She hasn’t even looked at the ring yet, too occupied with the wonderfully happy look on his face.

“Quartz,” is all she can say, flabbergasted as she keeps laughing with a shocked smile.

He takes it from the box and she watches as he slides the most beautiful purple Amethyst ring over her ring finger and then her hands are back on his cheeks. Pulling him into a kiss, she can’t seem to hold him close enough as she breathes in. Holding her breath as she keeps him there.

He pulls away with a laugh, “when are we supposed to be there?”

“Now.”

“Damn,” they’re all giggles.

And it doesn’t stop, she takes off Spencer’s shirt and he puts it on instead, matching it with a vest and a tie while she makes him a coffee and can’t stop smiling as she glances at the ring.

It really only made sense for their engagement to happen in the same place she fell in love with him.

Sure, she liked him a lot when he was getting her rocks and she really wanted to get to know him more after his last note, but it was the bracelet that made her fall in love. He went out of his way to make her smile on what felt like the worst day of her life, and she knew she wanted forever with him from then on out. Now she was going to get it, she was going to be Agent Y/N Reid, and her ring was absolutely perfect.

He catches her taking photos of it in the sunshine when he comes out of the bedroom. She still can’t stop smiling, it’s just so perfect and she’s just so in love with him.

They get muffins from the bakery under her apartment before getting in her car, “where is it?” Spencer asks, playing the role of GPS whenever they drove together.

“120 Kensington Road, McLean Virginia,” she members it clearly.

“Take a right,” Spencer smiles, and she’s off.

She drives with one hand, looking at her ring almost more than the road as Spencer held her other one. She pulled up to the Doctor’s house and he didn’t want to leave. Sighing, he looked at her with puppy dog eyes.

“I will see you when you get home, I’m going to call out after this case is done and you get mandatory 24 hours off for back-to-back cases,” she said, knowing protocol almost better than him. “Go to work.”

“Fine,” he frowns again, getting out of the car and walking around to her door. She rolls the window down and tilts her chin up, leaning out for the kiss he’s waiting to give her.

“Let me know when you’re done, I can come and pick you back up,” she whispers against his lips between kisses.

One last smooch and he pulls away, backing up so he isn’t tempted to stay any longer, “olive.”

“Olive,” she replies with a smile, waving slightly before he disappears behind the door.

She releases a long sigh, melting into the chair as she lets the butterflies swarm around a bit in her stomach, it felt wonderful.

She went home, napped from 10 till 2 and then sat in bed to stare at her beautiful ring for a little while. She couldn’t believe he proposed just like that. All she asked was if he wanted to get a mortgage on a house and she guesses he heard "spend the rest of your life with me."

Sometimes, when Spencer was on a case in Virginia and too busy to keep her updated, she would turn on the police radio and listen to what was going on around in the area. It was good to keep her mind preoccupied and to remind herself that he was safe.

At least that’s what it used to do.

“Shots fired at 120 Kensington Road, McLean Virginia, 10-999, 11-41, all units in the area are requested.”

“10-999, officer down, 11-41, send ambulances,” she whispers to herself, remembering all the dispatch lingo from the office.

She doesn’t have time to panic, she unlocks her safe and grabs her gun, loading it and then she’s out the door, in her car and pulling up behind the sheriff's car as she’s running out.

She tosses her badge up to show the cops as she tries to run onto the scene, “I’m an FBI agent on his team, let me through!”

She slides her knees along the grass, surely ruining her jeans as she dives for him. She places a hand on his bloody knee and looks everywhere else, “are you okay? Are you good? Holy shit, Spence?”

Her breathing is so heavy, she clutches her chest with her left hand and tries to calm down as he looks up at her and they breathe in and out a few times without breaking eye contact. He’s completely fine, there’s just a bullet in his knee, he assures her.

“I’m fine,” he laughs lightly, wincing at the pain as he leans forward to kiss her gently.

She’s there only 2 minutes before Derek, JJ and Rossi are pulling up on the scene. Everyone huddled around them on the grass as the EMTs bandaged his knee up before taking him to the ambulance.

“You need to call Emily,” Spencer speaks over everyone, “something happened to Hotch, I’m fine here with Y/N, just go see him.”

He was always going to be fine with her, that was for sure. She never left his side, except when they took him in for surgery and forced her back into the waiting room. But as soon as he was okay again, his hand was in hers.

—

He was given a month off after his knee surgery, but he still ended up in the office most nights. Becoming more of a night owl than usual as he accompanied his fiancé to her desk and sat beside her as she did her work. It was really nice to spend time with her and not have to do anything.

Of course, he filled his time by going over other case files, things they weren’t able to get to as a team and things that didn’t fit the criteria of the BAU. He made phone calls and sent emails, helping small-town cops make simple connections and doing more good that way.

He sat at her desk, his leg resting over her lap as she made a few phone calls. Handing the background of the cases, filing off invoices and approvals. Dispatching units and requesting files and overrides from other departments. She was amazing.

She hangs up the phone, finally, after 45 minutes of rolling her eyes and sighing as she was transferred from office to office all around America. She places her hand on his leg and absentmindedly runs her hand along his shin, staring off at the desk, silently.

“Are you okay?”

She nods, “do you think you’re healed enough to start looking at places?”

He nods back, “actually, I already found one. Hold on,” he slides his leg off her lap and stands with his crutches, hobbling over to his desk where he looks through his files for a new folder.

When he comes back to her, he places the folder in her hands, “forever homes,” is listed on the tag and he sees her heart melt in her eyes. She opens the folder as he sits down, there are about 15 pages of house and apartment listings printed off.

“When did you do all this?” She whispered, shocked and not wanting to cry at work.

“Before I got shot, I was on the phone with Penelope and I asked her to help me find some, she printed off like 50 and I selected the good ones, but there’s more if you don’t like an-“

“Babe,” she cut the rant short, “I’m sure I’ll love any of them, as long as they come with you.”

He pulls a specific sheet from the pile, “this one is my favourite.”

She can see why, it’s a large, green exterior, Victorian home. There’s a turret and a porch, large windows with a bench seat in the kitchen. A garage, 4 bedrooms, a finished basement, a study and a pretty nice backyard.

“It’s a bit of a fixer-upper, but Derek said he’s willing to help teach me how to fix some stuff,” Spencer pressed his lips together awkwardly. He really wanted this on.

“Let’s get a Realtor and set up a walk-through,” she agreed, “and we should bring Derek because he’ll know more than most inspectors anyway. I don’t want to get a place with a cracked foundation or a faulty water heater.”

He smiled again, “remember last week when I had that extra appointment?”

She tilted her head, “no, there is no way you’ve already been there to check it out without me.”

“And I put an offer in, but I was waiting for your approval,” he adds, nervous for her to hate it.

“With what money? I thought we were doing this together?” He’s not sure why she’s upset, normally she loves his surprises.

“When I sold my moms house, I invested the money and it’s been gaining interest for years now,” his voice is soft, “I got through college with scholarships and if I was ever down on money I just had to go to one casino and I always leave with two grand, minimum, I promise, I’m really in this for the long run. I know what I'm doing.”

She smiles, picking up the listing and calling the agency. “Hi this is Y/N Y/L/N calling, my fiancé, Doctor Spencer Reid, recently put an offer in on the listing for 247 Chestnut Drive, I’d love to come and see it soon and take some measurements and things. If you could call me back…”

Spencer is so in love with her it hurts. He wants to scream right then and there, like a kettle on a hot stove for too long, he’s bursting at the seams. She hangs up the phone with the best smile he’s ever seen, “I’m going home early, cause I’m sick, care to join me?”

She stands then, putting her hand out for him so he could stand with her help. “Quartz,” he replies, taking her hand and stands, she gathers their things and she clocks out. No one really cared about all her sick days, she did her job well and they wanted the good doctor to be taken care of.

When he finally gets to show her the inside of the house, she is so in love with it. The hardwood is all original, same with the railings, shelves, banisters and countertops. They're all rustic and beautiful, she can’t help but run her finger over everything as she looks around with an open mouth. X

The kitchen cabinets are green, there is a beautiful colourful wallpaper as a backsplash… and it’s completely empty. It was a remodel, some house flippers did it up and didn’t want to stay. It was made more modern, updated appliances and every safety protocol met. It was perfect.

She turned to him with a smile after only 5 minutes of looking, “this is it.”

“Good,” the women showing them around said, “because your offer was approved, with your say so I can get everything started with escrow.”

“Holy shit!” Y/N cheered, jumping a bit and showing off while Spencer just leaned on his crutch. She walked up to him and wrapped her arms around him, kissing his cheek a few times.

“You can start that paperwork,” Spencer smiled, holding her back with his face in the crook of her neck.

—

The hardest part of moving is transporting all of Spencer’s books from one home to another. It's at least 30 boxes of books and Derek will be faxing his chiropractor bill to Spencer within the week.

His office here was huge, floor-to-ceiling oak shelves and green walls, full of all his books and belongings now. It was his own space in the house he shared with his future wife.

It felt crazy to him.

She used to just be the cute girl in the office, he can remember the exact moment he laid eyes on her. She was walking around aimlessly with some files in her hands when he turned around at his desk. She looked lost, overwhelmed and like she was about to have a breakdown.

She looked at him with the same fear he felt on his first day, he took the file from her and knew exactly where it was meant to go. She followed behind him, quiet as a mouse as he placed it in a folder by the wall under a sign that said "Anderson."

He turned with a press-lipped smile and a nod and then they went their separate ways. Silent conversations became their thing, the only time he really heard her voice was when she called him in in the middle of the night or when he heard her on the phone.

Other than that; she smiled when they passed each other, she’d tap her watch when he needed to be doing something Hotch asked for and was preoccupied with something else, she even knew exactly what he was looking for by just observing his chaos. Always able to pull a sheet of paper from the bottom of the stack with ease, and always silently, until that one day she said sorry to him after slamming the phone.

Now he knows that she talks in her sleep, she likes to go over her plans out loud in the shower every morning, and she sings all day long. Be it little tunes, hums, random tongue clicks or whistling, she’s always making noise. His favourite, however, was when sometimes she’d remember something she was trying to remember during a conversation they had, 4 days prior, and she’d scream it out like he knows what she’s thinking every second of every day.

He was in love with her voice, he never wanted to stop hearing it.

He was in love with her face, he never wanted to stop seeing it.

He was in love with her body, he never wanted to stop touching it.

He was in love with her mind, he never wanted to stop exploring it.

All those thoughts rushing to his brain and rushing a new form of butterflies for him. Like anxiety, but happier. Like he couldn’t wait to spend the rest of his life with her. It was anticipation rather than fear.

She really was it for him, and as he unboxed his life into the house they were about to share for the upcoming future, it all became very real. This was how the rest of his forever was going to look with her. All their memories from here on out were going to take place in this house, in these rooms.

When he picked this house, it was just a fun idea, and now he looks at the hardwood floors and thinks about how wet baby feet are going to sound during bath time. He wonders how many times the creaky steps are going to let him know she’s coming up to bed, he wonders what screaming matches and fights and love-making will happen beyond the bedroom door across from his study.

He wonders if she’s going to love him as long as he wants to love her.

He opens his study door then, “Hey, babe?”

“Yeah?” She calls up from the bottom of the stairs.

“Can you come up here?”

She marches up the stairs, still not used to the creaky staircase or the length of stairs she had to climb, soon enough, she’s on the second floor and walking into his study, “what’s up?”

He doesn’t know how to ask, he doesn’t even really know what he wants actually. He just missed her, and she was only just downstairs.

“Can I have a hug?”

It comes out more pathetic than he predicted, cringing at the embarrassment as he shrunk into the couch.

“Quartz,” her voice is soft as she approaches him.

Sitting on the brown leather couch that was once in his apartment, she wraps her arms around him and he holds her back softly.

Resting his head on her shoulder, he just wants to hold her for a while. Eventually, they end up laying down with her on his chest, still holding each other as silent as they were in the beginning.

“I love you,” Spencer whispers against her hair.

She snuggles in more, rubbing her cheek against his shoulder softly, “I love you, too, are you okay?”

He nods softly, “I was just thinking about everything and I wanted to hold you.”

She swoons, “do you remember the first night we cuddled like this?”

He nods again, brushing his chin against her head each time, “it all feels like history repeating like it’s supposed to be this way for us.”

“I like to think so,” she agreed. “I actually think you’re my twin flame.”

He hums, thinking about it, “I’m not sure I know what that means.”

“So soulmates are kind of like mirror souls, they are exactly everything that the other needs and they fill the missing parts for each other." She explains softly and he can already tell where her rant is going.

"I don’t think that’s us because we are too similar; sometimes we butt heads and don’t see eye-to-eye, and you drive me crazy a lot of the time because we have the same anxiety and daddy issues, but it’s also because you do things I think about doing and then I can’t do them because they're done already and they’re my calm down things so then I have nothing to calm down with, like yesterday-“

“Babe,” he whispers, “I know, we finish each other’s sandwiches, that’s what your niece said when she saw us together.”

It makes her smile and he can feel her cheekbone against his chest, “twin flames are what happens when one soul is ripped in half and sent to two bodies. They’re capable of surviving separately, as long as they have the right kindling, but they burn brighter together.”

“People sometimes think fire is living because it consumes and uses energy, requires oxygen, and moves through the environment,” Spencer says softly, “have you ever seen something catch fire on both ends?”

“Yeah, a few times, why?”

“It’s never about burning the item entirely, both fires are only concerned with connecting to each other for mass destruction. They always burn in the strangest patterns, but they always connect first before devouring the victim.”

She sits up to look at him, “are you saying I devoured you?”

“That would be de-flowered,” he teases, “but no, I’m saying it makes sense. We really have been burning through everything to find each other.”

“I cannot believe you just said I de-flowered you before the most beautiful thing you’ve ever said,” she laughs, “and it was a mutual de-flowering, might I remind you.”

“I will never forget,” he coos, leaning forward and pressing his lips against hers.

She pushes him back against the couch, it’s been forever since they’ve really done anything. With moving, Spencer’s recovery, her working nights and sleeping all day. It hasn’t been rewarding in a long time, it’s just been enjoyable.

“No,” he whispers as she starts to trail kisses down his neck. “I’m not having sex on the couch the first time we do it in the house.”

She laughs against his neck, pushing herself off the couch and extending a hand to him, “did the doctor even say you can yet?”

“I can’t do all the work, but I can give a second opinion?” He couldn’t stop the grin on his face as she hauled him to his feet.

“Let me heal you,” she whispers, and he knows exactly what she means.

She lays him down on their bed, on top of the covers with no clothes on as she gathers her things. She closes the blinds, turns on her amber lamp, and lights her candles. But his favourite thing that she adds is the sound therapy… helping the water in his body vibrate at the right frequency to calm him completely. She’s going all out for this one.

Much like the first time.

She’s naked too, both of them completely unfazed by each other’s naked form by now. She sits between his legs with all her chakra stones in her hands and she sets them down on his stomach before arranging them in order where they’re supposed to help on his body.

The Amethyst is just above his head for his crown chakra, touching his scalp gently. He closes his eyes as she places a Lapis Lazuli on his third eye, in the centre of his forehead. An Aquamarine on his throat. Rose Quartz on his heart, Tiger’s Eye on his solar plexus, Pyrite on his belly button and finally, Fire Agate at his core.

He always felt so totally relaxed like this, even the first time she ever laid him down like this. He was so calm, he knew he was in good hands and seeing her bless the room made him feel even better.

“Only good may enter here,” the words she repeats every full moon when she opens the windows and blessed the whole house. Keeping them safe, happy, healthy and loved.

She kissed the scar on his knee, causing him to open his one eye to see her. She was laying between his legs now, head resting on his hip as she lightly ran her fingers over his knee, ticking the skin where he finally had feeling again. It took forever for the numbness to go away, even longer for the pain. But she was so patient with him the whole time, taking the best care of him.

She doesn’t mind that he’s hard, she’s very close to his dick as it rests on his stomach beside the crystal.

She kisses his hip, inching each kiss over until she’s pressing one right to the shaft of his dick and he takes a deep breath. Knowing she’ll stop if he forgets how to do the breathing exercises she showed him. He wasn’t allowed to tense his body, this was about pleasure and there was no rush.

For either of them.

He’s done this for her a few times over the years too, just as slow and sensual as she was being. It was calming, rewarding, they bonded with each other and really felt like one being this way.

He heard a cap open, but he was so used to it by now that it filled him with contentment rather than excitement. He remembers the first time she said she wanted to do this, getting some skin-safe, homemade, vegan massage lube and almost turning inside out with how awkward she was asking to do this for their first time.

She sat on her knees between his legs with a small bounce as she got excited about her favourite part. She sat with the bottle resting between her thighs, warming up while she ran some of it over her hands. She massaged his thighs first, getting all the knots and making sure there was no “Charlie's on any horses”, the first time she said that he almost cried laughing and ruined the mood for a little.

She took the rocks off him then, sitting more on his hips as she drizzled the warm oil on his chest. He let his hands rest on her knees, wanting to feel her skin while she felt his. Her hands felt like magic, running over his chest, arms and shoulders like this was her job. She knew every crook, every cranny, every pressure point and soft tissue on him. His body was just as much her’s now.

It's when she presses her body flat against his that he knows the mood is changing. Her breasts are flat against his chest, her hands are behind his head as she looks down at him, her groin pressed right against him as he aches for contact, grinding up into her slowly as she stares into his eyes.

“Better?” She whispered with a small smile, already feeling how much calmer he was, she just wanted confirmation.

“Much,” he’s just as quiet in his reply. “If I don’t bend that knee, it’ll be fine.”

“I don’t mind doing all the work, baby,” she kisses him quickly, “I know you like it more like this anyway.”

She slithers down his body then, his body slick with oil as she easily glides down and creating the most wonderful amount of friction with him. He groans, tossing his head back against the Amethyst on his scalp.

She sits on his good thigh, avoiding pressure with his bad knee like he was an old man now. She makes contact with the only part she didn’t message, adding more of the massage lube to her hand before lazily jerking him off. He keeps a hand on her thigh, groping and managing her right back as she kept a perfect rhythm.

She occasionally grinds against his thigh, mostly when he moans and groans. Extremely turned on by him having a good time, proud of herself for relaxing him, always complaining that he was too tense, she really knew how to release the pressure.

Just as she gets into it, the calming sounds of rain and high-pitched frequencies come to an end… Rhiannon starts playing and he literally watches her come alive; changing her rhythm to match the beat as she starts to grind against him more, she only added his song to the queue, somehow an hour had passed and her music was resuming.

And when Spencer said she was eclectic, he meant she could go from listening to a rare Canadian band called the Tragically Hip, to Kanye West, Taylor Swift, Evanescence and back to Fleetwood Mac. He had no idea where the mood was about to go.

He moved his hand up her thigh as he tried to power through the pleasure, her hand was so amazing he was bubbling away under his skin. He manages to get his middle finger between his leg and her, massaging her clit as she bucked her hips down on him.

Mutual pleasure in any sense was enough for them, seeing the other being perfectly content after everything they went through; it was euphoric. She leans up then and kisses him desperately, unable to stop stroking him as she sucked his tongue into her mouth.

She smiles against his mouth as the song changes again, it’s the song from the ending of Dirty Dancing, he knows how much she loves that movie. Her kisses get softer, she’s so gentle as she strokes him just a few more times before throwing a leg over his hips and lowering herself onto him in one go. Bottoming out faster than before, both of them making the same moan as they curled forward for each other, mouths clashing as they held onto each other.

Grinding together, Spencer kept a hand on her to help her ride as she was preoccupied with her hands in his hair and kissing his neck as they moved in tandem. It was so good, he was incredibly close but he wanted to hold off as long as possible to feel her finish first.

His ultimate pleasure was knowing she was pleasured, he massaged her clit once more between their bodies and she shuttered, “right there,” her words are small as she kisses under his ear, tugging his hair softly as he moans so she can lick at his neck as she moves her hips up and down, gloriously.

He can’t keep his eyes open, everything is too much and he’s so relaxed; it’s like his body is floating on a cloud as she rides him like they’re actually in heaven. He was really having the time of his life and it made him smile at the end of the whimper he released as she tightened around him suddenly and on purpose.

She moves faster, and so does his wrist as he helps her over the edge first. She’s panting in his ear as she rides him with purpose. She cums with a gasp and then he’s gone, her whole body stuttering as she let out the most relaxed and uncontrollable moan he’s ever heard from her.

His grip on her ass tightens as he holds her hips down, he cums with a gasp and it’s so powerful he passes out.

—

He’s so cute when he sleeps.

She’s got him all cleaned up, everything put away and where it’s supposed to be in their new room. She just lays beside him as she watches him nap, blissed out and relaxed, she doesn’t even care that it’s such a typical guy thing to fall asleep right after.

That was kind of her mission.

He’s been so stressed, he wasn’t going to tell her because he didn’t want his stress to become her stress like it so often did. Feeding off each other like a fire, he really knew how to give a phrase to a feeling. But he was stressed because he was in pain from his knee and no matter how much he lied and said he was fine, she knew he wanted to relieve the pain but he was afraid of even taking a Tylenol.

This is the most relaxed he’s been in months.

She ordered a pizza while he was asleep, it arrived before he woke up too. She sets the pizza box, 2 bottles of pop and a roll of napkins at the end of the bed, gently, before getting back into her spot.

She brushed his hair from his face and kissed the tip of his nose gently, seeing him scrunch his face and swallow before blinking awake. She smiled at him, “Hi, sleepyhead.”

“Hello, beautiful.”

“I ordered pizza,” she whispers.

“Olive,” he replies.

“Well yeah,” it makes her giggle but she has to say it, “I got our regular green olives, mushrooms and extra cheese.”

He laughs too, extra happy after both the sex and his nap. “I love you,” he says the full thing this time.

She presses another kiss to his lips before hauling him into a sitting position, “I love you, too.”

It’s the best night of her life so far.

the house

Taglist: @dreatine for inspiring a part 2 <3

@shemarmooresfedora @spencers-dria @reidsfish @manuosorioh @mochionly @samuel-de-champagne-problems @jswessie187 @k-k0129 @calm-and-doctor @blanchardsbk

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid self insert #spencer reid request #criminal minds smut #criminal minds imagine

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honeyhenry · 4 years ago

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Tiny Vol. 2: Kal + Will

you can read the first instalment of Tiny here!

A/N: I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!! All the love for our sweet bear and Henry of course! And baby Will my new fave 😍

Warnings: Premature labour, a LOT of fluff

as a family of three, you, Henry and Kal were the dream team

Kal had of course taken to you the moment you’d met him

a lot of the time Henry claimed you were more loving towards the big bear than him; “I’m your actual boyfriend, remember?”

Kal naturally being part of your inevitable wedding

hell, he was likely part of the proposal, as role of The Distractor, while Henry would wait on bended knee behind you

Kal knew that he didn’t have a place on the big kingsize bed, but that never stopped him from standing by the closed door of the bedroom whenever you and Henry were occupying it, waiting for either an invitation for cuddles, or for your day to start so he could have some company

and any available snacks, of course

On Henry’s birthday, just over a year into your marriage, you’d bribed the Akita with an extra large prime rib steak in the kitchen so that he could stay content downstairs, while you kept Henry more than content upstairs

It was only 3 weeks later that Kal started to press his large head onto your stomach

at first it was endearing, but over time he became persistent and Henry often had to get him to heel so that he would keep out of your way

it was only one missed period later that you realised your fluffy companion might have been onto something

with a fairly tame schedule for now, you and Henry had stopped “not trying” for a baby, deciding instead to just let it happen when it happened

and somehow Kal had been the first to find out that it had indeed, happened

over the next few weeks and months, it wasn’t just your large, concerned husband that was protective over you, but your bear of a dog too

by the time you were showing, Kal was in full guard dog form, growling at anyone who expressed any form of interest towards your growing belly

even Henry was on the receiving end of a warning growl now and then

but most of the time, Kal knew that Henry was likely safe, based on the look of love he often saw on his owner’s face towards you, and the special little moments his two humans have together with whatever is blooming within you

any strangers that get close to you would face the wrath of Kal because if whatever is happening gets this much love and attention, then it must be special to his Henry and his Mama

Kal hangs around you a lot, favouring you over Henry, especially in your last trimester

which makes Henry pout because damn it, Kal is taking his place most of the time

“Only because i’m carrying a little you.” you’d reassure your husband “he’ll be back to his Henry-loving ways after baby’s born.”

Kal often lays his big head on your bump when Henry isn’t there because he knows you’ll let him get away with it

but if Henry spots him he receives a “Kal, off!” just for your goofy husband to rest his own head there instead, chattering to the baby about things that sometimes have you falling asleep

his voice is soothing, yes

but his video game talk is just the perfect soundtrack for a nap

you get slower and slower as you enter the last few months

soon its just Kal and Henry going for walks together at the park

your bear always whined to you, pawing at your lap as you curl up on the sofa, while Henry would attempt to nod him over to the door

“Mumma can’t come today, she’s staying here with the baby. But she’ll call us if anything happens”

You get a soft kiss on the lips from one member of your family, and a lick on the hand from the fluffier one

Did you know it was Kal who saved the day, the morning you went into early labour?

you’d winced at a small twinge of pain, and then groaned out loud, taken by surprise as you had just been peeling some apples to be made into a stew

the sun was rising slowly, glinting the dewy grass out in the garden, your favourite view from the kitchen window

Henry was in his study, a floor up, with headphones on, completely oblivious to what was happening downstairs

clinging to a table, you’d started to feel tight pain across your belly, issuing you with a mild dose of panic

of course, as Kal has been by your side for the past few months, he’s right there in an instant

he rushes over to you, sensing that something is wrong, watching you as you attempt to sit down on the floor to try and take control of the pain

he had pressed his big head to yours, nudging you as if to ask what he should do

“Get henry, go get Henry, Kal”

you didn’t have to tell him twice

he’d bolted to the study seeking out henry, knocking over everything he flies past, running as fast as he possibly can within the confines of the walls in the house

he was loudly barking the whole time, knowing that right now you are in jeopardy and that his Henry is your only saving grace

he’d burst into Henry’s study nearly knocking the door off its hinges, almost jumping onto Henry’s lap

immediately Henry knew that something was wrong

normally a gentle giant around the house, Kal is bumping into things trying to reach his master, to get you the help you needed from Henry

“Kal, Kal show me where, what’s wrong. Is it Y/N? The baby? Mumma?”

He received a large bark in return, before Kal was rushing back to the kitchen to show his Henry where you were

Henry had raced behind Kal to where you were, panicking as he heard you call for him weakly

he eventually found you, sitting on the kitchen floor and clutching your belly in pain

Kal had stood by the door, watching Henry take over, his muscular form lifting you up and holding you close to get you to safety over on a soft chair

“it’s too early love, it’s got to be false contractions”

“they don’t feel false”

Kal had watched as Henry made a couple of calls, with sweat collecting at his brow

He had then spent a few moments with you, counting and calculating timings on his watch while you’d cried “it can’t be time, he’s not ready Henry”

Kal watched his Henry take your hands and stay close to you, trying to keep calm on the surface while making you a myriad of promises

just 10 minutes later, Kal had been left in the house alone

his only hope was that you and his Henry will be okay when you return

he’d had a strange few days at a friend’s house

their garden was smaller and they had a cat, but Kal hadn't minded them too much

he had still been concerned about where his Henry and his Y/N went so suddenly

and why did you not want to take him with you?

On the Tuesday, Kal hears the words “You’re going back home today, to see your parents! And they have your baby brother waiting there too!”

Kal was delivered back home that afternoon, and comes bounding into the house, making a beeline for Henry who was waiting by the front door to greet his furry friend

You had stayed upstairs in the master bedroom with Will, making sure he was safe from the inevitable commotion downstairs

You’d heard Henry embrace Kal, talking to him like an old friend whom he hadn't seen in years

Kal was so riled up from being away for so long, and Henry still in a lovestruck daze from the last 72 hours

“I know we were gone so suddenly, but everything is okay. We’re back now, and we have someone special we want you to meet” you can hear your husband speak excitedly to the bear

Kal had whined in retaliation, as if to ask "why did you leave me, Henry? What could have possibly been so important?”

“Kal” and it’s Henry’s no nonsense voice that you’d recognised this time; “Your baby brother is upstairs with Mum but he is very little. Very, very small. And you’re a big bear. So we’re going to be calm. Okay? Calm and gentle bear, good boy.”

Henry's footsteps and the tinkling of Kal’s collar were becoming clearer and clearer before the door to the master bedroom creaks open

and there stands Kal in all his fluffy glory

Henry is right by him, watching over every move Kal makes, with baited breath in case he decides to make a running leap towards you and your tiny bundle of joy

Henry had looked up to you with a gentle grin, ensuring the door was left open in the event of any sporadic movements, particularly if Kal wasn’t interested in this new person after all

“Knock knock, Kal’s promised to be good if he wants to see his brother”

Kal wants to jump up onto the bed but he knows he can’t, no matter how curious he is

so he just waits patiently by the bed, because whatever you were holding seems important, especially given that Henry is being very stern with him

maybe this is the special thing that his Henry and Y/N had loved so much

he looks up at you as you lean down enough for him to see the baby’s little face

“Kal, this is your baby brother. This is who all the fuss has been about. he’ll be able to play with you some day, when he’s a bit bigger.”

Kal blinks, taking the situation in

A new smell, a new person

A new, tiny Henry

At this realisation, he fondly rested his head in your lap right next to Will, receiving praise from Henry “easy boy, good boy Kal”

Kal makes an oath there and then to protect his tiny Henry

He sniffed a blanketed foot carefully, nuzzling it before staring at your sweet baby’s face

You look up at Henry briefly, and he’s already watching you as the rest of the scene plays out

“I think our boys are going to get along just fine” you murmur, basking in the fond greeting between Kal and baby Cavill

only for it to end a moment later when your son squeaks the quietest noise, causing Kal to back up quickly, shocked by the sound

“Ohh, are you saying hello to Kal honey? He is so gentle and fluffy isn’t he?” you’d cooed to the fidgeting bundle in your arms

“i think it’s Kal who needs to watch out around here now” Henry comments with a grin

Whenever Henry goes out to play fetch with Kal in the huge garden - it may as well be a football field - you’d watch carefully from the balcony window while cradling Will, pointing out his how his Daddy throws a ball or a stick, and how clever Kal is for fetching and returning it

whenever your older boys are done, they both scramble to be first back to see you and the youngest of the Cavill pack

Will is often found snoozing, giving Kal the perfect excuse to curl up right alongside his crib him to protect him, should anything threaten his soft sleepy snores

And if Will is sleeping in the crib in the master bedroom right beside you and Henry, Kal paws at the door until he is let in, taking his rightful spot curled up beside his new best friend

If you or Henry, or a loving relative or friend is holding him, there is Kal right by their side, as if to stake his claim; “this is my baby”

In the middle of the night when Will starts crying, Kal is there first to check on his tiny Henry before he runs for immediate assistance

cue Henry having tripped over Kal in the middle of the night several times now, as Kal had rushed to the master bedroom and Henry having rushed out of it in the dark

Usually the consequences involve Henry taking a bump to his shin or his head, with you having to get up, turn the light on and fetch a crying baby Will

So yes, Kal is in the nursery a lot of the time and yes, you need to install a couple of night lights in the hallways so that Henry doesn’t ultimately fall down the stairs or continue to injure himself via a fluffy Kal on a rescue mission

Henry always exclaims the next morning “I can’t believe he’s always in the room”

Which makes you laugh, replying “You’re just jealous he loves Will more than you now. I have to say Will is taking the badge for favourite Cavill of the month in this household”

Will sleeps a lot, and when Kal eventually gets bored, he sticks his big head into the crib, panting and waiting for his tiny Henry to pay him some attention

when you catch him, you rub his big head, letting him sit on the bed while you cradle a snoozing Will

however if Henry catches Kal with his head in the crib? Kal is out of the nursery for the rest of the day

“He can’t stick his head in like that, I’m not having him hurting Junior, accident or not”

So you need to unite your parenting tactics to train your dog before you use them to parent Will

When he’s not in his crib, Will is in one of the new moving cribs that Henry had researched to death before ordering and consequently building himself

That was an especially hot day in your pregnancy, and it was in December

Kal often just lays and watches his little best friend in it for as long as he likes, as he soon realises his large Henry will allow him to do that

sometimes you see Will laying in the crib with lots of dog toys around him

courtesy of Kal, of course

typically, Henry will be around to supervise, always thanking Kal on Junior’s behalf, engaging his two dependents in conversation; “oh look another toy, Will. Thank you Kal”

Kal would already be out of the room to fetch another toy while tiny Will is taking a hardcore nap

feeding and putting weight on is hard work!!

Henry definitely gets a few stares at the park now; a big beefy man, pushing a high-tech stroller, alongside an absolute unit of a dog

Kal is obedient as always, walking nicely beside the stroller with his two Henrys

he’s not even tempted by puddles or ducks or squirrels

his focus is on his best friends, especially the one wearing their brand new sweater to signify his move to newborn sized clothing at the age of 9 weeks

he loves watching his Henry and his Mama celebrate his tiny best friend, no matter how small their achievements - or sweaters - are

Kal is always gonna look out for his large Henry and his new tiny Henry, who both have the same dark curls and sparkly eyes

He is just the most wonderful big brother you could ever have wished for your little boy, and you’re sure they will get into heaps of laughs and trouble when Will grows up to become a rambunctious toddler, with peels of giggles coming from wherever the two will be playing together

Kal has the patience of a saint, and it’s why you don’t worry at all when you find out a couple years later, that there will be two more little Henry’s for him to play with and guard, with his whole fluffy being

---

let me know what you think / any questions / any requests HERE

#Henry cavill x reader #henry cavill fan fiction #henry cavill x you #henry cavill fluff #dad!henry cavill #kal cavill #Kal + Will vibes #it's tiny will cavill's world we are all just living in it #cavillary

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manonblaqkbeak · 3 years ago

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Motel Living

this idea would not leave me alone, despite me having like three other fics barely done. it is very random. i dont even know what to say lol.

2554 words

enjoy!

Today was officially the one month anniversary of Aelin moving into a three-star motel. She did not think she'd be here for long, a couple of weeks at most, but here she was a month later, and on a Friday night no less. She should have been out with her friends, but she opted to stay inside.

She had to tell herself that she shouldn't complain. That there were people that were worse off than her. Living in a motel was fine.

But it still didn't change the fact that Aelin wished she wasn't living in a motel room. Especially one that was popular with long haul truckers whose snores sounded like chain saws and blenders on the highest level. That right now, down in the restaurant/pub that was only six doors down, an important football game was playing and the patrons inside were cheering wildly.

Aelin missed the house that she had been renting the last three years. Last year she had decided to start saving so that she could purchase the house itself, since it was still on the market since the day she moved in. It was hard, but Aelin was a determined woman and she set her sights on purchasing the house—she felt like she practically owned it anyway—up until the day she received a call from the real estate agency telling her that the house had been purchased and she had to move out.

Aelin disliked crying, but the waterworks started the minute she hung up. She really did love that house. Had created a small vegetable and herb garden to make it feel more homely. Made it hers in the three years she had occupied it.

There was a tiny silver-lining, however, since the new owners were coming from the other side of the continent, she had plenty of time to pack and move out.

But that silver-lining quickly disappeared once she started her search for a new home in-between packing and work. Every apartment, every house, every unit she looked out at was taken by the time she handed in her application. Every inspection starting to become fruitless when she knew that she wouldn't be the one to live in it.

Aelin hadn't realised that the market had become so cut-throat. She knew she was the perfect applicant because in all her years renting she never missed a single day, never received a complaint. Even when the landlord dragged his ass to fix something, Aelin kept her temper in its leash and did not throttle him the way she wanted too.

And as her luck ran out and Aelin had started to truly worry about where she was going to live because while she had multiple people in her life, she quickly realised that she couldn't ask any of them if she could move in for multiple reasons:

Aedion and Lysandra were recently married, and Aelin hadn't wanted to burst their newlywed bubble.

Chaol and Yrene were brand new parents, their baby girl born the day Aelin moved out, and she knew the last thing they wanted was someone else in the way.

Nehemia was in the same position as her, but her parents had invited her back home while Nehemia looked for somewhere else. Aelin's parents were dead, and her childhood home had been destroyed in a wildfire a five years ago, and Aelin had used the insurance money to pay off her debts. She cursed herself now for doing that, but Aelin hated being in debt and she did what she had too.

Fenrys lived in a one bedroom unit and had the worlds most uncomfortable couch, so he was out. And while Fenrys was one of her best friends, she didn't really talk with Connall, his twin. Nor did she often talk with Vaughn.

Dorian and Manon were travelling all over Erilea and Dorian's younger brother Hollin was house-sitting. Aelin couldn't stand Hollin for more than a few minutes at a time and she would rather live in the motel for a year than live in with him.

And then there was Rowan. He had been a close friend for years, until five months ago they decided that they had liked each other too much to keep being friends and officially started dating (at Lysandra and Aedion's wedding, of all places). If they had been together for longer, she would have asked him—but she didn't want to rush anything, because Aelin could so clearly see a future with him and she didn't want to hurt that future by moving in far too early in their relationship.

So that left Elide, her lifelong friend that was more like a sister. Elide was purely on the bottom of the list since she knew her friend cherished living alone after living in a shit-hole with her even shittier uncle—but Aelin knew Elide and if Aelin needed a place to stay, then Elide's door would be wide open. The two had gone to lunch and Aelin had been just moments away from telling Elide everything and asking for a world changing favour.

Until Elide had excitedly announced that Lorcan was going to move in.

And Aelin's plan had deflated. Again, Aelin knew that if Elide was aware of how desperate she was, Elide would invite Aelin to stay, but since Lorcan and Aelin didn't particularly get along, Aelin kept her mouth shut and congratulated her friend for the new milestone in their relationship.

So, all her options completely exhausted, Aelin looked for vacant motels, found that this was the best out of all the options and became a long-standing tenant.

Aelin had managed to keep everyone away from her new apartment by claiming that it wasn't ready for visitors. Most knew that Aelin was house-proud, a trait that she had inherited from her late mother, so they knew that when Aelin was ready, she would invite them.

It was getting hard, however, to keep Rowan away. Each date night and hang out ended up at his apartment and Rowan was becoming curious as to how her new place was looking.

Rowan wasn't judgemental, and he wouldn't look down at her for living in a motel room, but Aelin was the problem; she was too proud to show him her new place. Even when she was at her lunch with Elide, she had to beat down her pride at just the mere thought of asking Elide if she could move in.

Tonight, however, Aelin knew in her bones that Rowan would ask to come over. He had a completely shitty day at work—one that ended up in the hospital because for the first time in his career as a carpenter, Rowan had somehow gotten his hand in the way of his nail gun and shot right through the middle of his palm and was off work until it healed, which Rowan hated the most out of the whole ordeal, since Rowan was the type of person that always had to be doing something.

So when his face finally popped up on her phone screen, Aelin muffled a groan into her pillow (because there was no way in hell she was using the standard sheets the motel provided, she needed her bedding or she wouldn't get any sleep), took a deep breath and plastered a smile onto her face.

“How's the hand?” she asked by way of greeting.

“It'd be a lot better if there wasn't a hole in it,” was his groggy reply. “I just woke up from the longest nap and thought of you.”

“That's sweet of you to say,” Aelin said, “do you want me to come over? I could cook you my world famous grilled cheese.” Please say yes, she thought, please.

“As much as I love the sound of that, I just need to get out of my house,” Rowan said, “I know that you're house-proud and if you don't want me to see it, I understand, I'll even wear a blind fold if that'll make you happy, but I just...” he trailed off and Aelin could see his pained expression even though they were miles apart.

“Seeing all your work tools is making you miserable,” she supplied. Rowan grunted in confirmation. Taking a deep breath, Aelin said, “You can come over, I don't mind. I'd be happy to see you.” And she would be. She'd just have to kick her pride in the corner. “There's a pub right around the corner from mine and the cheeseburgers they have are really fucking good, and I mean that sincerely. Do you want me to get you one? Because I only have snacks and canned food at the moment.”

“A burger sounds good, with extra tomato, please.”

Aelin smiled. “Of course, I'll text you the address, and I'll see you soon.”

After ordering their dinner, Aelin tidied up (even though the space was immaculate) and waited, and waited. When a gentle knock sounded at her door, Aelin took the food from the restaurant worker and was just about to go back in when Rowan's truck pulled up.

Even ten car spots away, Aelin could see his puzzled expression from where she stood. Placing the food on the small, round dining table, Aelin waited by the door and gave Rowan her best smile when he stood in front of her.

His puzzled expression melted away momentarily when she kissed him hello, but it was back in full force when they pulled away.

“Fireheart,” was all he said, and it said everything that he didn't say.

“I know.”

“You're living in a motel room.” There was no judgement in his voice, like she knew there wouldn't be, but it was clear that he was confused about the whole thing. She should have just told him. She loved her late mother, but really hated the fact that she had passed her pride to Aelin. She hated the fact that, deep down, she was embarrassed, even if Aelin told herself that she had no reason to. The housing market was insane, there was no where else for her to go, and that she hated herself for not saving more money to buy her home of three years.

“I am,” Aelin said, “but it's not so bad. It's affordable and clean.” Aelin invited him inside and sat him down the small dining table.

From his spot, he took in the space. Saw the bar fridge that could barely hold a bags worth of cold food, her toaster oven and the dual butane stove she had to purchase because she didn't want to have to use the toaster oven all the time. The tiny closet that held a decent amount of clothes, but didn't make a dent in her considerable mountain of clothes that she had put away in the storage unit she was renting.

None of her candles were in sight and no books either. Aelin was taking full advantage of her library apps, but it wasn't the same. Aelin loved the feeling of a book in her hands, but there was no space and it would have been silly to bring in her bookcases.

“Where's all your stuff?”

“In a storage unit. I considered living in there, but it doesn't have an air-conditioner and this place does.”

Before Rowan could say anything, Aelin turned on the TV, put on whatever movie sounded dumb enough and ate her dinner.

Aelin could see the question burning in his eyes as she stuffed her mouth to avoid answering that very question.

Why didn't Aelin ask if she could stay with him?

Aelin wanted to tell him, she really did, but was afraid that if she showed how serious she was, Rowan might admit that he wasn't as serious as her.

But Aelin knew herself, knew that she was going to tell him at one point or another. She could tell Rowan anything and he wouldn't flinch. It was her own doubt stopping her.

“That really is the best burger I've ever had,” Rowan said when he was finished.

“It really is,” was all Aelin could think of to say. Gods, she felt so damned awkward. The question was still in Rowan's eyes, even as he laughed at the movie and its stupidity. So to avoid it for a bit longer, Aelin took the take-away boxes into the dumpster outback and immediately went for a shower afterwards.

When she came out, Rowan was lounging on her bed, his injured hand laying across his chest, the other arm fiddling with her comforter. Aelin dressed in a shirt that she may have borrowed without asking from Rowan and a pair of sleep shorts.

Borrowing underneath her comforter, Aelin rested her head on Rowan's chest and the awkwardness she felt deflated a bit as he pressed a kiss on her head.

Aelin told him how she ended up here. Including her embarrassment and annoyance at herself. Rowan listened attentively, as he always did. That was one of the biggest things she loved about him, that he listened. And Aelin was in love with him, she knew without a doubt. She was certain she fell in love with him when he danced with her at Aedion and Lysandra's wedding.

When the credits started to roll, Aelin took a deep breath and decided to plunge into uncharted territories. She kept her eyes glued onto the screen.

Aelin decided to bite the bullet. If it all went to hell, she would beat herself up later.

“I don't want to fuck things up with you.” Well, that wasn't how she wanted to start this conversation, but she supposed it was the best way to start off. “I wanted to ask you if I could move in, but our relationship is just so new, and I didn't want to ruin our future, because I can see a future with you, Rowan.” Moving so that she could look Rowan in the eye, Aelin took the deepest plunge imaginable and told him, “I love you, Rowan. I'm in love with you.”

The smile he gave her was the most beautiful she'd ever seen. “I love you, too, Aelin.” Reaching down to kiss her, all of Aelin's doubts melted away. When he pulled back, Rowan said softly, “If you wish to ask, I'll say yes. Because I see a future with you too. You're the one for me.”

“Rowan, can I move in with you?”

He kissed her again. “Yes, you can.”

Aelin's cheeks were started to become sore from all her smiling. Maybe it was a good thing after all that she ended up living here.

Hours later, after another bad movie and celebrating the new milestone in their relationship (which was mainly Aelin laughing as she rode Rowan because he kept forgetting about his injured hand), Aelin and Rowan got ready for bed, and as Aelin rested her head on his chest again, she said, “Just to let you know, I'm going to replace your mattress for mine, because yours is hard as stone.”

“That's exactly why I'm letting you move in, I'm in the market for a new mattress.”

Aelin playfully whacked his chest and muttered what a buzzard he was, but soon fell asleep with a smile on her face, ready for her future with Rowan.

#srsly what is this lol #rowaelin #rowaelin fanfiction

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lemonjoonah · 4 years ago

Text

Blood Bounty - Part 3 (M) - Finale

Pairings: Yoongi x Reader, Taehyung x Reader, ft. Seokjin x Namjoon Word Count: 15.5K Rating: M Genre: Historical fantasy AU, Vampire AU, Thriller, Drama, Smut Warnings (CONTAINS SPOILERS): Dub-con (consent is freely given but the context is dubious), non-con vampire feeding, non-con kiss, unprotected sex, light bondage, oral sex (f. rec.), cum eating, pain during intercourse (don’t be like the OC here in the beginning and try to conceal it, you should tell your partner if something hurts), somewhat antiquated thoughts on virginity, virgin reader (it’s a flashback and there’s a small amount of blood...), death of major and minor characters, drugging (with vampire blood), murder, violence, blood, gore, sexism, blood slavery, kidnapping, captivity, forced marriage, manipulation, gaslighting, once again it’s some pretty dark shit, consider yourself warned.

| Series Masterlist |

Summary: He’s taken everything from you, your blood, your memories, your life, and after months spent as Taehyung’s own personal feast, you eagerly take your chance to flee. Unfortunately your escape doesn’t go as well as you had hoped, as you are soon caught by another blood thirsty beast. The vampire Yoongi claims to know you, and that he wishes to return you home. But when you can only remember the pain caused by his kind, you find it difficult to trust him, since he too could just be another monster waiting to feed.

A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who stuck with me through this mini-series. I truly hope you enjoy the end of this tale (and the hints to another separate series in the works 😉).

...

Your new stead is surprisingly responsive to your commands, possibly desiring to get as far away from the predators as you. Taking you down the road to the kingdom at a startling pace, causing several branches to whip painfully in your direction. When a stinging blow inevitably lands on your brow, enough to draw a spot of blood, you pull back on the speed of your mount. You are not so far now that you worry about making it back before nightfall.

The route home becomes more populated the closer you get. For the first time in years you are among people like you again. Those who see you as just another person passing by, not a temping entree, nor a traveller to rob. Some even nod to you as they cross your path, you respond in kind, but keep your face hidden beneath the hood of your cloak.

Your first few paces inside the town comes as quite a shock. The notable gathering spots are even more vacant than they were during your nighttime strolls. With the stalls of the market bare, and so many businesses closed, the only well occupied space appears to be the mounted boards on the end of every other street. You stop at one littered with official orders for curfews, new regulations, and missing souls. The most notable of all to you is the obituary detailing your brothers passing.

You swallow back your grief, and proceed to examine the document claiming that he had died of a devastating injury and no more. It seems your parents will still not admit to any weakness that might carry in the family's blood. But with each stamped flyer, there’s been an addition made, one that was obviously not approved by the crown.

‘The crown prince is dead, and our princess lost. If we let them rule any longer we will be next!’

You are stunned by the note, fearing how bad the circumstances must have become in your absence. Backing away from the board you prod your stead onward and in the direction of the public stables. Hoping to find the mount it’s own new home, while you return to yours.

“Three pence for a night,” The master grunts, looking up from his work as you dismount near the entrance to the paddock.

“I have no coin, but-”

“No coin, no stall. Don’t waste my time and move along.” He interrupts before returning to shovelling the pungent manure.

You wrinkle your nose at the odour and persist in your efforts. “I was going to offer for you to take ownership of him instead. I have no use for him now.”

“Keep him? Tell me, how did you come to own this stead? Is it truly yours? ” He leers down, placing you beneath his scrutinous glare. “People don’t just give up a worthy horse. How can I know that there is not someone out there who will come looking for it and will blame me for their loss?”

“I can assure you the last owner will not come to retrieve him. Now do you want the horse or should I go find another who is willing to take my offer? Maybe that nice family there.” You point to a couple making their way into a nearby building.

Your bluff calls his, leading the man to grimace and huff, “Fine. I will take it, now be gone with you.”

With the horse now tended to, you start to walk away, passing the entrance to the tavern, the door the mentioned pair just walked into. It’s hard not to take note of its current occupancy, for it is packed with people, all shouting and trying to have their say. With the entryway cracked open an inch you are able to catch several snippets of the debate.

“We can’t wait any longer. They are changing the narrative as we speak! Now stating they hold out hope for the princess’s return.”

“And what if she does?” A familiar man stands in argument. “Would you have us send the kingdom into turmoil when hope still exists? I would not be as I stand before you today without the surgeon she sent to us. A blacksmith cannot work without a hand. My wife and I would have been out on the street before long.”

“Can you not see what they are doing for what it is?” The first speaks again to counter his point. “It’s a convenient ploy! With an heir lost, only the promise of another, with more favour than them will quell our anger. If she was still alive they would have found her by now.” He pauses to pat the smith on the shoulder. “I mourn her loss too my good friend, but we can’t wait for a small sliver of hope when we continue to live the way we do. Taxed within an inch of our livelihoods, while the list of missing continues to grow and those who are in charge hide behind their walls, keeping secrets that affect us all. If she returns we can offer her a good standing among us. But their rule must end.”

You edge closer and closer to the door trying to get a better view of the meeting in progress, when a throat clears and grunts, “Run along lad...” Nearly jumping from the fright you turn around to find the stable master having come up from behind. Bowing your head you comply, thankful that he had not realized the gravity of what you overheard.

What had truly happened in the time you were gone? This isn’t just contempt but a full blown revolution building. Your people think you dead, and understandably so, but if they see that you are alive and well, maybe a better path can be found than one that will surely end in blood.

When considering your options you know there will be no way in through the front gates, your parents have always kept them heavily guarded, and no one will believe you are the child of the king and queen dressed as you are now. Rather than stir up trouble, you proceed to your fastest route in, the trap door hidden on the perimeter.

In your absence it appears to have remained unused. The roots of the hedge have grown over, needing to be tugged out of place until the hinges and wood are freed from their grasp. You drop down into the passage, closing the hatch behind. With no light, nor lantern you are left to navigate the abandoned hall in the dark. The palm of your hand brushes against the damp stone wall, crossing cobwebs and critters on it’s trek to lead you to the portrait door. You try your best not to think of the time spent in this place, and the company you are now left without, but the sound of your steps resonates around you. Tricking your ear into thinking it a whisper of the past, as if his promises still remain locked away down here, echoing off the bedrock for you to claim.

You are grateful when you finally reach the castle's interior, although for the time of day even the palace appears deserted and cold, you slip about the halls feeling like a stranger in your own home. Hoping to return to your old bedroom before you find anyone else, so you can at least reclaim another part of what you once were. But when you find the door and step inside someone is already there, crying at the foot of your bed. It’s too late to back away for they look up, just as startled as you. It’s your former lady’s maid who steps back from shock at your appearance, followed by a baffled stare when she catches a glimpse of your face.

“My word...” She gasps as tears continue to roll down her cheeks, “I never thought I’d see you again. He brought you back, I can’t believe he brought you back.” She runs forward wrapping her arms around you, a blubbering speech follows. “I’m so sorry, your b-brother... he’s gone. After everything that happened, everything you did, he’s still gone. An-and the threats to the crown, ever since his death everyone has been in an uproar. I haven’t dared to leave the grounds out of fear that someone will know I work here.” “It’ll be okay. We will figure this out.” You attempt to calm the maid you can only remember fragments of. She must have thought you had run off with Yoongi that night, but now is not the time to correct her with actual horrors you endured.

“Having you back now will surely pull the king and queen from their stupor. They have been pleading and praying for your return.” She looks down at your clothes with apprehension. “Court is in session right now. They are locked away until a matter is settled, but we can ready you to meet with them once they are finished.” You nod prompting her to seek out your wardrobe. “I’ve been keeping them well looked after in case of your return.” She pulls out a dark dress, a sign of mourning for your brother. “I believe this will still fit. You don’t look to have changed much.”

As she laces you in you can feel the garment tug on your ribs and chest. Maybe a little too small, but it will have to do for the time being. Once finished she escorts you to the dining room, while you continue to marvel at the empty halls. “Where is everyone?”

“Much has changed... your parents' fears have grown in the time you’ve been gone. They feel they can trust far fewer than they have before, and so, many of the staff were let go. If anyone ever even asked about you they too were sent away.” She stops at the set of double doors and urges you inside. “If you remain here and I will go and have the King and Queen informed as soon as the proceedings let out.”

“Wait, don’t leave...” You were going to ask her more questions to address the gaps in your past, hoping you might stir more than a few moments you have of her and your life here, but she has already closed the door and departed.

You are left in the dining hall, waiting only with the excessive spread of your parents forthcoming dinner. The feel of the room compared to the passage below is unfamiliar, unlike the dark narrow tunnel this place is void of memory and the feelings that come with it. You pray that such a disconnect will not last long.

Mounted up on the back wall you find your family’s portrait. Staring at it at the faces and details, you remain so until slivers of the painting's creation surfaces in your mind. You hated that gown, for its rigid seams and heavy fabric took quite a toll as you stood there for hours behind your brother. He was seated due to his condition but you were told to stand and remain still, while the prince takes the forefront of the picture.

It had been made not long before you disappeared from the kingdom. You can recall dwelling on how little blood you had left, while the painter took your likeness. Your parents look so happy in the portrait, thinking their son to be healing and ready to take on the throne, while you spent the whole time daydreaming of Yoongi’s return.

Your anger spikes as you think of him now, it is beyond doubt that he has noticed your absence. You will have to warn your parents and their guard of his possible travel to the kingdom to claim you for his clan. The secret passage will have to be sealed, taking with it your hopes to ever leave again.

Grabbing one of the many decanters and with a shaking hand pour yourself a goblet of wine. Seeking to soothe your trepidation of meeting your parents, you sip on the bitter drink while picking at the food of the central spread.

The hours pass while you take your fill, until finally, when the sky has long been dark your mother hurries first. Looking exactly the same as she once did in your memories, frantic and worried. “Thank heavens you are back. You are safe, we are safe.” She looks down at you, her face unchanged with time, and the skin of the arms which clutch you... you stare at them for a moment, perfect and untouched, but you remember... you recall deep gashes and blood, so much blood pouring down your fingers. Disturbed by the thought you shake yourself from your horrific vision and smile back at her. Expecting her to launch into a flurry of questions but to your surprise, both her and your father pose no queries.

“We knew he would find you again,” your mother cries with happiness. “We knew he would bring you back. The people, they will be so thrilled to hear of your return. The threats, the violence it will all be over soon.”

“You knew him? You asked him to find me?” The facts of her statement confuse you greatly, had they been privy to information your maid had not? For if she thought you were with him... what did your parents believe?

“My dear, are you well? Of course we did.” Your gaze once again focuses on the flesh of her forearms, as if entranced to the spot, while she brushes at your unkempt hair. Upon following your sight she pulls at the shawl of her dress in an awkward fashion, covering the length of her exposed skin. “Think not of what happened at our parting. All is well.” A painted grin plasters your mother's face. “We made all the changes necessary, you my darling, are to be next in line, not your children, but you. Your father had to work so hard to gain the approval of his lords, they thought it pointless to change the law in your absence, but here you are! Once your consort holds up the rest of his bargain your father will sign and you will be heir to the throne.”

This is all too much, you trying to keep hold of all the information while more is poured on to you. Unable to focus on anything other than their knowledge of Yoongi. Did they really meet him and make the request of him to bring you home? But to what bargain are they referring? “He did but I fear his clan has plans to remove me once again. We have to guard the old passage too, it’s already been nightfall for some time and I fear he won’t be far behind.”

“My poor girl... are you sure you are not ill?” Your mother’s head tilts in confusion. “He is already here, he has been for some time... you fled from his estate when he was just about to send for your return.”

You step away from your parents as fear tightens and grips your chest. “No, you can not mean. Not him, please not him-”

But your greatest nightmare returns to join you, with Taehyung waltzing through the double doors as if your parents castle is his own. “Princess, so good of you to join us. You shouldn’t have run off like that, you had your parents worried.” He approaches, inciting you to back into a wall in an attempt to keep your distance. Your parents don’t react with shock or fear at his sudden advancement on you, surely it is just a dream or vision then? One you are bound to wake up from soon. “But I knew you couldn’t run from me... only towards. Isn’t that right my sweet princess?” Though when his breath comes to find your ear you know him to be real. “I would have gone to find you myself, and take you back sooner, but your parents have been a rather large thorn in my side. Refusing to let me go until I-”

“And what of the other part of our bargain?” Your father calls from behind Taehyung, who grimaces and rolls his eyes at the interruption.

“They will be here shortly. My kin are acting on my behalf tonight, for I could wait no longer when I heard news of her arrival.”

“You have short changed us before,” the king admonishes. “I will not sign until I am certain the problem is dealt with.”

Taehyung turns from you entirely, the accusation leading him to snap back in anger. “That was your own doing, not mine, human. I gave you what you asked and you chose to squander it.”

With Taehyung now focused on your father, you are ready to run, to seek anything you might use against him, but your mother catches you before you can take two steps.

Shouting and jeering can be heard from just outside of the room, along with the heavy footfalls of several men, far too loud for what should be expected of the staff and guard. The procession outside bursts into the dinning hall. Your father’s lip curls ever so slightly as several men are pushed to their knees in front of him, muzzled and chained by the vampiric clan that restrains them.

Taehyung introduces them with a proud and theatrical air, as he takes a seat at the head of the table. “As you requested my liege, the leaders of the now failed rebellion.”

You recognize many of them from the tavern earlier, even the blacksmith whose hand Yoongi saved long ago. Your father after taking stock, waves them away, ordering them to be held out of his sight, until a public execution can be arranged.

You open your mouth to argue and condemn such brutal tactics when you are pushed down in the chair beside the monstrous vampire by your own mother. “You will sit still, be quiet, and do your duty for the family.” Despite her insistence your nails claw at her hold trying to free yourself from his side. As blood breaches her skin, so too does the memory of your first meeting with the vampire lord.

...

-Five years ago-

You look through the streets for hours hoping to catch even a glimpse or a whisper of Yoongi. Asking several people who pass you by, but no one knows of his whereabouts, nor has seen the distinguished surgeon in months.

With the sun ready to rise, you retire from town for the night. Stripping from the simple dress, you toss it to the side and return to bed for the hour you have left to sleep. When forced awake by duty, your day ultimately passes with you a hollow shell. Barely able to keep your eyes open from lack of rest, with a gnawing disappointment taking root in your stomach, distracting you from much else. You tell your maid of your plans to venture out again to find him, but she looks concerned by the prospect.

“You can hardly stand! What if, as a result of your current state, you cannot find him tonight? Your brother needs this and if you should fail... maybe we should tell the king and queen and let them put out a search for him?”

“No, I must do this on my own. He would not want them to be aware of his kind.” You go to take the plain gown but your maid grabs it first.

“I understand that you feel you must go. But please take an hour or two to sleep before you journey out. You look dead on your feet.” She does not relent, prodding and scolding until you are between the covers of your bed. “I will wake you once the castle is quiet enough for you to leave without being spotted.”

Nodding in agreement you submit to the coma of slumber rather quickly while she sits in the seat across from your bed. You wake hours later not by the hand of your staff, but from the hammering of rain pelting at your window.

You rise and call out, confused as to why she did not wake you earlier, but no answer responds. Lighting the candle on your bedside you find the chair empty of both her and the dress. You jump from your bed, in only your dressing gown and slippers reach for the door. When she bursts through it first, wearing the dress you intended to wear on the street.

“Where were you? Why didn’t you-”

“Princess, I found him!” Your lady’s maid exclaims happily, despite being absolutely drenched from the weather outside. “I went in your place so you could have more time to rest, and I found your friend, or I should say he found me.”

“You found him?” You breathe a sigh of relief, your brother is now safe and your plans with Yoongi can come to fruition. “Where is he now?”

“He’s with the king and queen.”

“My parents?”

“He wished to see them, mentioned something about desiring their permission. He’s already healed your brother, your mother and father couldn’t believe it.” She grabs hold of your hand and pulls you from the room, not caring that you don only your bed attire. “Come! They are waiting for you.”

Still half asleep and only semi-coherent you allow yourself to be ushered along to your father’s den. There he sits behind a desk quill pen in hand, your mother hanging over his shoulder, and settled across from them both is... someone who is not your vampire, someone who is not Yoongi.

The stranger smiles, showing off his sharp teeth as he gets up from his seat to deliver a sweeping bow. “Lord Kim Taehyung, at your service princess.”

You take a step back upon hearing the name that Yoongi warned you of so many times. “W-why are you here?” With concern immediately drifting to your lost vampire, for if his enemy has found you what could have befallen him.

Your mother scolds your response, “This man has offered his assistance, to aid in your brother's care, you will show him your respect.”

“It’s no matter,” Taehyung shakes his head at your mother. “Though I must ask, why do you look so scared princess? Your maid was looking for one of my kind, were you not seeking my help?”

“Is this true?” Your mother interjects, glaring at you. “You knew of people like him, those who could help your brother and you told us nothing?”

“I was looking for another,” you attempt to explain. “One who had been helping us in the past without your knowledge, he forbade me from revealing his kind to you.”

“What did this other tell you of me?” The lord smiles. “I should like to set my story straight, because you, princess, looked ready to flee the moment you heard my name.”

“What is it that you want?” You ask again. If he refuses to answer your question why should you obey his own. “I thought your kind did not wish to reveal their existence to humans.”

“When the situation is as important as this, exceptions can be made.” The vampire justifies, a crooked grin refusing to leave his mouth. “I am only here to offer my services to your family.”

“We already have the services of another. He was doing so for years before you came here, he will help my brother should he need it in the future.”

“Then where is he now?” Taehyung asks the dreaded question which stabs at your heart.

“He will be back...” You retort, hoping it to be the honest truth. “We do not require your help.”

Your father silences you with the stern call of your name and the hammer of his fist on his desk, before he too jumps into the argument. “I will overlook the concealment of your past acquaintances, along with the fact that you gave your brother treatment without our knowledge and consent. But I will not have you demean this man who just saved his life.”

“He is not a man!” You shout back at your king and father. “He is a monster. I have been told of his misdeeds, of his ethics. We can not trust him-”

“We have no choice! Without an heir the whole kingdom will become a place of ruin, an unclear line of descent will lead to chaos.”

“Then we wait. We wait for the one I can trust. He will be back soon, I know it.” Certain at least in this instance you know better than your parents, you plead for them both to listen.

“This is not a discussion.” Your father clarifies while the vampire takes out a bag, pulling from it two large corked bottles filled with a fluid far thicker than wine. “We called you here merely to inform you that we have accepted his services.”

“This should be enough to keep him healthy for a long span of human life. It will heal most ailments, and injuries, and when enough is consumed will even slow the course of ageing.” You watch as the vampire's attention falls on your mother during his explanation, his lip curls even further when her eyes brighten in interest over the properties of the cure.

You go to her, grabbing her arms so that she will focus on you alone, trying to convince her of the vampire's true nature. “This is a trick it must be. You can’t accept this, he will bring only ruin.”

“All that remains is the payment.” The Lord Taehyung adds, ignoring your plight.

Your gaze snaps back to him, when you hear of his charge. “What payment? What did you ask of them?”

“The cost for such a bounty of blood requires an equal sacrifice on your family's part.” The vampire beams with delight. “The blood needed for his life, in exchange for the blood of yours.”

Your stomach drops when you see your father dip his head in confirmation. They already knew the cost and still they bartered you off without much thought. Your hands continue to grip your mother’s arm. “Please... please listen to me. It doesn’t have to be like this. There’s another way, there has to be.”

“There is no other way.” She responds, her tone cold enough to match her words. “It is time you stop living in your dreams dear girl, those books you cling to, those maps you draw, they will bring us nothing in the end. You have scorned numerous suitors in the past few months alone, leaving your father and I at wits’ end trying to secure a noble future for you. If you will not have that duty, you will take this. Better to have your hands stained with blood than ink if it will at least save our prince.”

As she starts to push you towards your new fate, your fingers dig into the soft flesh of her arm, desperate to try and keep hold of your past life. Taehyung takes you by the waist and pulls you towards him leaving long lacerations down your mother’s skin as you continue to sob and beg for her to stop this. The thumb of your captor crosses your lips, bringing with it a metallic taste to your tongue. There’s a hushed order whispered in your ear to be quiet and complacent, and you do just that. Relaxing into Taehyung's arms while he carries you out and into a waiting carriage in the dark and drenched courtyard.

Once out from the castle walls his slick smile falls. He may have taken your ability to speak, but not your tears will to flow. Pulling out a kerchief, he cleans your hands of your mother's blood. After removing every spot he lifts the fabric to his nose, and winces at the smell. “It is still amazing to me that one like yourself could be born of such soiled stock.” He then tosses the cloth out the window of the carriage. “That’s better.” His hand lifts up to the stream that continues down your cheeks. “Do not weep my princess. They may not see the same value in you that I do, but I promise we will prove it to them soon.”

Angered by his declaration, you look away to the door, not wanting to give Yoongi’s adversary the satisfaction of your gaze. You knew you always weighed less in your parents mind. For you were second in their hearts even before your brother was conceived, second to the mere hope of a son. Swaying their love even a fraction in your favour was and is an impossible feat, a battle you could never win.

“I know you wished to leave them, my kin intercepted a letter addressed to a royal who was willing to abscond with a vampire.” You look back at him with eager eyes. A letter? Yoongi must have sent word and this lord stopped it from reaching you. “I see that I have your attention now do I?” Taehyung scoffs and sits back in the carriage clearly enjoying your regard. “I knew of a woman much like you before I became what I am. I once travelled the land with a troupe. Entertaining both the nobles and the masses, while dressed in simple white garments, with only a tapestry as a backdrop, and the floor as our stage. It was invigorating, the life that came from holding the eye of the courts, and one lady... one princess in particular.”

Taehyung pauses to look back at your castle before continuing his tale. You can do nothing but sit there and listen, his blood and previous demands continuing to hold you in his custody.

“She too was not content with the possible suitors before her, they could not offer her the multitude of lives she wished to live, but through narratives and plays I fulfilled that need. We could become whatever she or I wished ourselves to be. I was sure to see her as often as I could, but when her parents learned of our tryst, my group was banished, and she, to the bed of a neighbouring prince.” The vampire sighs as the story takes a darker turn. “I promised I would return to her when I could offer her a better home, but my cast and I, we ran afoul of a beast one night. When another caught the scent of our tragedy and found only me hanging by a thread, he took pity and made me one of them. I was so fearful to return to her at first, it took me several years to work up the courage and restraint before I could send her a letter begging to call on her again.”

Now engrossed in the tale and the comparison of his story to yours. You stop an attempt to fight his will, too curious of the outcome.

“She agreed to meet, stealing away from the castle at night to find me at a nearby inn. It was my intent to flee with her that evening, to give her not only all the lives she had desired, but an endless supply of existence. What I did not expect was for her to deny my proposal. In the time I had gone she bore the prince a child, and no longer desired to part with her new role. I was not willing to accept her answer... lost in the heat of my anger and hunger for her, I took the princess with me. Draining her of life, I added her blood to mine.”

You stiffen in your seat wondering if this too will be your end, recalling a cautionary tale your mother used to tell you. The story of a noble lady, who was bled dry by the parasitic and sinful world outside. You thought back then it was her way to scare you into not leaving the protection of the castle walls, never did you consider it to be real, nor that she would be the one to give you to the monster of the fable.

“The smell and taste, I have not had anything quite like her since... until this night, when I caught wind of your own scent upon your maid's dress. I was already on my way to see you, but she made it so much easier, for she spoke on my behalf to gain my entrance. Such a sweet girl, and so very much in love with your brother isn’t she? A shame that she will likely feel the same pain as I once did, a love that crosses classes only to end in death.”

Seething with rage at his confession, you wish to fight back and escape from his carriage but your own body will still not comply. You knew it, you knew he never intended to save your brother, he only wanted a bargain that would play in his favour. There is still a catch that remains unseen by you and your family, one that will result in the prince’s demise.

“They’ve hitched their kingdom to a dying horse, keeping it alive by selling off their only hope.” His finger follows the path of a tear down your jaw and falling to your collar. “I can promise you I will have far more roles and lives for you to play, more than you ever would have had with them. And you, you who have so much to give in return.” He opens his mouth, his breathing heavy as he leans towards your throat. “It's been so long since I’ve had someone of your calibre... I plan to savour you for far longer than the last.” Pushing you down, until you lie on the seat of the carriage, his teeth latch on, piercing the skin of your neck.

...

You drop your mother’s arms, leaning back upon remembering the part she had to play in giving you away. “You forced me into his custody? You are the reason I was made to endure his torture.”

“We had no choice. Your brother, he was dying.”

“And where is he now?” You shout back at them, all decorum vanished from the room. “You were given the cure, so why is my brother still dead?”

With that Taehyung smiles bringing light to the answer. “It would seem the temptation was too great for their own vanity. Even your lovely parting gift to her, erased by my remedy.”

The marks that should be on your mother's arms from your own assault, the ageing that should have become apparent since your last moment with them, none of it is there. All wiped away by the blood that would have given your brother a longer span of life. “You-you used it didn’t you... I should have known. It’s always been about appearances with you. Playing the strong hand to keep both me and your people in line. And when you ran out... you asked for more didn’t you?”

“He said he would keep our prince alive!” Your mother replies shaking from the accusation, but not denying it.

“I told you that what I gave you would be enough. It is not my fault that you chose to waste it.” Taehyung counters with a wicked grin, pleased by their faults and presumptions. “They let your brother die, not I.”

“Then why return now? Why come if you already received what you wanted out of the deal?” You question fearing his answer, for what more could he want.

“I promised I would one day make them see the value in you.” Taehyung explains. “And there is always another bargain to be made.”

“With your brother dead and you gone we needed an heir.” Your father sets out his quill and ink on the table along with a rolled document he’s been clinging to. “It is as we feared what might happen. Our rivals at court have been stoking the fires of our people, without any official descendant they grow discontent and worried about the security of the country's future, we need you back.”

“Though you still belong to me as per the first agreement,” Taehyung interjects. “So you will return, the law will be changed, and you will become the next in line instead of any child you might have produced. With me by your side, living as husband and wife, the future rulers of this kingdom.

“I won’t allow this.” You shake your head aghast by the thought of such a deal. “First you give him me, and now your people?”

“Those people are currently rallied against us, they would see the end of us if they could. You witnessed the proof.” The king gestures to the floor where the captured were held just a moment ago. “We need assistance in controlling them.”

“Because you’ve given them nothing to stand behind! Instead your first instinct is to feed them to a beast. Why do you still trust this monster? He will double cross you, my brother, your son is already dead, don’t let him take any more!”

There’s a knock on the door with the return of Taehyung’s vampire kin having stowed away the prisoners. He bids them to enter, while your father looks on somewhat ruffled by the impermanence of the lord’s comfort in his own home. “My part of the deal has already been given, they cannot back out now. Unless they would like those rebels to return to their people?”

The king shakes his head. Dipping the feathered pen he signs the parchment, and hands it off to the vampire lord.

“Thank you for your cooperation my liege...” Taehyung bows his head as he takes the paper, passing it off to one of his clan, before returning his unwanted attention to you again. “Your parents will live out the remainder of their lives as king and queen. As long as I can assure that their people will not revolt while they live. The throne will pass to us, and your people to mine.” He tilts up your chin, his thumb crossing over the small scratch on your forehead from your travels. Dipping his finger in your goblet of wine he touches the cut again. The familiar itch of healing skin crosses the surface of your brow. Your stomach turns with the knowledge of what you unintentionally consumed. “It’s a shame for them though...They won’t live long enough to see the benefits of my work here.” With the brush of his hand he gives the order to his clan, “Kill them.”

Your parents both stand in alarm, attempting to reason with the monster before you. “No, you swore-”

“That I would keep you safe from your people, not that you are protected from myself or my kind.” He addresses his fellow vampires once again, “If you insist on feeding on them do not do it here. I find their smell distasteful and I would rather not lose my appetite.”

His progenies take hold of your parents, dragging them away. They scream for their guards, but when no one comes to their rescue they call for you next. Pleading with you so that you might speak up on their behalf, with all dignity lost while they come to face their own mortality. You remain silent, any words frozen inside out of fear and hate. Your last duty to them would be what they always asked of you, to be quiet and still, until their screaming comes to an abrupt halt as they meet their end.

Now alone Taehyung rises from his chair and lifts you up onto the dining table, locking you in with his arms on either side. “I told you I could give you so much more than them, didn’t I promise you that? Do you remember?”

“I never said I wanted it from you.” Your furry has reached a new level, overwhelmed with contempt towards Taehyung, your parents, and yourself for not remembering sooner. “You believe their deaths will give you the kingdom? You forget that you had them sign it off to me. I will never consent to marrying you, and we both know your blood will not force me into such a binding contract. It's why you had to make deals with my parents is it not? Compulsion will not work when it comes to such bonds in ink, and you have nothing left to play in order to sway me.”

“Such a smart girl,” Taehyung coos, while brushing the side of your face. “However, it is not I who has forgotten but you, for I have already won that battle too. Here...” He takes a swig of the wine, and firmly grasps the back of your neck. Pushing more of the drink between your lips with his, Taehyung forces you to choke it back and drown in your own past. “Let me help you remember, my princess... my bride...”

...

- 4 years ago -

You open your eyes, to be greeted by unfamiliar surroundings. A soft bed beneath you, lying between warmed sheets with a handsome yet concerned looking man sitting at your side.

“Thank heavens you’re awake. You took quite a fall.”

You lift a hand to your head trying to dull a sharp ache in your temple. The man leans in closer without hesitation, an action which surely indicates a close tie with you, but you have no memory of him. His hands are cool yet you welcome them on the side of your face, for they diminish the pain. “I don’t remember-”

“It’s okay my princess. I'm glad you are saved from the trauma of reliving that event.” He comforts you with a boxy smile, that doesn’t quite reach the sadness of his eyes.

“No, not just that, I mean I don’t remember... I don’t remember you, where I am, nor why I am here.” You strain to recall your most recent past, everything seems so long ago. There are glimpses and fragments of moments and people which you manage to pull forth, your parents and their rule, your brother and his suffering, your castle and it’s cold walls that once surrounded you. The loneliness of your past brings a tear to your eye for it is all you can recall. Everything about this man before you seems to have vanished from your mind.

“No, no, no, don’t cry.” His expression falls, as his hand shifts to wipe beneath your eyes, he swallows his shaking breath in clear distress over your loss. “I promised that I would look after you, that I would treat you well. Your parents, what will I tell them? They will rightfully blame me for letting you get hurt like this.”

The fear and sadness strewn across his handsome face is more than you can bear. You reach out a hand to his to comfort him back. “Could you remind me of your name sir?”

“Taehyung, and please don’t be so formal. There’s no need with me.”

“Then our relationship to each other...”

He takes your hand, tracing your fingers with his, before planting a kiss on your fourth digit. “We have been promised to one another. Your parents agreed to let you leave your own kingdom to be with me.”

“Oh god, I’m so sorry... I don’t remember, I don’t remember anything. I can’t-”

“It’s okay my princess. It’s not your fault, but mine. You were hurt under my care. I’ll help you to rebuild what we have. We’ll start from the beginning, if we have to. I just can’t endure the thought of losing you entirely. Please just tell me what you need, whatever I can do, it will be done. I will help you to fall for me over and over, if it means I can continue to be with you.”

...

Taehyung spends the nights alongside you tending to your every desire, reciting poetry and plays to keep you entertained while you remain on bed rest for your injury. You feel bound by his kindness, and so guilty for not being able to recall your own past together.

During the day he is forced away from your side. He has a demanding role filled with travel and responsibilities, your only hope is that when he deems you well enough, you will spend that time together too. That you will be able fulfill this building desire within, to go out and journey for his role together.

But the weeks pass with no change in your situation.

Until one night when it all becomes too much to conceal. When left by his caretakers to bathe, you dissolve into sorrow over the fact that your loss of memory is holding you back. Your wedding to him was to be days from now, but he has called it off until you can recover what you lost. Your wracking sobs echo through the empty room as you commiserate alone. Questioning what you could possibly do to dispel this suffering.

You did not expect the sound to summon Taehyung, who comes bursting in without thought to your current state of dress. “Princess I-I...” He stops in his tracks and turns on his heel, shielding his eyes from your nude form. “Forgive me, I was not made aware that you were bathing.”

You press yourself to the side of the tub. Shy at first but when you find him more so, you beckon him over, just as he is about to reach for the door. “No wait, don’t leave. If you go I fear I will only feel more guilt over our situation.”

“Guilt? To what shame are you referring? Have I not made you comfortable here? Do you not have everything you need?” Taehyung abides by your call, joining you beside the tub, and swallowing as he glimpses you in the water.

“I do, and that is the issue. I remember nothing other than your care and kindness. You have given me everything you can, and I have nothing to grant you in return.”

“That’s not true-”

You press a damp finger to his lips, urging him to let you finish. “Despite not having a memory of our past, there is this need inside me... it’s difficult to express, but it calls out for someone like you. I do not wish to continue this cautionary stance, waiting and hoping for something that might not return. I do not want to hold us back. I think we should still marry, for I cannot see my life in any other way.”

Taehyung gives you a small smile along with a kiss to your hand which still lingers near his mouth. While his own reaches into the tub, his fingers twirling in the water just above your leg. “There is still much you don’t know about me.”

“Then I will learn it as it comes. Please, I long to move past this. I cannot and will not remain in this present, with you restraining yourself because of me. I truly believe that moving forward with the original plan is the best course of action.”

“If that is what you desire,” He the tips of his fingers submerge further until they draw against your thigh. “I will resume the plans between you and I.”

...

The ceremony is modest, with only you and Taehyung reciting your vows under the night sky. After signing a document to confirm your ties, he whisks you off to the bedroom to consummate the new promise between you.

The strength of the man before you comes as quite a shock as he rips the laces of your gown in his eager hunt to find the flesh beneath, until your best dress soon lays in tatters on the floor. His hunger for you appears to reach a new level, with his mouth nipping and devouring every inch he has exposed. Your situation has held you both back for so long, but at least now you will both get to revel in the path forward together.

Once bare he flips you on to your stomach and disrobes himself. His taut legs come to straddle your hips, while his hands run up your back and down your arms. Taking your wrists he pins them over top of your head. “Just a precaution my princess,” He chuckles your ear as his leather belt wraps around. Tightening them together before the strap loops the headboard and is once again threaded through the buckle, wittingly securing you to the bed. “For if I am worried over the possibility of you fleeing, I might lose myself, and consume too much of you.”

“I have no plans to run.” You muse, giggling at his passion.“But I will concede to your bondage if it satisfies you.”

“I was hoping you would agree.” He teases his index along your slit, drenching your sensitive skin, and preparing you for his swollen cock. You raise your hips eagerly towards him and he takes the hint. Laying down over top of you he guides himself in with one hand while the other loops your waist.

You gasp from the stretch before gritting your teeth trying to hide the brief moment of pain. Taehyung swears as his forehead comes to rest on your shoulder, his breath shaking as much as yours while he inhales deeply. A growl echoes in his throat which he promptly clears. “Princess, am I... am I your first?” There’s a hint of surprise in his voice, but you can not understand why that would be so.

“If I was promised to you... I can not see why I would have laid with another.” You answer somewhat hurt by the notion that he thinks you would have been unfaithful in the past. Your memories might be limited, but you can not believe that would be the kind of person you are, to be unfaithful to one so kind would make you a monster.

“Yes, of course.” He sighs, “I just, I had not...” He empties his throat again. Hugging you tightly as he pushes his cock in further. “My dear princess, so good to trust me with such a gift.”

You exhale with a confirmation. “I am all yours.”

With Taehyung resting deep inside he pauses for another moment. His fingers trapped between you and the bed shift down to your mound where they press and cause you to buck back onto him. “Forget the pain for now...” He whispers in your ear while the deep circles he rubs shift you from discomfort to pleasure. Your twitching responses beguile him as you clench down on his shaft. The growl in his voice returns and grows deeper, he thrusts along with you. A need inside your start to build, your breathing stutters while he continues on. “...And come for me.” Your nerves reach their peak at his words, holding you in place until the tension inside you finally releases and the warm waves run from head to toe.

As you ride out your climax Taehyung pushes forward with his own. His cock continues to swell, demanding more of you, until he comes to his end and collapses twitching with content. With a groan he wraps his arms around you and nuzzles your back, while you remain trapped beneath him.

You tug on his belt wanting to touch him and hold him as he does to you. But even once he has come himself, he does not appear to be fully parted from his lustful needs. He shifts down so that his face can be found between your thighs. Your cheeks burn with embarrassment as you inquire for him. “Taehyung, please-”

“Don’t fret my princess, I just- I just want to- there was some blood drawn in my haste to have you, I would like to kiss it better.” He chuckles before his tongue comes to find your folds. The beastly sounds from him become far greater than before as he laps at the spot. Your hesitation is cast aside as you soon delve into pleasure once again.

His fingers clamp down on your legs as he feeds from your cunt with an even stronger resolve. “I must- I must have more.” He begs of you.

“I am yours to take.” You respond, eager to indulge more from his affectionate appetite.

But as soon as your permission is granted an unimaginable pain pierces the skin and muscle of your thigh. His mouth latches onto the source of such misery, and draws on the wound taking deep drafts. “Taehyung?” You cry out in confusion, pulling the bonds he left you in.

Your lord and husband suspends the act. Rising up to release you from the headboard, he takes your restraints in his hand. Flipping you back over and pinning you back down beneath him. You find your groom smiling while his mouth drips with blood. He chuckles lightly at your horror, taking in your fear. “Did you have a change of heart my princess? I’m sorry to have brought such a swift end to our happy scene, but tomorrow we may start over... once I’ve had my fill.”

...

After the first Taehyung proceeds to push upon you several moments wrought in passion and pain. The concealment of his identity to become your love, and of course the times when he chose purely to torture you as your captor.

You come to understand that your past with Taehyung is a series of tales, with him portraying the villain, or the hero. Going from captor, to suitor, to husband, only to break you by becoming your captor once again. He’s crippled you countless times, in so many different ways, choosing whichever act suits him in the moment, gorging himself off your emotional defeat the same way he feeds your blood, in the most painful way possible.

“A small sample of our time together, but you see princess, you are already bound to me in matrimony. I have what I need for my clan. My followers will have access to any house, any dwelling on our kingdom’s land once I give them my consent to enter.”

“Y-you have no right to do that!” You stutter, trying to push down the past to focus on the present.

“Oh but I do as your husband, as the new king I now have partial claim. My men will be able to feed within the safety of your peoples homes. Hunting them in their beds will be far easier than being restricted to the streets.”

“They are not cattle for you to feed upon!”

“How is that any different than your family's rule?” Taehyung scoffs, looking to the ornate room around you both. “Your parents in their vanity and greed bleed them dry, to the point where they were begging for a change, even if it was the rule of a young man who had barely stepped into adulthood. They will be grateful for the passing of the king and queen, and for the new rule. Remembering the vampires who will now stalk them while they sleep only as a passing nightmare.”

“That does not make what you are doing any better.” You argue, though you know it to be pointless.

“Not in your eyes, but my people will at least benefit from the sacrifice of your own. They trust me to do right by them. Can yours say the same about you? Will you bear the pain of your suffering and theirs? All that’s left is for us to choose which story we should play next. Would you like to forget it all again? To have me return to the role of doting lover and husband? Or would you prefer to recall that which has brought you pain? Your parents, your brother, and myself, knowing that soon my people will feast on yours.”

To remember would be the only chance you have in finding a weakness to him, any attempt to remove him from his position will require your knowledge of what happened in the past and what is happening in the present. Who knows what story he would otherwise weave next, but he will no doubt pull the wool over your eyes if you let him.

“I will give you until the end of this night to choose, if you don’t I will do so for you. But I am so very ready to return to our routine. These past few weeks have been a torment without you to entertain and fulfil me.” His finger traces an x on your neck, marking the spot he intends to bite. “I will never again allow us to be parted for so long.” The point of his teeth make contact with your skin, when the door opens and one of his keepers calls for him. “What?!” Taehyung shouts back in frustration. “What could possibly be so important that you must interrupt my dinner?”

“There is a hunter demanding entrance at the gate.” The vampire informs, looking rather shaken for having displeased his lord. “Says he won’t leave until he sees proof that you received your princess. It seems that he was trying to deliver her when she ran off in the daylight earlier today.”

“So someone did find you... that would explain...” His hands soften on your neck running his fingers over the previously tortured flesh. He then turns to the vampire waiting for his answer. “What is the hunter’s name?”

“Agust, my lord.”

Your head snaps up with your eyes wide. Yoongi is here, and he knew to call himself Agust? That can only mean, the secrets kept from him by his clan, the truth that would break you, it was the knowledge of Taehyung’s presence here.

“Is this the case my princess? Did this Agust find you and intend to bring you here?” You bite your tongue but he pushes his power over you again. “Tell me the truth of this matter.”

“He did.” You can’t be sure of what Yoongi intends to do once inside, but at least your forced honesty did not betray his cover.

“He has my permission to enter. Bring him to me now, I owe him my gratitude for taking such good care of my princess.” The vampire guard leaves to grant the other access.

Taehyung traces his teeth with his tongue. Appearing unusually happy despite the fact that his meal was disturbed. “You will remain seated and quiet, while I reward this hunter for his deeds, is that understood princess?” You reluctantly nod, submitting to his compulsion.

Yoongi, accompanied by four of Taehyung's kin, enters the dinning hall and promptly bows. “My lord.”

“Agust... I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of speaking before have we?”

“No my lord, I’ve dealt only with your keepers. But it was my honour to retrieve your princess as requested.” You meet his eye when they flicker in your direction trying to decipher his plan, but are unable to see a way out that could have possessed him to take such a risk.

“Yes, I must thank you for bringing her most of the way. I am surprised that you knew to find me here though, I thought that was kept confidential from the hunters.”

“It was my lord but I learned of your occupation here only recently, such a large group of vampires in a human city does not go unnoticed for long.”

“Then I commend you, for doing what many of my other hunters could not.” Taehyung smirks at his own kin’s expense. “Tell me who was your maker, from which line do you descend?

“Your caretaker Egan, my lord.” Yoongi offers, his tone flat and even. “Though I don’t know if he would recall me, I am one of many.”

“Egan you say?” Taehyung pauses, with a raised brow and pout, which soon fades into a smile after a moment's hesitation. “He has created a fair few hasn’t he?” He chuckles. “Now you were not able to finish my task to completion, but I will still grant you the reward of becoming a keeper if you can complete just one other challenge.”

“Of course my lord.” Yoongi promises, watching adamantly with his hand twitching at his side.

“There is someone I need you to find, one who has been haunting me for quite some time. Before my princess met me she fell in love with another of our kind. A vampire who works for Lord Hoseok, and goes by the name Min Yoongi. It took me a year to find the full extent of the boundaries in her memory that relate to him, I needed to empty her of love for that fool, and take it for myself. I was successful in the end of course.” He tips your chin with his finger delighting in the pained expression you bear at the thought. “But I would like to see the end of him, and purge anything that might hope to take her from me.”

“I understand...” Yoongi responds through a clenched jaw. Peeking a concerned glance at you when Taehyung's back turns to him.

“I think she might be able to help you start your quest. You know where to find this Yoongi, do you not my princess?”

You dip your head, as a tear slips from your cheek and falls to your lap. You bite your tongue in an attempt to hold back your answer but Taehyung presses again with the compulsion of his blood. “You will answer me, out loud.”

“Yes,” you confirm, your eyes meeting with Yoongi’s again, pleading for him to go now, and escape before you reveal anything else.

“Do you think it will be an easy task for this vampire Agust to find him?”

“I do.” You utter with a reply stolen from your lips.

Taehyung mutters in your ear for his final question. “Is he the one who stands before us now my princess?” Panic instantly seizes you, with every function of your body coming to a halt, wondering how he could have found out. The moment your mouth starts to open, Yoongi launches himself at Taehyung, but his attack is quickly brought to a halt by the vampire lord who draws his own stake. Shoving Yoongi across the room and into the arms of his guard.

“You thought you could fool me after so many of your brethren tried and failed?” The cruel lord chides with a low chuckle. “There have been too many errors on your part, the greatest of which was the name of your false creator.” He approaches his new prisoner dragging the point of the stake along Yoongi’s chest while he is held in place. “A misstep of Egan’s allowed for her to escape, and so I sent the order for him to be disposed of. I knew the deed was done mere hours ago when I watched a progeny of his wither away before my eyes. If you were of his blood you too would have perished.” Taehyung explains before he paces away twirling the stake between his fingers. “What a wicked curse we must endure is it not? Though it does have its advantages... I wonder how many will I wipe out with your death?” Your heart beats wildly in your chest longing to run forward and prevent such an event. “It will come soon, of that there is no question, but not before I take every ounce of information you hold about Hoseok’s current plans.”

“You will get nothing from me unless you let her go,” Yoongi growls.

“Let go of my own bride?” The restrained vampire flinches at the comment as Taehyung grins and prods further. “I suppose you didn’t know. You must forgive her for not informing you, she couldn’t recall it herself until a few minutes ago. Regardless, I have no plans to free her, for I believe the closer I am to your beloved the more I will get from you.” Taehyung joins you at your side again. “What do you think princess? Would you like an admirer for our performance? I’m sure even the steadfast Min Yoongi would bend to my will if he witnesses you in my favourite roles.”

Taehyung’s attention is drawn away from the pair of you when more of his keepers enter the room greeting him with a nod. “Alas the show will have to wait. I have permissions to grant, and a story to feed your staff,” The vampire lord sighs and acquiesces to their needs, grabbing the decanter from which you took a glass. “The rest of your people will come after.”

Taehyung gestures to one of his men. “He will take you to your room, and you will remain there until I return. I look forward to having a more fulfilling reunion between you and I come dawn.” His fingers brush against your cheek one last time before addressing the vampires holding Yoongi. “Keep him locked up along with the revolutionaries for now. I will call upon him later.”

Yoongi continues to lash out as you are both dragged in opposite directions. Barring his fangs at those who hold him, but he is soon subdued with the addition of another clan member and carried out of sight.

Your own escort doesn’t say a word as he takes you through the empty halls, and staircases with one hand grappling your upper arm. Any attempt to pull it from him is met with a snarl and tighter hold. As you pass the rooms of the hall you wonder where Taehyung has the remaining staff kept and despite the lies forced down their throat you hope they will remain untouched.

The guard opens a door and pushes you in, sending you to the ground before locking it behind. The dimly lit room is unfortunately not your own, consisting only of a bed, washstand, and shuttered windows. Rising from the timber floor you find a stain on your hands and dress originating from the spot on which you landed, a spill, red enough to be the remnants of a vampire's meal. You start heaving at the thought, running to the filled basin desperate to remove the sticky scarlet substance. With hands shaking as they are submerged in water, your entirety follows suit, quaking in fear of what has just transpired and what is left to come.

Your parents are lost, they dug their own grave, but your fellow citizens, and Yoongi... you have to find him, before he too is lost and your people are reduced to a mere spattering on the floor.

You pull on the shutters of the window, releasing them to peer out and see if there is any hope to scale out of this one too. The height from the ground might be manageable, but a pair of glowing eyes looking up to you from the garden stops your attempt. The gaze from below continues to watch until you retract and close the space between you again. Taehyung's caretakers and keepers are as eager to keep and feed on you as he is. Visions of past attacks start to flood your mind, making you regret your venture to look out. You tried to escape so many times in your past captivity. Each one with the exception of the last was foiled by his keepers or caretakers, some brought you straight back to your room, while others... others were swiftly intercepted by the lord of the fortress, but only after they landed their first bite.

Retreating to the corner of the room, you set yourself down at the furthest point from the door and window. Left alone to stare at the crimson puddle, as you wait for Taehyung’s return. There is no question that you have to bear the weight of your memories as painful as they are, you can not afford to forget the past. Not now, not with Yoongi nor your people in jeopardy. You wonder if Taehyung will strike such a deal with you. If you promise to abide by his command without his blood, will that be enough to buy at the very least Yoongi’s safety?

The minutes pass while you consider your options, distracted only when there comes a thump from the shutters. You rise from your spot and move closer to the door. The boards made to conceal the daylight shatter inward with another hit, knocking over the solitary candle and casting you into darkness. The shadowy intruder leaps in, their gleaming eyes holding you in their sights.

Figuring it to be one of the Taehyung’s progeny’s come for a taste, you draw breath to scream. Until the vampire collides with you, holding you down, and covering your mouth.

“I told you to stay in the room.” The hushed tones of Yoongi greet you to your immense relief. “Why didn’t you listen to me? Why did you run?” He waits there for a moment, removing his hand only when you finally relax beneath him.

“Yoongi...” You gasp in relief. “I overheard you and Seokjin. When I saw you give into the demands... I-I didn’t know, I didn’t realize-”

There’s a knock interrupting your explanation, the vampiric guard no doubt alarmed by the commotion. You both fall silent, but that does not seem to satisfy the sentry, who proceeds to unlock the door. Yoongi jumps up ready to meet him with a stake. As the barrier opens, the vampire tries to step inside, making it only far enough in for the wooden weapon to reach his heart. Yoongi grabs the enemies throat in the last moments, committing him to silence until death before tossing the corpse to the side. Treating the newly dead as nothing more than a bothersome distraction.

Yoongi turns back to you but keeps his distance, a growl rattling in his throat as he takes deep breaths. “I told you before, I would never take you there. I had no wish to abide by the request from my lord. I could not tell Seokjin of my plans to disobey while we remained in his house. I was going to take you as far away as I could after learning the whole truth behind your capture, but your stunt put everything in jeopardy, including yourself.”

You start to sob upon hearing his deception, you should have guessed that with such a reveal from his own clan he would try to deceive them too, like the others he dealt with on your behalf. He closes the gap between you, pulling you in close, allowing your tears to fall on his chest. “How-how did you escape just now? I thought for certain he had us both in his grasp.”

“I kept hold of the tainted blood, and those holding me were in desperate need of a drink. One sip and they were at my mercy instead.” He lips grace the top of your head with a kiss as you cling to him. “We’re going to get you out of here okay? We’ll go down to the passage. I have already released those he captured, if he has a mob on his hands, we might slip out undetected.”

“I can’t leave, not yet-”

“Why, because he compelled you to stay?” Yoongi questions, attempting to dismiss your concern. “I will carry you out if your own volition fails to do so.”

“It is not that alone... he was not lying when he told you I was his-his-” You stall on the word unable to say it yourself. “In those five years, he played with my mind, he made me forget you and desire him instead, a-and I fell for it. It is because of me he now has a claim to every home in the town. This is my error to fix. I will not leave those who dwell here to feed his own.”

“You are not to blame for his actions.” He counters, his own voice cracking in desperation. “Your remaining here will not change that.”

“I only wish to remain so I can bring an end to him, to kill him.” You promise. “Either way, whether successful or not I will not exist here long.

“No, I am not letting you near him again. If we must do this then let him be mine to kill.”

“He thinks me in here unarmed and broken to his will,” You open Yoongi’s jacket to find another stake that he must have stolen from Taehyung’s followers. “I will have a better chance. It would be better for you to ensure that his clan has not brought harm to anyone else.”

“And leave you here to face him? If he falls so do his own progenies, which includes most if not all of his keepers. There will be no point in my leaving to dispose of them, if your main goal is to defeat him.”

“If he sees you he will be instantly aware. When he is as strong as you say then even you won’t be able to defeat him without catching him off guard.”

“I am not leaving you alone with him even if you are armed, and that is final.” Yoongi takes his firm stance, while grabbing at the stake in your hand. “I will not lose you again...”

You look down at the deceased on your floor, fearing the same fate for Yoongi should he remain here with you. Taehyung has proven time and time again that none can fool him for long, not Yoongi, not his clan members, even those who disobeyed him attempting to draw blood from you were cast aside... with Taehyung throwing himself between you and them. “If you will not leave then... I need you to bite me.”

Yoongi follows your gaze in confusion, “What is it you are plotting your highness?”

“He will no doubt come running if he smells my spilt blood. He has before. If he thinks I am in danger from his own, I will be able to get close with his guard down.” You take the stake back from him while he considers your plan, gripping it in your fist behind your back. “All you have to do is play the threat.”

“Will you not wait for another alternative? My clan could be here in a day to deal with them.”

“He is hungry, and all too confident of victory.” You plead with your vampire. “If we wait-”

“If we wait he will be more likely to catch on...” Yoongi growls confirming your thoughts, as he begrudgingly bends down to take the cloak of the defeated guard. Tying it around he pulls the hood over his head. “This is unbelievably reckless you know. I should just take you from here this instant.”

“But you won’t.” You reply with a sad smile reaching up to touch his cheek with your hand, and press a kiss to his lips. “You long for an end to this as much as I.”

With his back to the door he takes you into his arms. When hunched over you Taehyung should not know who he is until it is too late. Yoongi places his mouth ready to sink into your neck. “Are you sure you want to be the one to-”

“I have to.” You cut him off before he can even try to change your mind again.

With a deep sigh his teeth pierce your skin, the blood starts to flood from the wound and Yoongi lets out a low pained groan as he resists the urge to feed. For the more blood that escapes and is left to the air, the sooner that Taehyung will come running to investigate your situation. After a minute passes, you start to feel light headed and grip your weapon tighter.

“If he doesn't come soon I will have to put a stop to this.”

“He will come,” you gasp. “Just wait.”

Right on cue there comes a shout from down the hall along with the thunder of footsteps. Your door crashes open to reveal the ferocious monster.

Yoongi is thrown to the wall, and promptly disregarded in the moment by Taehyung, whose immediate attention is more occupied with you spilling out before him. “She is mine,” he seethes looking ravenous after not feeding on you for weeks. His hunger distracting him from the arm you have tucked behind your back. While pulling you closer to take a taste himself, you draw your own weapon, stabbing him through his heart with the stake.

He looks down to injury with a sobering disbelief, his words heavy on his lips with a low chuckle as he forces out his final thoughts before his demise. “Well played princess... you had me thinking I was to be your hero again.”

“You were never my hero, only my assailant.” You shove the stake deeper into his chest. “And now my fatality.”

Taehyung gasps and delivers one last cruel smile. “A fitting end, though I can think of one better. Why part here, when you can join me in death.” He launches at your throat ready to strike and bleed you further, when his actions are cut short by another.

With the stake pulled from the other vampire, Yoongi pierces him through the back, and takes hold from behind preventing Taehyung’s last threat. The vampire lord's eyes go wide showing a brief moment of fear before he finally succumbs to death. Pulling yourself from his clutches you take a deep breath and rejoice in the freedom, though the feeling doesn’t last long.

Already dizzy from the loss of blood you are in no way prepared for the surge of memories that flood back. With Taehyung dead his physical hold on you diminished, but the pain of his manipulation, the trauma and loss he has inflicted on you hits as a wave, and pulls you under.

Yoongi is there to heal the wound on your neck, he calls to you repeatedly though his voice along with your vision of him are clouded amongst your thoughts. Your heart pounds and head races as it continues to try and register the influx of everything you lost.

There’s a soft touch to your temple, as a whisper from him finally makes it through. “Be strong my love, you can conquer this too.”

You can feel yourself being lifted as the room moves around you. Clinging to his coat you utter your wish to leave, unwilling to spend another moment in this castle. Fully slipping as he draws you in closer.

...

When the haze lifts you come to find yourself in another bed. Not one of the castle’s no, it seems Yoongi had observed that request, but the location is still worrisome for it is the same room you had shared with him in Seokjin’s house. You immediately sit up, panicking over your last memory of this place, and fearful of Yoongi’s clan’s intent.

Your vampire sleeps on a chair beside you, though his head and chest are slumped over on the mattress and his hand encasing yours. Stirring the second your grip leaves his and you attempt to get from the bed. He grabs at your shoulder pushing you back down with ease, “What do you think you are doing? You are in no state to be running off.”

“Yoongi... why are we here? If Seokjin-”

“This was the only safe place I could think to bring you. You have nothing to fear here now. Seokjin will not do anything, he knows he was in the wrong to suggest such compulsion, and Namjoon has promised retribution on your behalf if he continues such behaviour.” Yoongi briefly smirks at the thought of the pair, though his expression soon darkens as his hand brushes your hair from your face as you relax back into the bed. “I thought- I was worried I lost you back there.”

“I-I couldn’t control it, there was so much that I had lost and most of it difficult to bear again...” You grimace at the pain of it, prompting Yoongi to lean in to kiss your blow and pull a small smile from you again. “I should never have returned. I should have trusted you more, I’m so sorry for putting you in danger like that.”

“It was not your fault. You had every reason to doubt me given your past and what you knew. I can’t imagine what it was like, but...” He looks down avoiding your eyes as he rubs your hands, the words that follow are just as tentative and soft. “If you should- I don’t know if- if you need me to help you discard any memories I will do so. Doesn’t have to be now or ever, but if you ever need me to... don’t feel like you have to carry the weight of it alone.”

You nod your eyes tearing up with gratitude for his offer. “Thank you, there will be some moments that I- that I will be glad to be rid of.” Yoongi’s warm smile comes with his arms to wrap around you in a tight hug. You wince as your muscles stain to return the affection, feeling as though they have seized from lack of use. “How long have I been under?”

“The longest two nights of my existence.”

“Two nights?” You exclaim pulling out of the embrace in shock. “What has happened since? Was anyone else hurt before I-I-”

“No one else, but the castle,” Yoongi sighs looking hesitant to tell you the rest. “The castle was set aflame in an act of defiance. It was sentenced to burn once the staff and resistance had cleared it of everything of value.”

“Good,” you whisper.

“There is more... Seokjin has been keeping a close eye on the situation.” Yoongi discloses. “But, when word spread that you returned only to vanish again, many believed your appearance to be that of an imposter rather than their former princess. They thought you a tool of the mysterious lord attempting to gain power.”

“And their plans to create a new form of rule?” You ask, the focus of your question leading Yoongi to tilt his head in confusion.

“Going forward without much backlash, but-”

“Then they have every right to think so. I am very different from their lost princess.” You smile to Yoongi’s surprise. “I am a threat to them now, a threat to the future governance they plan to install. Any version of me might sow the seeds of discord in progress if I was to return. If this story of me being a deceiver will help them to rebuild, then let them think it. I will make no plans to return.”

Yoongi nods in understanding, though his expression still holds regret. “I am sorry I was not able to deliver you home as promised.”

“That place was not my home for so long, not since you-”

A loud knock comes from the front door of the small home, reaching you all the way in your upstairs room. Yoongi stiffens in the seat next to you as muffled voices are soon heard too. Your vampire stands going to the door where Seokjin appears a moment later with news. “It’s Lord Hoseok. He’s here, and he wants to see you.”

“Don’t you dare let him in.” Yoongi pushes back. “Not with her here, not now.”

“I can’t exactly deny him entrance,” Seokjin scoffs. “This is his house-”

“Fine, then I will.”

Seokjin puts a hand on Yoongi’s chest and prevents him from storming off into a confrontation. “You know you can’t stop him. If he wishes to see her he will, but right now I think his main concern is you. Do not anger him if there is no reason to. See what he wants then come to a judgement.”

The same loud knock you heard below then arrives at your bedroom door, breaking off the disagreement between the two vampires.The guest you know not to require permission, but it seems that he would rather enter on your terms rather than his own.

“Yoongi?” You call to him, witnessing the dread in his face when he turns to look at you. “I should like to speak to him too.”

Yoongi’s reluctant hand turns the lever, letting his lord inside. Your own vampire stands between the two of you preventing you from getting a good look as the first words are exchanged.

“My Lord.”

“Tell me it is so, that it is true. Is Taehyung- ” The vampire lord immediately launches into the heart of the matter. The weight of his tone sends shivers to even you.

“Dead, my lord.”

“Thank you Yoongi, I am in your debt.” The tension in his voice quickly falls away.

“It was not I alone who defeated him sir. The credit also goes to the woman who you thought you would contain to your fortress.” Yoongi mutters with malice.

“I app-” His lord steps further in, allowing him to finally catch a glimpse of you. He pauses for a moment as he takes you in, his mouth hangs open and a single word falls in greeting, “Mansin?”

Though the word is foreign to you Yoongi reacts in an instant, returning to your side, he growls and his superior in defiance while positioned in your defence. “She is not-”

Lord Hoseok seems to catch himself and apologises. “A mistake Yoongi, an honest mistake, I see that she is bound to you. You must forgive me,” He whispers while giving a sad smile in penance. “Something in your expression reminded me of someone I once knew.” He politely touches upon his error, but leaves you with no reason for Yoongi’s reception. “I must give my thanks to you as well then, for you saved me the pain of having to kill my own creation.”

Alarmed by the confession you try to stand but Yoongi’s hand once again comes down to your shoulder. “Then Taehyung was yours? You created that monster?!”

“It was not my intention to have him turn out in such a way.” The vampire lord growls at the censure, causing Yoongi to grow ridged next to you. “I found him as an innocent young man dying, whispering the name of the one he loved, the one he was bound to. I took pity on him, would you not have done the same?” Hoseok raises an eyebrow as he throws his choice back at you.

You swallow and nod in response. “I suppose I would have.” The swift changes in mood of the vampire lord keep you on guard, intimidating in one moment and considerate in the next. It’s easy to see why Yoongi might be wary of him around you.

“I chose to banish him from the clan when he killed his former mate, your ancestor, for I could no longer trust him. He sought revenge on both your family and mine, and it is my fault alone. I knew that Yoongi would prefer to keep you as far away as possible, but Taehyung would likely have tracked you down sooner or later. I wanted to make up for that by offering you a safe place at my fortress but I can see that it was misconstrued.”

“Thankfully your assistance with my residence is no longer required.” You convey, hoping that he has abandoned the notion, since the threat is no longer stalking you.

“Yes... thankfully.” Lord Hoseok reiterates with a weak grin.

“If you are in our debt as you say then I would like to make a request of you.” You ask much to Yoongi’s surprise, resulting in his head snapping in your direction.

“A request?” Hoseok blinks, a grin twitching in his lips. He grabs the chair from the desk, turning it to face you before taking his seat. “What have you to ask of me?”

“My old kingdom, I want to ensure the health of the people. I ask that if your clan goes there to feed they use the tactics that Yoongi has been operating under.” Yoongi finally exhales and relaxes, as you explain your wish, a small smile crosses his lips with what looks to be pride.

“I understand your position, and would agree immediately if there were to be no recourse, but to put such limitations on my clan without any amendments or accommodations to offer in return... many would turn rogue.” Hoseok shakes his head. “No, if I ordered that, we might find ourselves in another situation like before.”

You consider what you have left to give with nothing left from your family to offer, you have only what you may have acquired through matrimonial bonds. “Tell me when a vampire dies, what happens to the ownership of their residences.”

“It will go to whomever they deemed a second who was not created by their own lineage. Yoongi was once my own. I don’t know if Taehyung- ”

“But if they had taken a wife who survived them?” You ask.

“They would be yours...” Yoongi mutters beside you in understanding.

You nod grimacing at the prospect of owning his land. “I want no part of them. But if they will help you to convince your clan to adjust their feedings and continue to help those of my former kingdom they are yours.” You offer to Hoseok. “Every fortress, waypoint and house that belonged to him will all be transferred to your own clan. ”

“Then I accept your terms,” Hoseok nods in agreement. “But where will you go?”

You look to Yoongi to give the answer. Caught off guard he pauses before responding with the simple direction of, “East, we plan to head east.”

...

...Two months later...

Yoongi stops the horse and dismounts beside an overgrown field, looking at the land with a deep contented sigh. “This is it.” He lights a lantern for you before treading into the long grass, in search of the foundation of his old home.

He was right, there is little left, but regardless of that fact you help him by clearing the roughage from any remains you can find. Pausing only when he does, while uncovering what seems to be a rotting wooden board laying on the ground. Upon further inspection you find it to shield a substantial cavern below with steps leading into the darkness.

“If that’s the cellar... Then that must mean.” Yoongi mutters, before taking a few steps away, counting his paces as he goes. Hunching down over a higher patch of ground, he tears away the long weeds, until a stone hearth reveals itself. He takes the rotting wooden board, and breaks it apart into several pieces. Building them up before he sets them alight with the fire of the lantern.

He lowers himself to sit in front of the burning wood and beckons for your hand, kissing you knuckles, raw from the cold wind of your journey as you take a seat next to him. Despite the lack of walls and roof, you are overwhelmed by Yoongi’s peace as he looks into the fire, feeling that same comfort and warmth within yourself. “I never thought I’d see this place again, but now, it feels right to return. Perhaps-” He meets your eye before expressing the rest of his tentative question. “Perhaps we could stay here for a while?”

“I would like that.” You answer with a nod, prompting him to beam back at you.

While Yoongi moves to lay on the grass relaxing in the light of the flame you pull out the new map you’ve been working on since the start of your journey east. The other still remains, not entirely forgotten, but of little use in this region. The fresh start on parchment comes as a much needed reprieve, the chance to begin again.

“You are marking this place down for me?” Yoongi asks as you draw with your quill pen.

“For us,” you correct him.

Looking down at the new point on the map now labelled with your description, he smiles at the sight of the single word you had written. “Have I fulfilled my duty to you then? Should we part ways here?” He jests pushing to rise up until you tug him back down by his long coat.

“You have,” Shaking your head at his joke, you explain your true feelings behind the word. “But if you leave, this place ceases to be so. It only exists as such when I am with you.”

“Then I must stay by your side, or risk breaking another promise?” He continues to tease you, with a twitch to the corner of his lip.

You can’t help but laugh at his attempt to conceal his eagerness. “So it would seem. How long do you think you can keep your vow?”

“For eternity.” Yoongi whispers, leaning in to kiss you over the setting ink of, ‘Home.’

...

-The End-

...

#bts smut #taehyung smut #yandere bts #yoongi smut #taehyung x reader #yoongi x reader #bts fanfiction #bts x reader #bts thriller au #bts fanfic #bts vampire au #yandere taehyung #min yoongi #kim taehyung #bts blood bounty

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iceywrites · 3 years ago

Note

hi! what about 22. “Are you hurt? What happened?” and/or 23. “You fainted, are you alright?” with Ash and Eiji ? I love your blog and your writing so much! And no pressure to write it at all, have a good day/night :)

It really wasn't that big of a deal; it shouldn't have affected Eiji so badly. It's absurd in an unexplainable way. It was just Ash playing with Michael.

Michael was enacting a scene from a movie he had seen the other day while Ash was peacefully reading a book on the couch. There was a play knife in the brunette's hand and he hit Ash's abdomen with it, complete with sound effects, while Ash, playing along, overdramatically dropped on the couch. It should have been funny, really.

But Eiji's heartbeat started increasing rapidly. He doesn't remember much. Just that he called Ash's name, like a whispered prayer, as he desperately tried to grab a support. The corners of his eyes started overpowering his vision with a black curtain. He promptly collapsed after that.

***

Ash is worried sick. He has no idea what happened or why it happened. As soon as Eiji fainted, Max called their family physician. The doctor said that it could have been a panic attack since there was no sign of physical weakness or exhaustion. Max and Jessica exchanged a sympathetic look. The doctor suggested to get some tests done - just to be sure - and assured that Eiji would wake up soon.

Ash kneels down beside Eiji's beds. He dries off any sweat the develops on shorter man's forehead. He idly rubs his thumb along Eiji's knuckles, impatiently waiting like a dog waits for its owner to return.

His prayers are answered after an hour. Eiji stirs in his sleep, brows furrowed and eyes clenched tight. Ash occupies the barest minimum space required to sit on the edge of the bed. He holds Eiji's hand between his own, trying to copy the inkette's reactions when he wakes up from a nightmare.

When Eiji finally wakes up, Ash smiles. "Good morning, sleeping beauty."

Eiji blinks a few times, trying to adjust to the environment, when he jolts up. His eyes are wide again and there's fear swimming in those brown pools which were almost always filled with mirth. Eiji embraces - clings to - him like a dying soldier clings to his favourite memory. He mumbles Ash's name incoherently and only when Ash places his hand on the shorter man's back does he realise that Eiji is shivering.

Ash is clueless. He has no idea what to say or how to comfort the panicked man in front of him. "Are you hurt? What happened?" He asks uselessly.

Eiji clenches his fist around Ash's shirt in response.

To save both of them, Jessica enters the room. "Oh, you're awake!" Jessica observes. She pours him a glass of water. She places a hand on Eiji's back, trying to draw him out of that embrace but he just holds Ash tighter.

What has he done to Eiji?

"It's okay, I'm not asking you to leave him. But I need you to drink this water. Please?" Ash takes the glass and holds it for Eiji to drink. He makes sure that Eiji drinks all of it. When they're done, Jessica scoots closer to them and wraps her arms around the pair. She kisses Eiji's head then Ash's.

"Eiji, love, you fainted, are you alright?" She asks in a soothing voice after a few moments of silence.

"Yes." He answers as he loosens his hold around Ash.

"Good." She pulls them closer, almost protectively, and rests her chin on Eiji's head. "Did you skip lunch?"

"He did." Ash answers for Eiji.

"I might have forgotten." Eiji explains in a small voice. Ash doesn't buy his bullshit at all but that is an argument he'll have later.

"That could have been a reason for the weakness." Jessica says.

Silence envelopes them again and Ash mind starts devouring him when he sees Eiji's fragile state. Horrible. Disgusting. Swine. Filthy. Undeserving-

"Eiji, I think you need a little help too." Jessica finally speaks.

"Honestly, I'd thought about getting therapy even before I came here for the first time."

"Why?" Ash asks before he can stop himself. Why would anyone want to hurt Eiji? He didn't deserve any of that!

A small sad smile forms on Eiji's lips. "A lot of things had happened. My father died. I found out about my mother's affair. My leg accident. It was too much. Ibe san had suggested but I kept looking at the bills and kept denying it. Ibe san brought me here-"

"And look how that turned out!" Ash laughs bitterly.

Eiji shrugs. "It helped me a lot. I had never felt more alive. Thank you, Ash."

"I didn't do anything!"

"Sometimes, it's more of a feeling than an action."

Ash furrows his brows, not understanding the meaning at all. That's when Jessica continues. "I would highly suggest to get therapy. You have suffered too, sweetheart." She turns to Ash and says, "and before you start overthinking about it, it was not your fault, Ash. You are not responsible for anyone's condition."

Ash has a long list of points against that statement and of this was a debate competition, he would have easily won. But, again, that is an argument he'll have later. Eiji first.

He doesn't know what to say so he just places his hand on top of Eiji's.

"Yes. Okay."

"Yeah?" Jessica asks and she almost looks proud.

Eiji smiles and nods.

"Great! This hellish therapy sessions might just become bearable."

"Ash, were not going to have therapy at the same time!"

"Dammit!"

#😬✌🏻#banana fish #ash lynx #eiji okumura #jessica randy

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outofsstyles · 4 years ago

Text

KILLER QUEEN (80s!AU)

A/N: Heyaa!! So here’s what happens when I watch Sing Street right after reading some of Olivia’s boyfriend!Harry prompts :) Also a huge thank you to Soph @canyon-moan for betaing this for me!! A gentle reminder that I was not, in fact, alive in the 80s so please take it easy in that aspect lol. If you like it *please reblog*, it helps a lot, also I’d love to hear your feedback!!!!

Word count: 25.3k (I have no self control!! Someone stop me!!)

Pairing: Musician!Harry + Bassist!Reader

Prompts: making it official + enemies but secretly lovers

Warnings: Our typical mentions of sex, drugs and rock ‘n’ roll (and a lot of denim!)

Concept: You and Harry are in rival bands and you shouldn’t really get along but you can’t help it.

❁ ❁ ❁

It didn’t come as a surprise to you that, from the moment you agreed to be part of the band, your agenda would become more frantic. That’s all you read on magazines or see on the television on those late nights MTV programs that love to talk about that rockstar life. The shows and the sleepless nights. The drugs and the sex between stages. It’s always what comes to the minds of anyone that thinks about following the music path.

Of course, you’re far from being The Bangles or Duran Duran, but even when it comes to playing for uninterested drunks on small crummy bars, you still found yourself barely able to catch a breather from it.

And it also doesn’t help that on top of it all, you also try your best to balancing your studies as you go into your third year of uni. So, between being tucked behind your bass during rehearsals and going around begging for stuck up pub owners to give a spot, you still have to find time for the busy class schedule that also blends with your tutoring job on the side. Sometimes it feels like juggling those two contrasting lives is too much, and when you walk home each day too exhausted to even function, you ponder if you should just drop one of them.

You still manage to fall into a rather chaotic routine of dragging through weekdays to fall into reckless weekends. It’s not easy, but you make it work.

Today, however, seemed to be an odd one. From the moment you woke up with the sound of birds chirping and the faint conversation of your neighbors outside your window, you felt a sense of relaxation that has become a rarity to you. It’s a welcoming change from your usual rowdy roommates bantering at each other or the loud music blasting through the walls that serve as your alarm on regular days. The silence that engrosses your normally-chaotic home is calming as much as it is strange.

The whole day went by in a lulling and lazy pace, and between your several attempts of keeping yourself occupied (that being going on a walk to the library or going through your mom’s old recipe book) you actually catch yourself realizing the quietness can be louder than your roommates.

It’s a weird concept to you. Missing them when you spend so much time together in the band, but you still can’t help it. So you just blast the radio and let Rio fill in the empty walls as you wait for one of them to come home.

By the time the night falls, wind thumping on the closed windows as the first thin drops of rain start to hit the glass, Lena is back from her shift with a low huff and a roll of her eyes, mumbling how she’s never covering weekend shifts ever again -- which you both know is not true, but neither mention it. And that’s how you find yourself at the end of your unruffled day, tucked at the end of your couch under a cozy blanket. Listening to one of MTV’s nightly programs - that Lena watches almost religiously after a day of work - as background noise. You focus on the open book settled on top of your lap, enjoying her company quietly as you flip through the pages.

It could be the perfect ending for a perfectly relaxing day, the sound of the rain almost lulling you to sleep as the words in front of you begin to shuffle, finding it harder to concentrate with your mind drifting off.

But before you can let your eyes fall close and your head snuggle back into the cushions, you’re startled awake by the burst of your front door opening. The sudden noise makes you and Lena jump, a yelp leaving your lips as you look back to the source of your fright.

You barely have any time to feel panicked or even wrap your head around the possibilities of what could have caused the outburst as Abbey barges into the room. She all but jumps on each step, stumbling a bit as she makes her way around the couch to stand tall in front of you. Her red hair is full and damp, droplets of water running down her body, causing her clothes to stick to her skin.

“I got us a gig!” Her breath is short as if she just ran a long way.

“Christ, Abbey, don’t do that!” You relax back into the couch once you realize there’s no real threat invading your home, closing your eyes and letting out a breath. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

She scoffs, “Did you listen to a word I just said?” You notice her eyes are blown out, “I got us a gig, as in a </i> real gig.”

“A real gig?” Lena inquires, standing up to walk towards the front door that was left agape, closing it with a thump.

Abbey’s grin grows, her words come out slow but clear. “Next Saturday in the Blue Bird.”

“That’s in a week.” You state.

Her shoulders drop, “Yeah, and?”

“Blue Bird?” Lena comes in the room again, stopping by the head of the couch and crossing her arms under her chest. “How did you even get that I thought the only band that played there was--”

“You’re right Lena, was as in not anymore because we are playing there, and there’s more.” She interrupts, her voice raising an octave. “The owner, Ronnie, said if we’re good enough he can arrange for us to play every other weekend.”

“You’re insane.” You shake your head slightly. “That’s like a place where people actually go for the music, what makes you think we can pull that off?”

Abbey points a finger at you, “You’re being a pessimist, and that’s not appreciated in here.” She waves her hands around, trying to assert her point. “We can and we will pull that off and take over the permanent spot on the weekends.”

“Is that what this is about?” Lena smirks, eyebrows raising at her friend. “It’s been a hot minute since you raged about that Harry boy.”

“It’s not just about him, Adeline.” She barks, “It’s about us! We need to find our confidence again.”

“Again?” You speak out, making her snap her eyes back at you.

“Yes, again.” She says, “We’re doing this and it’s gonna be wicked.”

You sigh, nodding in agreement as you exchange a knowing look with Lena.

In all fairness, the prospect of playing a gig at an actual music house is as exciting as it is scary. It’s not like you think you’re not able to pull it off, but the simple thought of having people actually paying attention to your presence on stage is enough to make you want to hide under your covers and never come out. But seeing Abbey so pumped about it, there’s no way in a million years you’d ever say no.

She was the one that wanted to start a band, after all. Before she dropped out, in what seems like ages ago, she was your roommate that would drag you around every time she had those spontaneous ideas, that is going out for pancakes at three in the morning, go on weekend trips to concerts two cities away, or, well, start a band herself.

In the beginning, it was just the three of you, Abbey as the lead, you on the bass, and a girl you met on one of the said weekend trips, who had introduced herself as Lena, on the guitar. And not even a month later, you were all living together in a tiny house near the main street.

At first, the biggest issue, to your surprises, was that you couldn’t find a drummer if your lives depended on it. Even after putting out posters around campus, you only got two calls from men whose only interest was the “all-girls band” part of it. Things got better when you met Jaz, a smiley girl from your Phonetics class. She wasn’t a drummer, but her boyfriend was, they both played for their High School band (which is how they met, a proper movie-worthy story if they’d ask you). And just like that, you got yourselves a drummer and a keyboardist.

For the next few months that followed you played on dirty bars and house parties, getting paid with tipsy pats on your backs, or, if you were lucky, maybe a pack of cheap drinks for you all to share. It’s the frustrating part of trying to get into the music path, you found, most serious places were not interested on a band with hardly any live experience and no original songs whatsoever. So you just had to take whatever opportunity came your way. Once, you even played on the birthday party of Lena’s manager’s daughter, which was probably the most disastrous experience of them all, considering a crowd of eight-year-olds and their posh moms weren’t exactly fond of listening to loud covers of Blondie. You got to play three full songs before one of them asked you to leave.

The first time you actually got money was when Abbey dragged you and Lena to play on the sidewalk of the National Park, where people would come and go with their busy lives and full wallets. That was the best one, you easily got three hundred within a few hours of your open cases, which was split between the three of you at the end of the day.

Afterward, you wanted to play on the streets again, but Abbey wished more than just being a street performer, she yearned for the glow of the spotlights and a place on the stage. And it’s not like you lot didn’t think of it as well, how it would be like to have an actual gig. So, you just went back to the old routine of jumping from bar to bar. Playing for people that couldn't care less about your presence on the small stage, focusing only on their cheap beers and drunk conversations.

For a while it seemed like that was all there was to it, the music scene getting more congested by the minute, you thought there was no way you’d ever make it out there. There were moments you even thought about giving it up, if you were honest, setting your mind into getting your English degree that at least has the guarantee of a stable paycheck by the end of it. But as Abbey always says, there’s nothing you can’t do with a twist of your hair and a bat of your lashes. And somehow, she managed to be true to her word, presenting an opportunity to actually start taking this seriously.

And it would be a lie to say there isn’t an excitement growing at the pit of your stomach the more you think about it.

❁ ❁ ❁

You’ve heard about the Blue Bird before.

Of course you have, it’s near to impossible not to. Being in a small town, predominantly surrounded by uni students, and that being the only music pub in the area, you’ve heard about it quite often.

It’s become quite the hot spot for people interested in listening to good music while getting lost in the bottom of their beer glasses. With the only other competitor being a good forty-minute drive away, people go in crowds on the weekends as a getaway from their textbooks. You’re not sure why you’ve never been in it, though, only going as far as walking past it on your nightly walks during the week, listening to the faint sound of whatever band’s playing at the time.

But if there’s one thing that’s always brought up when the subject is the Blue Bird is CHASM, more specifically Harry Styles. They have the permanent spot on the weekends and have become one of the main reason people - women, mainly - come in lots to have a spot inside the packed space.

As much as his name comes up in a dreamy sigh and followed by a string of giggles when you hear it being mentioned by a classmate or overhear it somewhere in public, inside of your bubble he’s pretty much only mentioned in annoyed huffs or with a roll of eyes. If you’re honest, you know close to nothing about him, wouldn’t even be able to point him out on the street if you ever happen to cross paths. But you do know that Abbey is not fond of him in the slightest, so for that, you try to keep your distance from anything that has to do with Harry Styles.

You’re not sure how this hatred of her came to be and to be honest, you’ve never really been bothered enough to ask. Abbey doesn’t like a lot of people, her first impression of them it’s what she keeps in her heart with zero to no chance of changing it, so you just assume this Harry guy might’ve not given her a good one. It’s never really been something you really dwelled on, the circumstances in your life allowing you to ignore his existence unless he’s being spoken of. But it feels like a whole nother story now that you’ve essentially stolen his golden spot on the saturday night.

The moment you walk into The Blue Bird is when you start to come to the realization that this is really happening. Not even a full step in, your eyes already dart to the big stage standing tall across from the entrance door, bigger than any other one you’ve ever been in -- being used to small platforms that barely have enough space to fit a drumset. it’s hard not to let your lips part in awe at the size of it all, the outside is rather modest compared to it, the only really striking detail being the LED sign with the name of the pub. There’s a large bar standing in the middle of the place, serving almost as a divisor of the two areas of the pub. The first area is the one you walk into as you first enter the place, with tables surrounding the space -- that now have their chairs propped on top of them, and you reckon this is where people sit around as they wait for the musical act of afterward when they can barely keep themselves up on their feet. The second area, however, it’s just empty of any barrier, except from the stools lined in front of the bar, meant mainly for people to crowd in front of the stage.

The walls are what catches your attention, though. The one where the front door stands is covered with magazines and newspaper cutouts of celebrities, scandalous headlines written in big bold letters, and random articles about their personal lives. On top of this big collage, there are band posters, you assume the ones that played in here, most of them stuck once to the wall, except for one that you can see multiple different colored papers with the same name written on it.

You stop in front of one of them, one that’s just below your eyesight but catches your attention with the big blood-red letters that read CHASM on top of it, with a smaller font on the side saying “live every weekend of ‘87” right below it. What you focus on, however, are the five faces staring back at you, their serious expressions looking almost haunting with the black and white filter. But it’s the one in the middle that your eyes immediately dart to. Unlike his bandmates, his lips are frozen with a slight smirk, small enough that wandering eyes could easily miss it, but still prominent enough that you can make out the shadow of a dimple on his cheek. His hair is settled in a wild nest, but not in a sloppy way, you decide, they’re a rockstar kind of messy. He’s handsome, there’s no doubt in that, just by looking at the small print of his face you can understand what the fuss is about, not that you’d ever admit that out loud. But it doesn’t keep your mind from wondering the color of his eyes and what it would be like to see them up close, as you look back at the taunting grin you think what could be the tone of his lips or--

“Lost something in there?” Lena’s voice makes you jump, turning swiftly to find her grinning at you. “You should come and start getting everything ready before Abbey finds you admiring our arch-nemesis.”

Your eyes widen, coughing in surprise as you try to regain composure after being caught. “I-- I wasn’t--”

She chuckles, turning to roam back to the stage before you can finish, throwing you one last look over her shoulder. “Sure thing, buttercup.”

You spare one last look to the poster before following her lead to the other side of the room where the rest of your friends are setting up the instruments on top of the stage. Once you locate your case tucked in the far left corner you quickly open it, finding your soft pink tinted bass resting inside of it. The Sesame Street sparkling stickers stuck to it glimmer from this angle (you got them in a favor bag from when you played at the birthday party), thanks to one of the spotlights shining directly at them. You pick the instrument up, adjusting the strap over your shoulder and giving the chords a few experimental strokes before looking up at the empty place.

There’s no denial of the anticipation that takes over every part of your body at the sight of the pub from the stage. A perfect mixture of excitement and anxiousness that lights up as you imagine how it will be like to see it filled up. It makes you gnawn at you bottom lip, jumping a bit on you feet as you move to connect your bass to the amplifier.

For a while, you just finish setting up the stage, tuning in the instruments, the sounds echoing on the empty space in a bit of a disarray, as you get used to the feeling of using proper sound equipment. You had the chance to meet the owner, Ronnie, for a brief minute as he strolled around the stage, observing you all before mumbling something about paying anything you broke and announcing he’d be in his office until opening hours. It wasn’t the warmest greeting you’ll admit, but you don’t really care, enjoying the opportunity nevertheless.

Abbey arrives just a few minutes before the rehearsal is set to start, contemplating the view of everyone getting into a more of a harmonic arrangement before disappearing backstage for a moment without saying much of a word. When she comes back, she props herself in front of a big curved mirror cutting through one of the walls.

“Do you think you can do my makeup today, babe?” She calls back at you, gazing from over her shoulder with a slight pout on her ips.

“Sure.” You fiddle with the guitar pick between your fingers. “Do you want that rainbow look from last time?”

“Maybe something with less color this time.” She focuses back on her reflection, sighing loudly as fingers run through her locks. “I’m thinking of dying my hair black,” she tilts her head as if she’s envisioning her words. “I don’t know, just to try out something new.”

“That won’t make you look more like Joan Jett, you know.” A voice echoes in the empty space, bringing your attention to the entrance of the place.

And there he stands. The figure you had been staring at not long before, on the same poster stuck right behind where he is leaning, arms crossed and a smug look on his face.

Harry stands there as if he just walked right out of the big screen, is the kind of beautiful you don’t see quite often outside a magazine cover. Not that it’s something that surprises you, considering you could tell from even a poorly printed image on a poster that the sharp curve of his jaw and the cut of his cheekbones could call anyone’s attention from afar. Even with what you find to be a rather plain outfit for someone like him, a simple white turtleneck tucked in his lightwash jeans, matched with a denim jacket, he still manages to stand out somehow. It’s almost compelling, really. And you can’t help but follow him with your eyes as he pushes himself off the wall, making his way towards the bar with an attitude as if he owns the place.

Abbey scoffs from her spot, arms crossing under her chest. “Unlike you, I don’t have to try to be someone else to get attention, Styles.”

He rests an elbow on top of the counter, chuckling as he points a finger at your friend. “You’re getting better at this, I’m proud.”

“What the fuck are you even doing here?” She barks, keeping a stern look pointed at him.

“Wanted to check out who stole our Saturday night spot, princess.” He spits back at her, words dancing around the room in a teasing manner. “When Ronnie said it was a bunch of newbies had to see it with my own eyes.” Unlike her, he doesn’t seem bitter at the situation in hand, but somewhat amused at the heated girl scoffing at him. From the distance you stand, you can’t make out details, but it’s still enough to notice the grin imprinted on his face, dimples marking his cheeks as he clenches his jaw, eyes wandering around the stage as he leans back fully to rest both elbows on top of the stool. “Plus, I get free booze before the House opens.”

As the words leave his lips his eyes meet yours, and you quickly realize you must’ve been staring for quite a while. You see the smirk growing on his face before you quickly look back at the forgotten bass in your hands. There’s a warmth creeping from your neck to the tip of your ears from getting caught all but gawking at him. You move your hands to the cords, beginning to tune the instrument as an attempt to cover-up. But when you take a peek at him you still find his eyes watching you, only enhancing the blush that’s now undoubtedly taking over your cheeks.

“You lot are way more organized than I expected.” He speaks up again, motioning towards Ross sitting by the side of the stage near the drumset. “Got a roadie and everything.”

“Piss off!” Ross snarls back at him.

Harry just smiles. “Just taking a piss, mate.”

“I better not see you going around trying to get to one of my girls, Styles.” Abbey calls back from her shoulder as she jumps onto the stage, turning to face him. “Or you’re a dead man.”

“What’s that they can’t speak for themselves?” He arches his brows at her. “Where’s all that sexual freedom you love to brag about?”

“You’d love to use that as an excuse, wouldn’t you?” She toys with the mic stand. “You stay away from them.”

There’s no more banter once you begin the rehearsal. Harry grabbing a glass of a drink you can’t quite make out from the distance and moves to a spot tucked by the back of the place. Curiously, you catch yourself glimpsing in his direction every so often, but you can barely make out his silhouette due to the stage lights limiting your vision. At one point, when it dims down, you can see him scrunching over the table, focusing on a small journal sitting on top of it -- you find it odd his choice of place to do so, but don’t duel on it too much.

What keeps crawling back into your mind is Abbey’s words to Harry earlier, telling him to not try his way with any of you. She was talking about you. That much was clear, considering there’s not any other choice for him, with Jaz being very much compromised and Lena having no interest in engaging with men in any way. That leaves you as the only option that he could possibly pursue. It makes you think why she’d even consider that a possibility in the first place, but you push it to the back of your mind, concentrating on you bass lines until it’s around the opening hour and you’re getting ready backstage.

None of you are used to the concept of having a dressing room, so as undusted as it seems from a first glance, it still only helps to enhance the reality that hits you of this whole experience. The far voices from people starting to fill in the bar outside making your nerves become near overwhelming as you try to apply some eyeshadow with shaky hands.

When you’re all ready to go, just about half an hour away from walking onstage, you try to dull your anxiety with a cup handed to you by Lena of something you’re not quite sure what it is but it tastes like oranges and tequila. You settle on a spot on the certainly old red couch prompted against the wall. Avoiding a big rip cutting through the middle of it, foam poking out of the hole, you try not to think of what could’ve caused it -- or all the other stains adorning it.

There’s people coming and going around the space, the door not staying close for longer than a minute. Faster than you can process it, the room is suddenly crammed with people, none of which you recognize yet they greet you as if you’d been friends your whole life. Their loud voices mesh together, making it harder to even hear your own voice if you were to speak out loud. A strong scent of incense takes over the room, so intense you can feel the beginning of a headache. There are people stumbling on their feet trying to get to the stool across from you, where you catch a glimpse of a man with a messy mohawk snorting something out of a dirty bill.

Two strangers found their sits next to you at some point - not paying the same attention you had to the rip scarring through the cushions. Both get lost in their conversation, the man’s fluffed curls poking your face occasionally when he gets too excited with the hand gestures. You catch a word or two when they try to include you in it, you offer a simple nod, not bothering to try and understand their muddled words.

It all starts to feel a bit overwhelming, the amount of strangers surrounding you along with the nervous feeling that’s already taking over your stomach -- the drink not being of any help at all. You look around trying to find a familiar face, but you can barely spot the green ends of Lena’s hair through the crowd. Gazing down at your wrist clock, you figure there’s enough time for you to find a emptier spot so you can calm yourself down.

“I think I’m gonna get some air.” You say to no one in particular, seeing the man’s head nodding from your peripheral vision as you maneuver your way between leather-clad bodies towards the door.

You’re met with a just as packed hallway. Searching for a more vacant space, you spot a sign indicating an exit door that had been pointed at you earlier as the back alleyway. Without a second thought, you make your way around the crowded space. The nest of feet makes you trip slightly, making you crash against a girl standing next to the door. You mutter a quick apology, but you’re only met with a pitched giggle in response.

Once you reach the door you all but jolt your way out of the building. The brisk night air hitting your face, bringing a sense of relief near to instantly. You close your eyes at the feeling, breathing in as the breeze dances around your face and messes with your air.

“Well, if it’s not one of Abigail’s bunnies.” A voice cuts through the air, breaking you from your moment of relief. Your eyes flutter open, meeting Harry’s irises watching you. He’s leaning back on the wall across from you, foot prompt up and jacket thrown over his shoulders. His fingers fiddle with a closed package of cigarettes, dimples shadowing on his face in amusement.

You blink at him, taking a second to process his words. “I’m not a bunny, whatever that means.”

His lips twitch up. “I’m sure you’re not, darling.”

You observe as he thumbs the package in hand open, quickly grabbing a cigarette and resting it between his lips. “Need a light for that?”

His brows shoot up. “Didn’t take you for a smoker, angel.”

“I’m not, my friends are.” You reach for the back pocket of your jeans, pulling out a tiny pink lighter and throwing it towards him.

He catches it, holding it up between his index and middle finger. “You carry that around for your friends?” He keeps his eyes trained on you as he raises the lighter, flicking it so it paints the end of the cigarette a fiery orange. You can’t help but notice the chipped black nail polish adorning his nails, a couple of rings hugging his fingers, only adding to his rockstar persona. His cheeks hollow around it, taking a slow drag exhaling smooth puffs of smoke out of his puckered lips. He points the end of the cigarette towards you. “That’s a good girl.”

You feel your breath hitch on your throat, looking down as you feel for the second time in the day a heat taking over your cheeks. Standing awkwardly in the middle of the alleyway, your gaze waves around checking a few other lone smokers not too far from you. When you peek at him again, he’s still watching you with the same smug look he had when he first walked in. From this distance you can get a better look at his face, with it’s full colors, and you make a point to figure the forest green of his eyes flickering under the dim light.

You clear your throat, trying to fill in the silence that’s taken over the space. Keeping your eyes still trained on a random spot where the alley meets the street, you speak up, “So, how did get a gig here?”

“Trying to get to know me now, love?” There’s a smug tone to his voice, and it makes you shoot your eyes at him.

You shake your head, scoffing softly. “Was trying to be nice, forget it.”

He lets the air fall quiet for a beat, the corner of his lips tugging up as he takes another drag of the cigarette. “My uncle owns the place.”

“Ronnie is your uncle?” You crease your eyebrows.

“Yup.” He props his foot down from the wall, kicking a small rock on the floor. “He’s a right prick, but he can be nice if you get on his soft spot.” He shrugs, eyes meeting yours. “What ‘bout you, bunny?”

“What about me?”

“How did you get in the spotlight?”

You breathe out a laugh, shaking your head. “I’m not in the spotlight,”

“You’re stepping on that stage in a few minutes, love, that’s hardly true.”

You chew on your lip, locking your eyes on your feet as you sway back and forth gently. “But I’m, like, on the invisible side of the stage.”

“Invisible side?”

You shrug, trying to appear unflappable. “Yeah, well, no one ever notices the bassist.”

“I do.” He says without skipping a beat, and when you search for his eyes they’re aloof as if the words just left his lips without a single implication behind them. You wonder if there is one. Or maybe you’re just reading too much into it. Nonetheless, it doesn’t stop a flock of butterflies to sweep on your stomach as he shoots you a warm smile. He motions to the door behind you with his head, “Better get going, darling, if someone spots us talking they might think we’re friends.”

❁ ❁ ❁

“Did you see how crazy they went when we did Call Me?” Abbey leans over the table, not paying any mind to the way it starts to tilt towards her side. You and Jaz quickly balance the weight, straightening surface before the filled cups can start sliding down and causing a mess. You give her a scolding look for not being careful, but she doesn’t even look at you, only picking a fry from the pile in the middle and dipping inside her vanilla milkshake, sitting back and elbowing Lena next to her playfully. “And to think you said it’s not a gig song.”

“I didn’t say that.” Lena shakes the cup in her hand, circling the straw as to mix the melting ice cream inside, completely unfazed by her friend’s tease. “Just said we should do something new if people wanted old songs they would tune on that good times radio station, or whatever it’s called.”

“People like listening to classics!” Abbey protests, raising her voice bit, she’s either forgotten she’s in public or is just simply too stoned to care. Either way, you try to shush her, muffling a giggle with the back of your hand as you see a group two tables down looking back at her. She only huffs, leaning back down on her seat, “What do you suggest we play, then? Duran Duran?”

“I like Duran Duran.” You pester, trying to repress a smile as she shoots you a pointed look.

“I actually think Duran Duran is a great idea.” Lena backs you up, the same taunting smile reflecting on her face as she says it looking at you.

“You two are completely insane if you think I’m singing new wave, might as well start to fill in for a new vocalist.” She shoves her hand full of fries, dropping to her side of the table with a shrug.

“Jaz you think that girl from your choir is available? The blonde one?” Lena bites into her straw, barely containing her laugh as Abbey narrows her eyes at her.

You watch in amusement from across the table, the contrast between Lena and Abbey looking comical as they continue to banter at each other. In one side there’s Lena who’s leaning back on the wall next to her, her neon pink jumpsuit standing out from anyone else in your group, hair hardly styled, being more of a nest in her head, the sides shaved and the back falling on her shoulders in a mullet. On the other side, Abbey’s swallowed in black, the only color being the red of her hair, that’s pushed up in a high side ponytail.

It was her idea to come to the diner after the gig, declining every offer of an after party (which is new for her) and insisting you had to have this moment to decompress together as a band. What you didn’t take account of, is that a diner on a Saturday night isn’t exactly a deserted place. So after spending an hour sitting on the parking lot, waiting for a table, you finally got yourselves a booth tucked by the back. And now as the place gets clearer and quieter by the minute, after getting your round of burgers, you share a big pile of fries, not ready to leave and sleep on this experience just yet.

“You know who also seem to enjoy the show? That Harry dude.” The mention of his name calls your attention to Lena. “Caught him in the corner a couple times watching us.”

You take a sip of his drink, trying to mask any expression that exposes the fact that you’d noticed too, maybe more than just a couple times.

To your relief, everyone focuses on Abbey as she lets out an annoyed huff. “Why’d you bring him up of all people.” She picks up her nearly empty cup a bit too harshly, her voice rising again. “He called me a Joan Jett wannabe! Fucking prick.”

“You do dress like her,” Lena raises her brows in defiance.

“It’s called an inspiration, Adeline, doesn’t mean I’m trying to be her.” She barks at her friend. “Doesn’t give that knobhead the right to be a dick about it.”

“Why don’t you like him?” The question slips out of your lips before you can stop it, and you regret it as soon as all eyes on the table set on you, Abbey’s face creasing in an incredulous look as if the answer was obvious.

“Are you serious? Did you hear how he spoke to us?”

“I don’t know,” You shrug, looking down at your lap, fiddling with the hem of your shorts. “Just seemed like he was trying to get a rise out of you.”

“He’s got a stick up his ass, babe. A full narcissist, it’s ridiculous.” She shakes her head, scrunching her nose in aversion. “He’s also a complete womanizer, it’s disgusting if you ask me.”

“I guess,” You gaze up at her.”

“Babe, he’s a charmer, I’ve seen it before, he knows how to sweet talk someone.” She explains in a sigh. “They’re all like that.”

“They?”

“Men in bands.” She picks up another fry, poking it on her forehead as she makes her point. “Have their heads bigger than the whole stage, think they can do just about anything.”

“Suppose that’s true,” You agree, not wanting to get further in this discussion.

She smiles, biting a piece of the fry before pointing it at you. “It is, which is why we are smart girls and don’t fuck with them.”

❁ ❁ ❁

You’re aware that going for a walk by yourself at night is not a very secure choice.

Even living in what you feel like could be the most monotone town in the area (where the biggest report on the local news was when two boys got stuck on a tree thanks to a dare with their friends). But it still doesn’t stop you from being careful, only going around the busier streets, watching the movement of people - mostly students - chatting the night away on the filled pub table, enjoying the short break between studies before going back at it once the weekend’s over.

You stroll around with not much of a purpose, really, only needing a bit of time to yourself every so often when you feel the turmoil in your home becomes to much (on those weekends when both your roommates decide to stay home). So you just go on your usual path, breathing in the night air and enjoying some alone time.

The ending of your course is marked by none other than the Blue Bird, standing in a corner of the main street.

A small group of people is gathered in front of it, smoking their cigarettes. You stare at them for a minute as you get closer to the led lights indicating the entrance of the pub, the girls with their bright-colored outfits, hair styled and puffed up as they laugh along to whatever one of the boys has said. One of them has a leather jacket thrown over her shoulder that almost swallows her figure, and you can only assume that it belongs to the man talking to her, leaning back on a payphone, the quiff in his hair so high it makes him look like a knock-off John Travolta. The thought makes you breathe out a laugh to yourself.

Once you reach the entrance you look at it mindlessly, not being able to see much from outside except the string curtain hanged on top of the open door. You turn on your heels, ready to start making your way back, but as you pay attention to the muffled sounds coming from inside the pub you stop on your tracks. A familiar tune catching your attention, making you turn in the direction of the entry. Somebody to Love.

It peaks your curiosity. If you’re honest, you feel like covering a Queen song is probably one of the most bound for disaster decisions someone can make. But as you feel yourself approaching the entrance, the voice of whoever’s singing it all but lures you inside. It’s not the same as the original, of course, but the lower tone to it fits it just as beautifully and once you fully walk in you can almost feel your heart skip a beat to find Harry standing on stage. His eyes closed in concentration.

It’s saturday. His saturday night. You forgot about that.

You don’t dare to try to mend amongst the crowd of people packed in front of the stage, making your way to the bar. You thankfully find an empty stool without much of a fight, allowing you a perfect vision of the stage.

Harry is playing the guitar, his voice blending perfectly with the vocals of the girls in the background, eyes closed as he feels every lyric coming out of his throat. His stage look is much different than the one he wore back when you first saw him, it’s something you reckon not many people could rock out as good as he does. A mismatched suit, light green blazer with a pink blouse underneath, along with bright blue trousers -- it’s as if he picked one piece from different colored suits (which you assume he probably did). The locks of his hair are no longer running wild on his head, instead, it’s gelled back, a single rebel strand falling charmingly against his forehead. You wonder if it’s on purpose.

It’s quite a sight to see him like this, you’re not gonna lie. All suited up with no tie, the blouse only partially buttoned so you notice a tease of some tattoos on his chest. You’d noticed his good looks before, it’s impossible not to, but there’s something about the stage glow that makes it impossible to look away from him. It’s mesmerizing.

To your surprise, the rest of his set mainly consists of originals, and unlike you’d expect for any amateur band that dares to sweep away from covers, he manages to hold the crowd’s attention as if he’s singing any other hit song you hear on the radio. Even not knowing the lyrics, people cheer along to the songs, moving to the beat as best as they can in the crowded space. And that’s a direct result of the charisma he holds while standing on stage.

It’s entrancing, really, how he holds himself as if he was born to be doing this. And you think maybe he was.

There’s a mischievous glow to him, when he rocks out to his own songs, grinding slightly against the mic stand. A gesture that makes you flustered even from your seat a couple of meters away. You couldn’t keep your eyes off of him even if you tried. And you’re sure as hell not trying.

At one point you feel a poke in your arm, turning around to be met with the barman who recognizes you from the week prior. He greets you with a shout over the noise, offering you a drink on his account. Your first instinct is to refuse, considering you weren’t even supposed to stay for long, but after a bit of insisting on his part you accept with a shy smile.

By the time he’s ending the last song, you’re at the edge of your seat, catching yourself wishing you could see more of him. The lights in the audience turn on as he wraps up the set, and just before he bows down with the rest of his band his eyes wander in your direction. It’s so quickly that you think you could’ve just imagined it, considering his eyes don’t meet yours again, only rushing his way backstage.

You blink at the empty spot where he once stood for a moment, almost feeling frozen in place as you try to take in what happened. Turning on your stool to face the bar, you gaze down at your forgotten drink. You hold it to your lips, deciding to finish it so you can ease your way out before anyone else spots you. Your attempt is frustrated, however, when you hear a voice coming from behind you.

“Reckon Abbey Road would throw a fit if she knew you’re wandering around watching my concert.” You turn to face Harry, finding him looking down at you, signature smirk making his dimples poke onto his cheeks. His hands are hidden inside the pockets of his dress pants and he’s taken off his blazer, causing the pink of his blouse to stand out even more.

You chew the inside of your lip. “I can make my own decisions, you know.”

“That’s good to hear, bunny.” His smile grows, hand leaving the pocket to motion at the empty spot next to you. “Mind if I sit here?”

“Be my guest.”

He sits on the empty stool, turning to the bartender that’s handing a drink to a man standing behind you. “Can you give the lady another one of what she was drinking? On my tab.”

“Oh you don’t have to, I was about to--” You begin, but the man behind the counter doesn’t care to listen, only picking up your empty glass and moving away to fill it up. “leave.”

“Already?” Harry arches his eyebrows, resting his arm on top of the counter and leaning towards you. His voice comes out a bit softer, dropping the playful tone, “let me buy you a drink, angel.”

You ignore the way the hairs on your neck rise at the petname. “You really don’t have to--”

“I want to.”

“Okay.” You breathe out, not being able to hold back your smile once his own grows on his face.

As if on cue, the bartender comes back with two glasses, setting them in front of the two of you. You don’t fail to note the fact that he gives Harry his drink without being asked to.

He picks up his glass, holding it up, to which you do the same, clinking your glasses slightly before taking a sip. “So, what brings you here tonight? Measuring the competition?”

“I was just walking around, heard a lousy cover of Somebody To Love, and decided to come in.”

He throws his head back a bit in laughter, nose scrunching adorably. You have to look away as to not find yourself staring. “A Queen fan, then?”

“You could say so.”

“A pretty girl with a good taste in music, gonna steal m’heart if you keep going, bunny.” And just like that, it’s like he takes all the words out of your mind. You only let out a small chuckle, taking a sip of your drink as you look away to cove the blush that paints your cheeks. His eyes are still trained on you, though. “Was it any good?”

“Huh?” You blink back at him.

“The cover.” He grins. “Or was it really that lousy?”

“Oh, it was amazing.” You say truthfully, clearing your throat. “You have a beautiful voice.”

“Thank you.” He bows his head slightly, smiling at you. And unlike before, it’s not smug, but rather warm, you smile back at him. “Enjoyed the show, then?”

“I did.” You nod.

“I’m glad.” He runs his finger around the brim of his glass, tapping against it once with a click of his ring against the glass. “What would you change about it?”

The question takes you back. “What would I change?”

“Yeah.” He clasps his hands over his lap, moving his feet on the floor so his stool swivels from one side to the other.

“Uhm…” You crease your brows, trying to hack your brain for an answer. Your eyes land on his blouse, still halfway unbuttoned. “Your shirt.”

“M’shirt?” He questions, brows shooting towards his hairline, clearly not expecting the answer. He gazes down at the piece on his body, fingers pitching the material as he looks back at you. “What’s wrong with it?”

“Not a big fan of pink.” You shrug.

“Now, we just can’t have that, bunny.” He clicks his tongue. “Pink is the new color of rock n roll!”

You chuckle. “Says who?”

“Says me.”

You roll your eyes playfully. “Oh, I’m sorry then, mister rockstar.”

His face lights up in a giggle, lips parting to say something but before he can let the words out a hand rests on his shoulder calling both your attentions to the man standing next to him. You recognize him from standing next to Harry on stage as the guitar player.

“We’re hopping over to Eamon’s.” He doesn’t acknowledge you until Harry’s eyes hover over in your direction.

“That’s fine, think I’ll stay behind this time.” Harry looks back at his friend, but you see him glimpsing at you from the corner of his eyes.

You watch as his friend raises his brows, gazing between the two of you in a curious manner. You clear your throat, shifting in your seat as you look at them. “ It’s fine, I should get going anyway.”

“You don’t have to,” he says in a blink, a smirk twitching on his lips almost as if to cover up how quickly he said it. He turns back to his friend, who’s still watching the interaction with raised eyebrows. “You can go without me, I’ll see you all tomorrow.”

“Harry, you didn’t have to.” You subconsciously reach for his arm, retracting your touch just as fast when he glances at it. Clearing your throat, you play with “I really should get going, I was supposed to be on a walk after all.”

“Let me walk you back then,” he gets up from his stool, giving his friend a brief hug before turning back to you and extending his hand for you to take. Your lips part to protest, feeling as if you’re holding him back even though it was his decision to stay behind, but before the words can even come out of your mouth he beats you to it, “there’s no way I’m letting you go home by yourself this late, love.”

You sigh, shoulder dropping in defeat as you hold back a smile. Taking his hand, you stand up, “okay.”

The main street hasn’t exactly quieted down since you first walked by it, in fact, it only seems like it’s gotten rowdier. Time only increasing the buzz wandering in the air around the people filling the bars, voices louder, filled glasses clinking more frequently. As you stroll through it side by side there’s a comment or to that floats in the air, but you have to all but shout it, fighting with the turmoil of noise.

As soon as you turn into the first street away from the crowds it’s as if someone had turned off the sound completely, the nest of voices getting far-off in the distance and the loudest sound being of the night breeze kissing the tree branches above you. You can feel Harry glancing up at you from the corner of your eye and it doesn’t take long until his voice echoes in the air in an attempt to make small talk.

It’s surprising to you, how easy it is to be drawn in a conversation with him. Harry’s essentially not the same offstage as he is under the spotlight, most people aren’t. There’s no need for him to bloat his charisma when talking to you, he’s quieter. Shy, almost. And it takes you back a bit, to see such contrast in a short amount of time.

The magnetic force to him, however, still lingers even when he’s like this. You feel drawn to it, wanting to hear him speak about everything that comes to mind, just to savor the way he articulates his words, voice so calm and low it sends an electric chill down your spine. As he tells you about his music inspirations, going on the story about the time he traveled alone to crash a Fleetwood Mac concert, hands brushing against yours when he walks, you catch yourself wondering what it would feel like to link them together.

Once you reach your street, just a block away from the entrance gate of your home, you notice the front lights are yet to be turned off, indicating your roommates are still up and around -- most likely arguing about MTV’s top ten of the week. The realization makes you come to an abrupt stop, catching Harry off guard as he takes a few steps before realizing you stayed behind.

“Wait.” You say once he turns around, brows furrowed in a silent question as to why you stopped. “Uhm… You can drop me off here… It’s fine.”

“What do you mean? Is it too far? I don’t mind walking-”

“No!” You interrupt. “It’s not that, my house is right there, see?” You point to the bricked building no too far from where you stand.

“Why do y’want me to drop you off here, then?” The crease on his face deepens.

“I-- it’s just--” you begin, not knowing how to say it. “It’s just the girls are still awake, and..”

“Ah,” he clicks his tongue, an amused grin expanding on his cheeks. “Don’t wanna get scolded for hanging out with the enemy.”

“Don’t say like that.” You chuckle at yourself, looking down in embarrassment. “They just will never let me hear the end of it.”

“I get it, bunny.” He takes easy steps towards you, closing the space as he stands tall in front of you. You hold your breath as you look up at him, meeting his irises glimmering in enjoyment, dimples shadowing on his cheek. His hand reaches up, moving a strand of your hair behind your ear and you swear if he gets any closer he’ll be able to hear your heart thumping in anticipation. “Had a lovely time with you.”

“Me, uhm--” you clear your throat as your voice cracks, blood flooding your cheeks. “Me too.”

The streetlight above gives his face a golden glow that almost takes your breath away, his hair glistening in the light due to the gel pushing it back, and now even more rebel strands curl against his forehead. You half expect him to lean down, you don’t know why he would, but for a moment it seems like he will. To your dismay, however, he steps back, giving you one last smile before moving out of your way on the sidewalk. “I’ll see you around, then.”

❁ ❁ ❁

“I have some exciting news for you.”

Abbey’s voice startles you, not realizing she’d entered the dressing room while you focused on the book on your lap. Since you’ve gotten a spot at every other weekend on the pub, your routine just seemed to get even more busy, with rehearsals almost every day. So, because of that you barely find time to do your assignments. And with a book report due just around the corner, you’d thought maybe you could sneak in some reading time after the gig when everyone’s down at the bar and not prancing and screaming around the dressing room.

Your assumptions shows itself to be wrong, however, when your perky friend bounces her way to where you sit. She kneels next to the couch, crossing her arms on top of your legs and resting her chin on them, looking up at you expectantly, lips lifted in a side grin.

“What is it?”

“Got us an after-party, babe.” you notice a few colored lollies in her hand when she removes the plastic protecting a red one, shoving it between your lips before you can even protest. “And you’re coming with us.”

“I’d love to but I have class tom—“ Your voice is muffled around the sweet.

She rolls her eyes, standing to sit next to you on the arm of the couch. “You should stop wasting your life with an outdated system”

“You mean getting a degree?”

“Do you watch the news? We’re about to be the last generation to live fully, the world is about to break into nuclear wars all around.” She says as a matter-of-fact, turning to rest her legs on top of your lap. “Cosmo said we probably won’t even make it to the 2000s”

“Who’s Cosmo?”

She sighs, reaching to move a strand of your hair behind your ear. Her voice comes out soft, but calculated, “what matters is that we should enjoy our time while we have it.”

“You’re giving a whole speech about nuclear war to convince me to go to a party with you.” You arch your brows at her.

“Yes.”

You sigh, shoulders falling in defeat as you let yourself be convinced. “Okay. But I’ll—”

“Great!!” She squeals, moving her legs from your lap and leaning down to grab your face, pressing a quick kiss on top of your hair before jumping from the couch, and out of the room.

Once you arrive at the location of the after-party, Abbey leads you and Lena to a tall gate by the side of the house, explaining that you’re walking in from the back garden, considering the front door is locked. You find it odd, and if wasn’t for the muted sound of instruments echoing inside the bricked walls of the place, you’d doubt there was even a party happening here at all. The front of it was as regular as the other surrounding suburbian homes, grass neatly trimmed and the front lights turned off, as if nobody was even home.

Which is why you’re visibly taken back when you walk by the gate into the back area, finding an old vintage bus that could be around ten or even twenty years old, sitting in the middle of the grass. The wheels of it have been taken off, and every inch of the exterior is covered by graffiti, so much you couldn’t even make out the original color of it if you tried. Some of them are unreadable scribbles tangling on top of each other. Some are colorful drawings painted over them -- two sunflowers catch your attention, marked just above where the wheel would be, growing tall along the side and above the window.

“I know, right?” Abbey nods at your astounded expression. “Legend says John Lennon signed it somewhere.”

“Really?” You look at her, not able to hold back the way your voice pitches in amazement.

“Dunno, never looked for it.” She shrugs. “C’mon I’ll show you.”

She grabs your hand, dragging you to the side of the vehicle pointing at some random drawings and explaining the rumors behind their meanings. You try to concentrate on her excited babbles, but as you see Lena walking away from the corner of your eye you look up to watch her meet with a girl you’ve never seen. Before you can focus back on your friend, something else catches your attention, sitting on a wooden bench under a large tree, no too far from where you stand.

Harry’s in a small group sat in a circle. You recognize two men from his band sitting on the grass with guitars propped on their laps, one being the same that interrupted you the night at the bar. The rest are women who seem to have come right out of Fleetwood Mac’s tour bus, their long hairs pushed back with hairbands and earthtoned flare pants. But you barely even care about the ones sitting on the grass, humming along to the strings of the guitars. What grabs your attention is the one next to harry on the bench, her arm draped over his shoulder as she dabbles flower petals playfully on his hair.

You hardly take in his appearance, half-mindedly noticing the tattoos decorating his arms that pokes out of his tank top and the twirls on his hair as the girl winds her fingers on it. it’s hard not to remember Abbey’s words when she said he knows how to sweet talk his way around, and the thought of having fallen down on his trap only makes your heart pang on your chest.

“-- That’s basically why they won’t let anyone paint over it anymore.” You turn back to Abbey as she points to the sunflowers you’d spotted earlier, nodding along as if you’d heard everything she said. She looks at you, “but I like this way better, don’t you think?”

“Yeah.” You agree, not exactly knowing what to.

She wraps her arm around yours, and you grasp the minty scent of her perfume as she pulls you close. “Let’s go inside.”

There’s an urge inside of you to peek back over your shoulder to catch a last glimpse of Harry, but you push it to the back of your mind, allowing Abbey to guide you around the bus where the entrance door is hanging open.

A small group of people greet you inside the bus, amongst them is the said ‘Cosmo’. He seems like the exact kind of person you’d imagine Abbey hanging around on her weekends’ escapades. Dressed in a baby blue velvet suit with nothing underneath his blazer except a few of - what you assume - hand-painted tattoos, matching with a rainbow stripe drawn on the side of his face, starting at the bridge of his nose and going all the way to the curve of his jaw. His hair hits just around his shoulders, the sides shaved so it’s like a puffed version of a mullet, edges dyed in a bright shade of red. He toys with a lit joint between his purple lips, picking it up and offering to you with a raise of his brows.

Normally you’d decline the offer, especially coming from someone you’d just met, but there’s an annoying feeling settling itself at the pit of your stomach. One you want to ignore but can only do so much to dull it, so you accept the joint, reaching for it and placing it in your mouth.

You’re not a regular smoker by any means, and when you inhale you can feel the smoke burning your throat as it moves down to curl inside your lungs. It makes you want to cough it out but you hold it in, trying to take in everything before huffing it out in a choked breath.

“Do you want a drink?” One of the girls asks you, already pouring you a purple drink inside a labeless plastic bottle.

“What’s in this?” You accept the cup, giving her an skeptic look.

“Pure fuel, babe.” Abbey leans on your shoulder from behind.

You hang out in the bus for a while, and, to your surprise, you don’t feel left out as they keep notice to include you in their conversations. The drink ends up being not that bad, and, even having no idea what’s in it except for the very artificial citric taste mixed with some very strong cheap alcohol, you still refill your cup after you finish it.

It’s a nice feeling, to get a bit looser in a party and allowing yourself to have some adventurous fun. And as time goes by and your mind gets cloudier, the group starts to disperse. Two of them find a spot in the back with as much privacy as they could get in a party to swallow each others faces. Another one passes out in one of the seats behind you, hugging the empty plastic bottle as if it’d run away from them. It leaves just Abbey and Cosmo with you, discussing with each other about something that you’ve stopped paying attention a long while ago.

You just watch them silently, resting your head back on the seat and feeling the late hours weightening on your eyelids. You feel like you could doze off at any moment, but what stops you from it is a loud screeching sound of an amplifier from inside the house. It startles you, making you jump slightly on your seat as you hear a voice speaking almost like a groan, and you’re not sure if it’s your drunken mind or the inaudible words but you can’t make out a single thing that’s being said. A crease deepens between your eyebrows and you turn to question your friend about it but, before you can do so what seems like the most obnoxious cover of We Built This City starts playing.

Abbey gasps as the chords of the song somehow get even louder, grasping her hand on the man’s arm. “Oh my god!” She squeals, exchanging a look with Cosmo as they both all but jump from their seats. She glances down at you, “We’re going in, are you coming?”

You raise your brows at her, trying to hide the scrunch on your face. “I’m good.”

She nods, making her way out of the bus, her feet stumbling on each other as she holds onto her friend’s shoulder to keep her balance. And just like that, you’re left alone on the leather seat.

You peek at the couple in the back, eyes bulging slightly as you see the girl has lost her shirt, the boy’s hands caress her chest as they keep their lips locked harshly. Deciding to give them a bit more privacy, you make your way out of the bus as well, the contrast from the compact air inside the vehicle to the crisp wind of the outdoors sending chills down your body.

Looking around, you realize most people hanging around are gone, probably gone inside the house. You can’t help but let your eyes wander to the spot you’d seen Harry earlier, and you don’t hold back the shock in your face when you find him still sitting on the bench, but this time with no one else around him. He fiddles with a lighter on his hand, flickering every so often to watch the weak flame before letting it die again.

Your feet start to move before you can really grasp that you’re walking towards him, your head still a bit cloudy from the substances in your bloodstream. He looks up once you get close to him, signature smirk growing on his lips as he glances up at you.

“Look what we have here.” He leans back, “a lost bunny.”

“Hi, Harry.” You say simply.

His smile turns a bit softer. “Where are your bandmates?”

“Celebrating.” You shrug.

“Shouldn’t you be as well?”

“I am.” You hold up the mostly empty red cup.

He chuckles. “I see, having fun by yourself then?”

You focus on a spot beyond his head, suddenly feeling timid under his gaze. “Seems like it.”

“Want to join my private party here?” He shifts to his side, patting the spot next to him. “S’very exclusive, as you can see.”

“Well, I’m honored to be invited, then.” You sit down on the space he made for you.

For a moment, there’s a silence between the two of you, the only sound being the jarring cover of Everybody Wants to Rule The World. The notes of it are so off that you can’t help but huff a relieved breath when it comes to an end, enjoying the few seconds of silence before they begin another song.

A small groan leaves your lips when the noise starts again, catching Harry’s attention as you feel his eyes land on the side of your face. “It should be illegal to ruin great songs like this.” You shake your head to yourself, speaking your thoughts out loud in a rush of confidence. “They should get arrested for it.”

He chuckles. “You’re not wrong.”

Your eyes dart at him, meeting his. It’s hard to miss the way his irises glimmer under the moonlight. When he glances down at the lighter still in his hands you take the opportunity to really have a look at him. The proximity makes you aware of a small constellation of freckles kissing his nose, and the stubble starting to poke out the skin along his jawline. You want to blame the haziness in your mind for the thoughts of how it would feel like to have it scratching against your skin. Or how it would feel under your lips as you nibble your way all the way to his rosy lips. You want to push these away, belittle them as nothing but drunken thoughts. But you know very well it wouldn’t be the first time you’ve let yourself be entertained by them.

A pitched scream takes you out of your head. You realize there’s been a beat of silence since he’s spoken, so you clear your throat, a warmth creeping up on your neck as if he’d been able to hear your thoughts. “Do you know them?”

He shakes his head slightly. “Not really, no. They played in the pub once, Ronnie hated them.” He glances at you, corner of his lips itching upwards. “Call themselves Crystal Illusion, so there’s that.”

“Christ.” You can’t help but roll your eyes. “And here I thought it couldn’t get any worse.”

The sound of his giggle makes you look back at him, catching the sight of his dimples carving deep on his cheeks. “You’re really something, aren’t you, bunny?”

“Why do you call me that?” The question rolls of your tongue before you can even think about it. His brows raise at your question, and you decide to enjoy the rush of confidence and pick on it further. “Dunno if I’m supposed to feel offended or charmed.”

“Don’t mean it as a tease, can tell that much.” He smiles, shrugging slightly. “You just remind me of a bunny.”

The words pique your curiosity. “How so?”

He looks back down to his lap, and if it wasn’t for the poor lighting you would be sure of the blush taking over his cheeks. “Just all cute -- could tell you were a bit reserved, and like, curious. Had your eyes wandering all around when I first saw you.” He moves his head around lightly as if to explain his point and you have to bite back a smile. “And when you were focused you’d scrunch your nose a bit. Like a bunny.”

“I’m glad you didn’t say I have big ears.” You try to humor, searching for his eyes.

He laughs, looking up at you. “I mean, now that you’ve mentioned it…”

Your gasp shifts into a giggle as you push him away playfully. “Well, if I’m a bunny...” You pause, racking your mind to think of an analogy for him, but your mind is still a bit slowed down, your thoughts taking a beat too long to catch up to your words. When you glance down to the arm that’s brushing against yours, you notice the tattoo peaking on his skin. You reach for it without thinking about it, fingers tracing the ink as you take in the drawing, his eyes follow your touch curiously. “Then you’re an eagle.” You cringe to yourself as soon as the words come out of your mouth, attempting to mask it as you breathe out a laugh.

He arches his brows, lips fluttering, trying to hold back a smile. “You think I’ll kill you?”

“Oh shit, you’re right.” You cover your face with your hand, shaking your head at yourself. “Didn’t think that one through.” Your laughs meld together for a moment, slowly dying off and giving space a comfortable silence. The only sounds being the nightly hum of cicadas and the whisper of the breeze against the branches of the trees, that and, well, the faint screams of instruments from inside the house. Looking up at him, a breath hitches when you realize the proximity of his eyes to yours. You try to tease him but when you speak your voice comes out lower than you expected, almost in a whisper, “so you think I’m cute?”

“Course I do.” He says in a blink. “Don’t think that’s much of a secret, love.”

You chew on your bottom lip, not missing the way his eyes dart down on your face. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

“Yeah?” He smirks, wiggling his eyebrow teasingly. “Think I’m pretty?”

“I won’t inflate your ego if that’s what you want.”

“I tried.” He breathes out a laugh, eyes moving back down on your face but this time he doesn’t rush them back to yours, not hiding the intent of his gaze. For the first time, you’re glad for the background noise, afraid that if it wasn’t for it he’d be able to hear the thumping of your heart.“Can I kiss you?”

“Huh?” You blink at him, not because you didn’t hear him, but because you’re a bit taken back at the forwardness of the question.

He moves his arm to rest on the back of the bench, turning his hand to play with the tips of your hair. “Can I kiss you, bunny?” He repeats.

You nod before you can find it in you to voice your answer, clearing your throat, “yes.”

The hand that’s not in your hair moves to caress your cheek, he takes a moment to look at you, thumb rubbing your cheek gently before he leans in. Your eyes flutter close instinctively, holding your breath in anticipation as you feel his lips on the corner of your mouth. He keeps them there for a beat before pulling back, tilting your face a little just to finally close the space between your mouths.

The kiss starts slow. Uncertain, even. His lips are soft against yours, warm breath hitting your cupid bow as he sucks in your bottom lip gently. You feel his hand cupping your jaw, sneaking behind your neck as he pulls you closer and you all but melt under his touch. Being this close you can smell the scent of his cologne mixed with the smoke of cigarettes, and something about it is so sensual you can’t help but grip on his shirt as to have something to hold on to.

You can feel yourself getting lost on his touch, shamelessly scooping to the side as you enlace your thighs for the sake of being closer to him. His hand falls on your knee, rubbing it as your tongue line on his bottom lip.

It’s the sound of the door that leads to the house sliding open that falls like a bucket of ice water on your head, reminding you of your surroundings, and that you’re not, in fact, alone with him in the garden, which means any of your friends could easily spot you if they were to walk outside.

It’s almost like he reads your mind when you pull away from him, loosening your grasp on the material of his shirt. His lips don’t let you get far, trailing their way along your jaw until he can bite on your lobe. “Relax, petal” He whispers, pulling back to look at you as your noses brush together. “They won’t see us, even if they do they’re probably too stoned to even care.”

You let out a weak chuckle, gazing at the door where a group of people stumble their way towards the bus, voices loud as they slur incoherent words. It’s hard to see inside the house as most of the lights inside seem to be turned off, but you can tell how packed it is, bodies pressed so close together it makes you wince slightly just with the thought of being amongst them. Looking back at him, you ponder for a second before nodding. “You’re right.”

A grin paints on his face before he leans in, closing the space between you once again.

❁ ❁ ❁

“Still with us?” A call of your name on the mic snaps you out of your thoughts.

Looking up, you’re met with your bandmates curious eyes staring right at you and you realize you’ve probably been too lost in your own head to pay attention to the conversation in hand. Your lips part for a split second, trying to think of an answer that doesn’t give away your lack of focus but a single look at Abbey’s arched brows and you know you’ve been caught.

You clear your throat, lips tugging on a guilty smile. “Sorry, I am now.”

It’s hard not to let your eyes glimpse to the back of the room, where the sole reason for your distraction sits quietly on his regular spot, tucked behind his journal and doing his own thing. But you hold back the stare, knowing your moves were being watched by your friend who’s back to talking about the setlist changes for the night, and who would not be happy in the slightest to notice your wandering eyes falling on the one person she despises the most. You wonder how she’d react if she got her hands on the piece of paper burning through the back pocket of your denim shorts.

The message was short and simple, but the connotation behind it carried a much stronger meaning to it.

Meet me in the back before the gig, want to see you. -H

You found it tucked inside your case, lying innocently on top of your bass, apparent enough so anyone who’d opened the case could’ve found it before you. Surely, no one else did, otherwise, you wouldn’t hear the end of it from the minute you’d stepped into the place. Which makes you wonder how he managed to slip in the note sneakily enough without anyone noticing it, but the curiosity is well dulled in your mind by the pounding of your heart.

To your dismay, however, you barely got a look at him throughout the rehearsal. You got to The Blue Bird later than you’d intended to, the tutoring session you had on the day ended up running later than you’d expected. So by the time you stepped through the string curtains of the pub Harry was already tucked on the shadowy corner and everyone else was hanging by the stage waiting for you, barely giving you a second to set your bag in the dressing room.

So it’s hard for you not to stare when he gets up from his seat, walking into the lighter space of the bar with his signature smirk painted on his face. You’d just gone through the last song of your set for the second time -- an amplified version of Girls Just Wanna Have Fun (Lena insisting on repeating it after messing up on the first try). He’s holding a maroon leather jacket on his arm, along with his journal, leaving his arms bare under his Bowie tank top -- which, as he approaches the stage you notice the uneven hem on the sleeves, suggesting he might’ve cut them off himself. His hair is running wild as usual, the fringe curling against his forehead and you chew on your lip at the thought of running your hands through it as you did not even a week ago.

He reaches to the back pocket of his jeans, pulling out a pack of cigarettes as he reaches the end of the stage. “That was a great one, everybody, maybe if you keep it going we can get you a spot on that wacky show they’re premiering.” He sets the stuff he’s carrying on the stage floor, crossing his arms on top of it. “What’s it called again? ‘S like ‘gag me with a spoon’ or something like that.”

“We wouldn’t want to steal your spot again.” The words leave your lips before you can process them, for a moment forgetting you’re not alone with him so your playful tease can be easily interpreted as mocking.

He rests the things he’s carrying on his arm on the stage floor, hoisting himself up almost effortlessly before picking them up again, walking the few steps it takes for him to stand in front of you. His lips are tugged on a shit-eating grin. “Got another feisty one in here, huh?” He crosses his arms under his chest, and you can’t help but note the way his muscles flex at the gesture, his tattoos dancing slightly on his skin. “What makes you so smug about stealing my spot? Reckon Ronnie only said he needed more chicks hanging around.”

“If that’s the case then there’s no need for you to be intimidated by a band of chicks, then.” You keep your eyes trained on his, but you can notice Abbey’s getting wider from over his shoulder.

His lips twitch up, and you can tell he’s holding back a genuine smile as not to crack your act. “Am I intimidated now, bunny?”

“It’s what it looks like.” You shrug, now holding back your own smile.

“Maybe you need to take a better look at things then, angel.” He starts walking backwards in the direction of the backstage. “Wouldn’t want any more misunderstandings, would we?”

“Don’t think we would.”

And with that, he turns around, walking the rest of the way out and disappearing as he rounds the corner to where you know it’s the door leading to the back alleyway. You just stand there quietly for a moment, following his steps as you try to recollect what just happened. For the two of you, it was clear that the tension was the product of an unspoken want circling around, but you question for a second if that’s the impression that your friends had. And as you look at their expressions, raised brows and mouths agape, it’s hard to tell.

“Holy shit, babe.” Abbey is the first to speak out. “Didn’t know you had that in you.”

You hold back a relieved exhale, shrugging slightly as you remove the strap of the bass from your shoulder. “He was just getting on my nerves.” You face away from her, placing the instrument on the stand.

The anticipation of meeting Harry grows impatiently on your stomach as you try to find a gap where no one’s attention is on you to sneak out of the dressing room. It seems as if every time you think you can do it, someone pulls you in, either to try to push you another pill of something you’re not sure what it is or to ask you to help with their makeup. But as the room gets filled and people get higher, their focus become more diffuse, and finally, after finishing assisting Jaz with her eyeliner (her hands were too shaky to get it right) you manage to slip out the room into the corridor.

There’s a sense of recognition that takes over your body when you feel the wind messing with your hair as you step out the building to be met with Harry’s figure leaning back on the wall, not too far from the spot you found him the last time you’d been in this same position. His eyes shoot in your direction as soon as you step through the door as if he’d been waiting for this just as eagerly as you were. He quickly throws the butt of the cigarette on the floor, stepping on it before standing tall as you slowly approach him.

“Hi.” You say simply, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your shorts -- not knowing with to do with your hands.

“Hi.” His grin grows. “Came back here to intimidate me?” He teases, biting on his bottom lip.

“Actually,” you scrunch your lips, deciding to play his game as you reach on your back pocket, retrieving the small piece of paper and holding it up. “Got this very desperate note from a secret admirer but I don’t see any hotties here.” You click your tongue, looking around as you let out a loud sigh. “Guess it might be just a misunderstanding.”

He laughs, hands reaching for your waist to draw you closer. “That’s too bad, guess you’re stuck with me”

“Yeah?” You wrap your arms around his shoulders, stepping closer so that your chests meet and his forehead falls against yours.

He nods in response, your noses brushing gently before he leans to meet your mouth with his own.

❁ ❁ ❁

There’s a thrilling feeling that settles deep within you when it comes to holding a secret.

It’s that spark of excitement that brings a kaleidoscope of butterflies to come alive on your stomach. The kind of feeling that makes every cell of your body feel not just simply alive but as if it’s burning with joy. Which is why you guess falling into a routine of sneaking around with Harry on secret little rendezvous was so easy, to begin with.

Of course, your friends’ opinions are important to you, but you know that you’re an adult very much capable of making your own decisions. That means sleeping with anyone you’d like despite their ill opinions about the person, without having to sneak around as if you’re teenagers hiding from your parents. You know that, and you try to remind yourself of that every time you catch yourself lying to them about your whereabouts at every coming day.

In the beginning, you weren’t even sure that there was anything to it except for a couple of innocent kisses, maybe some not-so-innocent touches here and there, but nothing really worth even telling anyone. You’d only really see Harry on the weekends. When he would steal moments with you before your gigs when you “had to take a breather”. Or when mysteriously disappeared from your friends’ sides during after parties after they already had their minds buzzed and noses backed up. Or even when your night walks would tart becoming gradually longer due to your curiosity getting the best of you once you found yourself in front of the familiar Pub on Harry’s nights.

The weekends’ escapades took a different turn when they graduated to weekdays. Things took a quick turn then. It started with him offering you a ride to the houses for your tutoring or to the library (stealing kisses every now and then, of course). And before you knew, you were making up classes or books to rent for your oblivious roommates, only to spend hours on Harry’s car. Coming back with puffy lips and messy hair.

Part of you felt bad for going behind their backs, every now and then feeling an urge to pull Lena aside and gush about him for as long as your heart desired.

But it’s the thrill of it, of having something that’s just yours to have, that no one else knows except the two of you. The adrenaline that comes with the possibility of getting caught at any moment, but being able to get away with it. It’s almost addicting to you, so you prefer to have these moments just to yourself.

As the days went by, and those days turned into weeks, and those weeks turned into months, it just made it harder for you to tell them you’d been hiding a whole relationship for this amount of time. Well, not exactly a relationship, but as close as you ever got to one anyway.

And it’s not like you’d never had anyone before. Being in the music scene, you’ve had your quite a few amounts of flings — even though not as many as it’s expected. But no one has ever left you as enamored as him, especially not as quickly as he has. He’s intriguing, carrying around that mysterious aura around him that leaves everyone wondering the secrets he holds in his heart.

Although when it’s just the two of you it’s like this cocky persona of him completely dissolves. It’s a complete contrast from the image he carries around the restless mouths of prying people. He’s not that enigmatic heartbreaker who hops around strangers beds as if to live that classic Rock ‘n Roll lifestyle you see on TV. Rather, he’s shown himself to be the most caring man you’ve ever been with.

And that’s how you found yourself in this position, your body awkwardly positioned on your side in the rear seat of his car. A hand tangled on his hair while the other pulls at his Bowie shirt, you know your lips are probably starting to get swollen and his are taking a raspberry tone from the way they’d been sucking at one another. So with that in mind, you part from his mouth, trailing kisses along his cheek, and a final one at his nose before sitting back on the seat.

Just as you predicted his rose-colored lips are plump as he grins back at you, his locks are wild on top of his head. His hair has grown around his jawline now, curls poking out in all directions and you can’t help but reach your hand to pull his fringe back from his forehead. His smile growing fondly and eyes fluttering shut as you run your hand through his strands.

When you pull away you catch a glimpse of your wrist clock, cringing slightly at yourself as you realize you should start thinking of heading home.

“I have to go soon.” You let your hand fall to your lap with a sigh.

“Already?” He pouts. “Barely had any time together.”

“We’ve been here for two hours, silly.” You giggle at his dramatics, leaning to press your lips on his chin.

He throws an arm over your shoulder, keeping you close. “Exactly, barely any time.”

He turns his head to connect your mouths once more before pulling you against him so your head rests on his shoulder. You look beyond the glass of the windshield to the nearly empty street -- saving from a few people walking back from what you assume is a day of work

He’s parked on the usual spot two blocks away from your house, and from this angle, you can see the front gate that leads to the entrance. The front seat of the coupe still folded forward as there was no reason to set it back to place considering the circumstance in which you were on the backseat. You had called home from the payphone in front of the library, letting Lena know you’d be home late to catch up with some studies -- another lie to your pile.

There’s a comfortable silence that falls between the two of you -- apart from the low voice of the radio Dj interrupting A-ha’s Take On Me in the background. If you move your head just right you can hear his speeding heartbeat, and if wasn’t for the faltering on his breathing you’d assume he was just as relaxed as you are. You move away from him, his arm falling around your waist, looking at his profile as he pokes at his jeans, a crease between his eyebrows.

You rest your cheek against the leather seat, grasping his chin with your fingers and gently moving his head so his gaze meets yours. “What’s on your mind, handsome?”

He breathes out a laugh, shrugging lightly as he brings his hand to scratch at the tip of his nose. “Nothing much.”

“But there’s something.” You insist, being able to tell he’s pondering over something.

“It’s just-- I just thought--” he pauses with a sigh. You play with the rings on his fingers, waiting patiently for him to express his thoughts, you can tell he’s a bit nervous which is an adorable change from his regular charming demeanor. “I wanted to maybe-- like, we could have a date.”

You straighten your posture, lips parting as you take in his words. “A date?”

“Yeah… A proper one, you know?” He shrugs, eyes darting back on yours. “If you want to, that is! Don’t wanna pressure you or anything.”

“I do, H.” You nod, chewing on your lip as you try to recollect your thoughts. It’s not as if you don’t want to go on a date with him, that couldn’t be further from the truth. But turning it into a formality just changes completely the scheme of things and, as much as you felt like this is an inevitable step to take at some point, you still feel protective to an extent of this secret you have between the two of you. So you can help but let your voice come a little apologetic, “it’s just--”

“I know.” His shoulders drop and you can’t help but feel a tug at your heart.

“Hey.” You caress his cheek. “I’ll think about it, okay?”

“Okay.” His lips perk up in a small smile, and you lean forward to give him a peck.

He’s still looking at you with puppy-like eyes and it does nothing to help the heaviness in your heart from turning him down. You lean again this time to spread kisses around his cheek as an attempt to pull a giggle out of him, but you only earn a light chuckle so you seat back tilting your head to look at him with a pluck of your lips. “C’mon where’s my smug rockstar gone?”

“He’s right here.” The shadow of his dimples appears on his cheeks. His voice comes out low and gentle, as if he’s still pondering over what you said earlier, “just toned him down a bit.”

You sigh, trying to rack your brain to another subject that can distract him from it. You catch sight of the slightly smudged end of his eyeliner, and your face lights up as you remember a request you’ve always wanted to bring it up. “Do you want to know something?” Biting back a cheeky grin, you cross your arms under your chin as he looks at you with raised eyebrows. “Should let me do your makeup, so you can be a proper rockstar.”

He lets out a laugh. “Do I need that, now?”

“Mhm, said it yourself, it’s part of the look.”

“Did I say that?” You nod, teeth still biting on your lip. He lets out a breath, contemplating the idea for a second before looking back at you. “Okay then.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Course, could never say no to you even if I tried.” He lets his hand fall on your thigh, rubbing it gently. “On one condition, though.” You arch your brows in question. “Come to my gig tomorrow.”

You face scrunches in confusion. “I always go to your gigs.”

“Yeah but I mean go earlier, like so we can hang out before and stuff.” His finger starts to draw circles on your knee. “So you can do my makeup, too, can go on stage looking all pretty.”

“As if you could ever look anything less than pretty.” You say before sitting back, thinking of his proposal. “You’re asking me to be there early…”

“What? D’you have plans already? Got a boyfriend I don’t know about?” And there it is, the teasing Harry you know.

You shake your head, poking his side playfully. “Oh yeah, maybe I should’ve mentioned him sooner.”

“Shut up.” He rolls his eyes before looking at you, his voice coming down to a pleading tone. “Come, please.”

Before the yes can roll off your tongue you remember that you wouldn’t be alone with him. “What about your band?”

He furrows his brows. “What about them?”

“Well, do they know?”

“They couldn’t care less about us, baby.” He sighs, head falling back on the seat as he moves his hand so it rests on your inner thigh, rubbing a spot in there. “Have no meaning hiding you.”

You can’t hold back the smile that grows on your lips, leaning to press a kiss to his mouth before letting professing in just above a whisper, “You always know what to say, don’t you?”

❁ ❁ ❁

“‘S poking my eye.”

“Shh, quiet.”

“You’re rubbing it too harsh.” Harry grabs your wrist, eyes fluttering open to stare up at you.

“I’m being gentle, you’re just not used to the feeling of the brush.” You argue, keeping a finger under his chin so his head is tilted upwards as you shuffle on his lap. “Now close your eyes, I’m almost done.”

He lets out a huff, trying to feign annoyance, but the slight twitch of his lips and the subtle appearance of his dimples break his facade. You know as much as he won’t admit to it, he’s quite enjoying having you propped on his lap, fingers stroking gently his eyelids while you hum along to The Cure’s record that’s mixing with the murmurs of the other people in the room.

To your surprise, you’ve come to realize that the dressing room is significantly less chaotic when it comes to Harry’s band. The place is not nearly as packed as it can get during your nights, in fact, apart from the band itself, there’s only a handful of people hanging around. And as much as you notice their bloated pupils and stumbled walks, they mostly keep it to themselves, sharing around a bottle of vodka to wash down their pills.

Like Harry had assured you, his bandmates couldn’t be less bothered by your presence amongst them. And as much as you recognize all from the numerous gig you’ve been in before, and that according to them your name has been frequently mentioned by Harry himself (which did make his cheeks turn into an adorable shade of red), it’s nice to be formally introduced to them. In fact, they were so quick to treat you as one of their own that you could feel a slightly guilty feeling expanding on your chest from the number of times you’d heard your friends bad mouthing them in attempts to joke around.

You swallowed the feeling back, though, accepting a plastic cup they poured with champagne (which you learned is a tradition before gigs) and making a conversation.

“Are you done yet?” You feel the vibration of his voice on that back of your fingers that touch against his throat.

“Yes,” you say with a final stroke of your brush on his eyes, sitting back to admire your work with your teeth carved on your bottom lip. “You can open your eyes, baby.”

He blinks his eyes open and you can’t help the smile that breaks through your lips as you examine the contrast of the burning red eyeshadow with his jade irises as he looks back at you. “How do I look?”

You grab his cheeks, leaning down to press a quick peck on his lips. “Like a proper rockstar.”

“Yeah?” He grins once you let your hands caress on the smooth skin of his chest poking through his unbuttoned blue blouse. “Think I can finally get some groupies now?”

Scoffing, you swing your hand to shove him back playfully with a roll of your eyes. You try to move away but he grabs hold of your wrists, pulling you in again. “You’re insufferable.”

“Just how you like it.” His hands fall to your waist, bringing it closer as you let your arms wrap around his shoulders.

His lips meet your on a slow kiss, allowing you to taste the strawberry flavor of the lipstick you’d applied earlier, the thought of messing it completely lost in your mind as you tilt your head to deepen it even more. His fingers now grip on your hips over your denim skirt that has ridden up considerably since you first propped yourself on his lap. For a moment you just stay like this, tangled on each other’s arms, every so often you scratch on his neck, pulling his hair just a bit so you can swallow the most delicious mewls.

He parts from you as slowly as the kiss started, pecking on your lips a couple of times before letting his head fall back, hands moving to rub at your thighs over your pink tights. His eyes are hooded as he looks up at you with a smirk, voice coming low as if he’s sharing a secret just between the two of you, “can we go to the back?”

“Sure.” You unstranddle him, adjusting your skirt as you stand up and offering your hands to help him to his feet. He takes them, almost bringing you back down on the couch as he pulls a little bit too hard.

Once he’s up he takes a look at himself on the mirror in the wall opposite to the couch, a pleased smile on his face letting you know he likes the result of your work. He reaches for your hand then, guiding you into the hallway and out the back door you’ve become so familiar with.

Walking into the alleyway, he walks to his usual spot, leaning back on the wall and pulling you with him. His hands easily find their place on your waist once again, fingers tapping against the fabric of your skirt anxiously. Looking down at you, there’s anticipation on his eyes, as if he’s trying to tell you something but is waiting for you to bring it up.

“So,” he begins, eyes darting around as he parts his legs a bit, enough to fit you between them as he pulls you closer.

“So…” You say, drifting off as a way to encourage him to keep going.

“I’ve thought about the date thing.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, playing with the ends of his har. “Wasn’t I the one that was supposed to be doing that?”

He shrugs slightly, looking down to where his fingers fiddle with a loose strand of your vest. There’s something very endearing about seeing him so nervous, a complete opposite to how he carries himself in public, as this cocky and confident guy. You’re grateful that he allows you to see this side of him, though, bringing your hand to caress his jawline as you wait him to speak his thoughts. “Yeah, but I had like, an idea, or whatever.”

“Do tell.”

“I thought we could do--” he shakes his head a bit. “We could go to a place that’s still more reserved, and stuff.”

“Like?”

“I dunno, I--” he chews on his lip, a habit he’s starting to get from you. “Thought we could go to my flat and like hang out, we could go to that diner that has a drive tru and get something to eat and go back to my place.”

“Are you trying to take me home, Styles?” You tease, not being able to hold back a smile.

“It’s not like that, I just--” he huffs, cheeks getting a bit flushed as he tries to explain himself. “Just if you’re comfortable with it, of course, we can still go around on my car if you prefer, I don’t mind.”

“Harry?” You hold his cheek, moving it so his eyes can meet yours. Rubbing your thumb against his smooth skin, you try to soothe him, shooting him a fond smile. “I think that’s a really nice idea.”

“Yeah?” You don’t miss the way his eyes light up. “Is that a yes, then?”

“Of course.”

“Cool, I can, like, call you before I leave home so you can go to our spot and I can pick you up, yeah?” It’s the fastest he’s speaking since the moment you walked out of the building, voice a pitch higher. “How about Friday?

“Great.” You giggle, tangling your fingers on his hair to pull him down so his forehead rests against yours. Lips brushing, you blink up at him, jade eyes flickering around your face, “I can’t wait.”

He smiles. “Me too.”

❁ ❁ ❁

An annoyed puff leaves your lips as you notice another typo in one of the words inked in the paper poking out of the typewriter. You grab it maybe a bit too forcefully, this being the fourth time in a matter of minutes you had to do this. Taking it out of the platen, you reach for the whiteout conveniently prompted next to you, carefully correcting the error before putting the paper back on the machine.

With the end of the term peeking around the corner, you’ve been finding yourself in this position more often than not. Either rushing with your essays or grading assignments from your students. No matter what the arrangement is, however, there’s always a guarantee to have a half-empty mug of coffee and a pile of textbooks spattered on your desk.

This time around is no different, as you lean back on your chair, closing your eyes and rubbing your hands over your face, you try to focus on Cyndi Lauper singing in the background as a way to relieve your stress. You can feel the inkling of a headache deep inside your forehead, indicating maybe it’s time to give yourself a break, So, you try your best to relax the tension out of your muscles, breathing in the soft chamomile scent of the burning candle on your nightstand -- it’s one Lena gave to you to help with the stress a few days ago. What disturbs you from your moment of meditation with Time After Time, making you snap out of your breathing exercise, is the ringing tone of the telephone echoing through the house. The sound comes into your room a bit muffled thanks to your closed door, but it’s still enough to irritate you.

You hear closely to the sounds outside your door, waiting for Lena, who you know is propped on the couch downstairs watching TV, to pick up the call and cease the annoying tune interrupting your moment. And as you predict, in just a few minutes the ringing noise stops as quickly as it started, making you relax back on your chair. Closing your eyes again, you let yourself go back to the moment before the interruption, untensing your shoulders. You can hear the pound of heavy footsteps coming up the wooden staircase, but don’t process them getting closer until your door swings open.

Lena is standing in your doorway with an expression that’s hard to read at first, her brows set on a slight frown her hairline and mouth agape. Before you can tell her off for her sudden entrance she’s already speaking, “can you tell me why the fuck Harry Styles is calling our house looking for you?”

You can feel your heartbeat falter at her words, eyes widening as you glance at your bunny-shaped clock and realizing you had gotten so lost in your studies you forgot about the date. “Shit,” you get up so fast from your chair it falls back on the rug. You turn to Lena, who’s watching the scene with the most amused smirk on her face, “is he still one the line?”

As soon as she nods you’re stumbling down the stairs, almost falling down on the last steps but catching yourself up on the railing. You reach for the wired phone lying upwards on the hallway stand, picking it up and walking into the closest door - which happens to be the coat closet - closing it behind you.

“Hello?” You sound out of breath, heartbeat roaring in your ear.

“Did I fuck it up?” His voice is hesitant, nearly remorseful, it makes your heart drop.

“I-- no, you didn’t.” You reassure, leaning back on the wall of the tiny space, instantly regretting your decision of not choosing the restroom in your panic state. “I just got caught up with an essay and didn’t see the time passing.”

“Do you want to reschedule?” He drags out the words as if he doesn’t want to say them. “We can do this another day, I don’t mind.”

“No!” You protest quickly, reaching back to roughly adjust a hanger that’s poking on your neck, causing a raincoat to fall on your feet. “Of course not, I really need a break, anyway. I want to see you.”

“Want to see you, too.” You can hear the smile on his voice. “What about your friend?”

You sigh, rubbing your temple slightly. “I’ll talk to her, don’t worry about it.”

“Okay.” He says. “I’ll be at yours in around fifteen, is that good?”

“That’s perfect, yes.”

“I’ll see you in a bit then…” He drifts off, as if he wants to say something else, but stops himself.

“See you.”

The familiar sound of the deadline takes place and you sigh, letting your head fall back on the wall with a thump and staying like that for a moment. When you step out of the closet, the first thing you see is Lena leaning against the railing of the stairs, shaking her head at you in disbelief. “You bitch.”

Your shoulders drop, not wanting to have this conversation right now, as you put the phone back on the base. “Can we not do this--”

“You’ve been fucking him all this time and you didn’t tell me?” She crosses her arms under her breasts. “Abbey is gonna throw a fit when she knows this.”

“You’re not gonna tell her.”

“I’m not.” She agrees with you. “But she already knows you’re sneaking out with someone.”

“She does?” Your voice gets higher, eyes widening slightly.

“She might be high as a kite most of the time, yes, but she’s not stupid.” She chuckles. “And you’re not the best at hiding either, or you thought we wouldn’t notice you’re barely at home anymore?”

You frown your mouth, feeling like a deer caught in the headlights. “Does she suspect that it’s him?”

“Not really no, thought it was one of your students.”

You can’t help the horrified look that takes over your face. “I tutor children!”

“Ooh,” she breathes out a laugh. “Well, to be fair, he’s probably the last person she would suspect.”

“She’s gonna kill me.”

“Probably.” She shrugs. “But she’ll just have to get over it.”

“I guess.”

Lena looks at you, dropping her arms as she walks to you. Holding into your shoulders, her expression softens. “Don’t worry about this right now, okay? Go get ready for your date.”

“You’re right.” You sigh, nodding. It takes you a second, but as you process her words, you frown, squinting your eyes at her. “How do you know we have a date right now?”

Her hands drop, mouth scrunching as she waves her hands around. “I just guessed.”

“Were you listening on the line?’

“Of course not!” She steps away.

“Adeline!”

She backs away, reaching the bottom of the stairs with the guiltiest look you’ve ever seen splattered on her face. “It was just a bit of it! I was curious!”

You shake your head in disbelief. “I’m gonna cut the cord of that phone in your room.”

“No, you’re not.”

Raising your eyebrows in challenge, you take a careful step in her direction, causing her to go up another step. There’s a beat of silence where you two just stare at each other, waiting for the other to make the first move. When you finally give in, racing towards the staircase, she stumbles up the rest of the steps, the sound of your giggles mixing together taking over the space.

❁ ❁ ❁

There’s an instant sense of comfort when you see Harry’s lime green Ford parked on your usual spot, one that gives an extra pep to your walk, pushing all the stress you’ve been dwelling with to the back of your mind. And as you relax into the leather seat, windows down and radio up, you let yourself enjoy the anticipation of spending the rest of your day with him that settles deep in your stomach.

You’d always wondered what Harry’s apartment would look like, imagining his LP’s splattered across the place, along with loose papers filled with guitar riffs and song lyrics. Maybe a couple of plants here and there, from what he told you he had tried to take care of one or two before, but always ended up forgetting to water them on schedule. And there’s also a notion inside of you that two young men living together in an apartment are bound to live in somewhat of a nest, so you brace yourself for the piles of beer cans and video game wires tangling on the floor.

When he opens the front door for you, letting you walk in before him, it does surprise you to find a tidier place than you’d expected his living room to be, but you realize you’d not been much far off with your assumption. It’s clear this is a house of musicians from the second you step in, the first sight being two guitars leaning on the wall next to the mud green couch, surrounded by - you guessed it - loose papers, which you assume are filled with scribbled ideas. A wall piano also stands out across the room, a single ashtray standing on top of it next to two candles, where you assume comes the faint scent of vanilla comes from.

“Sorry about the mess,” Harry speaks out from behind you, shrugging out of his usual denim jacket and throwing it over the couch arm, looking back at you with his hands on his hips.

“It’s alright.” Your teeth sink on your bottom lip as you take in the sight of him. Without his jacket, he’s left with just a wine-colored half-buttoned blouse, sleeves rolled up to his elbows so some of his tattoos are exposed. Part of the hem is tucked inside his low waist jeans that hug his thighs so perfectly it makes you want to grip your nails on it. Shaking your head, lightly, you let your eyes wander around the room once more, so he doesn’t notice you gawking at him. “Was expecting worse, to be honest.”

“Do you think that little of me?” He feigns offense.

You giggle, taking a lazy step towards him, shrugging. “I just don’t expect two young men to know the basic of cleaning, that’s all.”

“That’s fair,” he chuckles, taking a moment to just look at you. When a silence settles between the two of you, you raise your brows at him, waiting for him to make the first move. He clears his throat, running his hand through his hair. “Do you want anything to drink?”

“Sure!” You nod. “Do you have, like, beer or…”

“Yes, yes I--” he stops, face lighting up in realization. “No wait, I have something better.” He strides towards a door to where you assume the kitchen is, calling over his shoulder, “make yourself comfortable, I’ll be right back!”

You laugh to yourself, shaking your head as you pull your purse off your shoulder, letting it rest beside Harry’s jacket on the couch. Glancing over your shoulder, there are no signs of him coming back, so you take the opportunity to snoop around the area.

There’s a small center table in front of the couch, probably the messiest part of the room so far, a few movie magazines splattered around with another ashtray lying on top of it, a few butts of cigarettes long forgotten along with their ashes. Next to it, is a VHS cover of </i> Ghostbusters, a rental receipt paper scrambled on top of it. What calls your attention is a couple of cassette tapes, some with titles you recognize from being Harry’s songs scribbled on top of them but others don’t have a label, which leads you to assume they must be blank.

You walk around the table, gazing to the tv stand, where a poster of Freud is stuck on the wall behind it -- and breathing out a laugh as you notice someone had drawn glasses and colored his beard with a red sharpie. A bookshelf stands next to it, completely filled with records (apart from a single succulent that has a piece of paper with the name “Ziggy” glued to it). Your curiosity gets the best of you, picking up some LPs on random and what does surprise you, is the lack of a common theme between them. Finding a bit of everything, from some very recognizable names you’ve seen Harry rock to, like Billy Joel and The Clash, to some you’d never even heard him speak of like Culture Club and even a brand new Madonna record.

You have just picked up the cover of Ladies of the Canyon when his voice startles you from behind. “Mitchell, huh?”

Turning back with the record still in hands, you look down at it. “I love her.” You glance up, taking notice of the glasses in his hand, filled with a liquid of a yellow so bright it reminds you of a highlighter. “What’s this?”

“This,” he hands you a glass. “Is a drink we made.”

You raise your eyebrows at him. “You made this?”

“I’m a man of many talents, bunny.”

“It looks like poison.” You bring the glass up to your nostrils, taking in the strong scent of alcohol. “Am I going to be poisoned? Is this a big plan to get rid of your rival’s bassist?”

“Stop being silly.” He rolls his eyes. “It’s mainly pineapple and vodka, takes weeks to be done, proper fancy stuff, you know?”

“Oh yeah super fancy.” You tease, chewing on your bottom lip to hold back a smile.“Pineapple and vodka.”

“Shut up and drink it.” He says, watching you carefully as you slowly bring the brim of the glass to your lips, taking a small sip of it. An instant sweet taste of pineapple invading your tastebuds, but the vodka is so present it makes you scrunch your nose. Harry gives you a small smile, eyes trained on you as he waits for your verdict, “so…”

“It’s strong.” Your face is still a bit rumpled from the alcohol, but you relax it eventually taking another sip of it, this time quite more prepared for it. “But it’s good, tastes like pineapple and vodka, who would say?”

“Shut up.” He chuckles, taking a step back and propping himself down on the couch.

With the record still in hands, you turn to put it back where you found it, admiring the full bookshelf once more. “Got a nice collection here, Styles, I gotta admit.”

He sips on his drink. “Found something you fancy in there?”

“A couple.”

“Put on something you like.” He motions to the record player standing next to the shelf. You look through the vast collection again, picking some at random and putting it back once you realize it’s not what you’re looking for. After going through a few, you finally stumble upon Elton John’ Madman Across The Water, holding it up to show it to Harry. “Oh, so we’re in one of those moods?”

You pull the vinyl from the sleeve, carefully placing it on the player and adjusting the needle over it. As the beginning note of Tiny Dancer float through the room, you look back at him. “What mood?”

“Like, a happy-sad kind of mood.”

You nod, setting yourself on the couch next to him. “That’s a nice way to put it.”

As the first few songs swim in the air around there’s a light chatter that settles between the two of you. Nothing out of your ordinary conversations, mainly consisting of you gushing over John Taylor as Harry rolls his eyes and sips on his drink to mask the drop of jealousy that grows on his chest -- “He’s not that good looking, you lot should have better standards” he said with a huff, making you giggle at his antics and pinch his cheeks. But it doesn’t take long, barely going halfway through the record, until the two of you begin to feel more lightheaded, eyes glossy and tongues getting looser. You should’ve expected that from the very first sip of the drink in your hand, knowing it wouldn’t take much more than a glass of it to get you right boozed up. And it doesn’t help that which each sip of it the sweetness of the pineapple takes over the strong taste of the alcohol, and in a matter of a few songs, you already feel your mind soaring away.

Harry is not much different, you realize, becoming quite a bit of a giggly drunk as he looks at you through half-lidded eyes and slurred words coming out of his mouth (which only makes him laugh more at himself). From what he told you, it hasn’t been the first time he and Mitch attempted on making the drink themselves. They tried it at a cramped bar right outside a Tears For Fears concert and it had gotten them so knackered so quickly they went back the next day to ask the barman (who also happened to be the owner) what was it in. Turns out it was just watermelon and vodka, but the man also explained that the technique he used that took about two weeks for the drink to be ready. From the man’s explanation, it seemed simple enough so they decided to try it for themselves, except they replaced the watermelon with pineapple.

“Just to add a bit of fun to it.” He shimmies his body.

“Is it like the original, though?”

“‘S close, but not quite his.” He hiccups. “I’m convinced he left out some of the details, the bastard, didn’t want to go around giving out the secret formula of it.”

You giggle, biting into the brim of your glass. “I’m curious to try it with watermelon, now that you’ve mentioned.”

“You have to, bunny!” His head falls back on the couch, dimples so deep you want to bite into them, his hand strokes lazily on your thigh, every now and then moving up to rub at the hem of your playsuit. “I’ll take you there sometime, we can get baked and crash into a concert at the music house that’s right in front of it.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

When the blue of the sky outside begins to fade into a golden glow, ribbons of pink and orange cutting through it, you’re already completely far gone. The record player is now only letting out a faint buzz from the lack of sound now that the LP is over. Your head is filled with clouds and you don’t register when Harry reaches back for the guitar, only really registering it once he’s stringing out a familiar melody. He stumbles with the lyrics but as soon as you recognize the beginning line of </i> Big Yellow Taxi you’re joining him, your voices tangling in a high pitch as you more of scream the lines than really bother to sing it. Harry gets completely lost in it, and you let him take over every so often just to watch him, mimicking Joni Mitchell's voice and even enacting her laugh, which makes you laugh until your belly hurts and your cheeks get flushed.

It’s one of those moments you want to get locked in, to live in it forever. Watching him stumbling the lyrics of different songs, the words tumbling out of his mouth between giggles, fingers stroking the cord of the guitar maybe a bit too harshly as you join him without a care in the world to who may be bothered by it. You feel so free with him, it’s a feeling that takes over your whole body, a warmth of knowing you don’t have to filter yourself or fit any type of expectation. And as he ends another cover with violent strokes on the guitar you laugh along with him for a moment before letting the room quiet down. Crossing your arms over the back of the couch and resting your cheek against it, you just look at him.

His bloodshot green meets yours, his chest rising as he catches his breath from the frantic songs, teeth sinking on his bottom lip as he smiles at you. “Gonna slow down a bit fo’ you.”

You raise your brows at him, smiling in anticipation as he begins to smooth his fingers through the cords much more gently than he had been previously. His head moves along to the beat as he gazes down at the instrument, a slight crease forming between his eyebrows in concentration. It’s a complete contrast from the playful demeanor that had taken over the room just minutes ago.

“Love of my life, you’ve hurt me.” He begins, and your ears instantly perk up as you identify the same song you’d heard him play months ago at the pub, the one that made you enter it to watch him for the first time. “You’ve broken my heart and now you leave me.”

It’s much different now, however, not just from the fact that he’s singing it on his own without the band backing him up. But it’s the meaning behind it, the rawness of his voice, low and slightly raspy, the words still come out a bit mumbled but you couldn’t care less about it, only focusing on the emotion he puts to them.

“Love of my life, can’t you see?” His eyes are still set on the guitar and you search for them almost desperately, shifting closer to him and cupping his cheek, guiding him to meet your gaze. “Bring it back, bring it back, don’t take it away from me.”

The swell in your heart is overwhelming to an extent, his glossy eyes looking into your with such sincerity it makes you want to jump on him, but you hold back as he keeps going, feeling nearly hypnotized by his voice.

“Because you don’t know, what it means to me.” He leans into your touch, turning to press a quick kiss on your palm as he keeps stroking the chords in a quiet melody. “Love of my life, don’t leave me.”

You can’t help but shake your head slightly as he sings the lyric almost like a plea. “You’ve stolen my love, and now desert me.” He looks back down at the guitar, letting your hand fall to his shoulder. “Love of my life, can’t you see?”

“Bring it back, bring it back, don’t take it away from me.” Peeking under his lashes, he grins up at you, and you can only imagine how you must look to him. Mouth slightly agape, barely blinking as you’re scared if you do this will all turn out to be nothing but a dream. His voice comes out next a bit lower, stretching out the words, “Because you don’t knoow.”

He strokes the chords a bit mindlessly now, playing with the sound of the melody, and he does it so effortlessly you almost hold your breath as not to miss it. “What it means to me.”

When he stops, you don’t really think before latching yourself on him, throwing one leg on each side of his thighs, and cupping his face before meeting his mouth with yours. He immediately wraps an arm around your back, his other hand taking the guitar off his lap and blindly placing it against the wall next to the couch. Once the instrument is no longer a barrier, he places his hands on your hips, pulling you closer. You can taste the memory of a pineapple still lingering on his tongue as you lick into his mouth. The kiss is hungry, maybe a bit sloppy thanks to the substance still very much present in your bloodstreams, but you don’t mind, only moving a hand to tangle on his hair, scratching at his scalp before pulling at his roots.

A whimper escapes from his mouth, getting lost inside your throat, his grip on your thighs tightens, nails digging in it and you know will leave crescent shapes on your skin. It only makes you do it again, this time his head tilting backward with a small groan, disconnecting your lips, but you’re soon to connect it again, splattering kisses along his jawline until it meets his neck. When you suck on his pulse point, running your tongue over it, his skin vibrates on your lips as he lets out a whine. His hands are now running all over your thighs before resting on top of your ass, bringing your hips to grind against his.

Even with your hazed mind, it’s still hard to miss the very prominent bulge under his jeans. It makes you pull back, looking down to see it straining against his zipper. There’s a flip of a switch inside of you when you realize how much he’s yearning for it, it’s the desire you’ve been pushing back for months now, crashing into you like a wave and you can barely contain a small mewl at the sight.

“Bunny.” He breathes out. When you look back to him, you notice his eyes have darkened considerably. “We don’t have to--”

“Please.” You let your forehead fall against his, rolling your hips again, stealing another whimper from him. “If you want to, I want to.”

“I do -- fuck, I do.” He nods as you keep grinding on him, his hand disappearing on your back pocket, trying to get as closer to you as possible.

When you meet his lips again, the kiss is somehow eager than before. The longing is evident as you grab onto each other. Your hands travel down his chest, nails digging softly on his exposed skin, and once you feel the fabric of his shirt, you’re quickly to undo the rest of the buttons, not disconnecting from him as you do so. Smoothing your hands back up to his shoulders, you help him shrug off the material, letting it fall to the couch without paying mind to it.

“Wait,” he sneaks between kisses, hands coming up to your waist you push you off gently.

You watch with your brows narrowed as he gets up from the couch, walking to his shelf and standing in front of it, looking for something. Leaning to your side, you let yourself admire the muscles of his back as his fingers run through the edges of the records. It’s impressive how even though his collection takes over the whole furniture, he still seems to know exactly where to look for it, focusing on a small section right at the top. He quickly finds what he’s looking for, pulling it with a ‘Aha!’ before turning back to you.

He holds up a very familiar black cover, the imprint of Queen’s Greatest Hits instantly calling your attention. Doing the same as you’d done earlier, he takes out the disk, placing it on the player before adjusting the needle over it. You watch it with a smile teasing on your lips, finding oddly endearing how he made you pull away from him with the sole purpose of putting on a soundtrack -- making notice to put on something you’d like, as well. He cranks up the volume as the first words of Bohemian Rhapsody start to swallow your thoughts, turning back to you and offering his hand with a cheeky grin painted on his face.

Taking his hold, you let him pull you up from the couch and, before you can really register it, he’s guiding you through the hallway. You stumble on your footing as he rushes a bit to fast for you to really wrap your head around it, the walls of the corridor passing by almost in a blur as it takes your mind a beat too long to catch up with your eyes. Still, your giggles dance along with his all the way to his door at the end of it, making you feel like a couple of teens sneaking out for the first time.

He doesn’t give you a single minute to take notice of his room -- not that you would at this moment, your arousal pooling at your underwear only enhancing the haziness of your mind. In just a speck of a second, he’s already pushing the door closed, your body being pressed against it not long after. His arms find their place on each side of your head, his lips searching hungrily for yours as your fingers find their home between the strands of his hair once more.

“Shit, need you so bad, baby.” he presses his hips against yours, mouth hot as he sucks in the skin of your jaw, all the way down your neck, finding a spot that makes you whine under his touch. “That’s it, darling, let me hear you again.”

“Harry,” you mewl as his teeth sink on your skin gently, his tongue swiping quickly over the spot before he trails back to your cheek. You melt under his touch when his hands find their way back on your body, one of them caressing the side of your breast softly, thumb poking out to rub the spot where you nipple pebbles under your layers of clothing. This brings out a desperate whimper from your throat, your head falling back on the door as you close your eyes, trying to savor every slight touch of his. “Please.”

“Look so fucking pretty in this piece, bunny.” The sound of his voice is right below your ear, his warm breath hitting your skin making the hairs on your neck rise. “Look gorgeous in anythin”” he turns his head to bite at your earlobe. “But I really need it gone right now.”

Your eyes snapback open when you feel him pull back from you, his hands finding the front buttons of your playsuit, fiddling them open so easily you barely register it. His lips are back on yours, this time slower, letting his desire be known at every brush of his tongue. Smoothing his hands on your shoulders, he helps you out of the sleeves of the top. As soon as your back is disconnected from the wooden door, you start moving forward before you can really think about it, pushing him back gently until the back of his knees hit the mattress and he’s sitting back on the bed.

There’s hardly a speck of green left on his darkened irises when he looks up at you, watching your every move as you shift the material down your body, letting it pool on your feet before you kick it to the side. Taking a slow step towards him, his hands holding onto your hips almost unconsciously, you reach back to find the hook of your bra, but he stops you before you can even quite grasp it. “Wait,” he pulls you closer, making you fall a bit awkwardly on his lap, your hands moving to grip on his shoulder for support. “Let me.”

You adjust your position on top of him, your knees resting next to his thighs, as he handily unhooks your bra, removing it quickly from your arms and tossing it to the side. A gasp escapes your mouth as he wastes no time before attaching his mouth to your breast, tongue circling on your nipple before sucking in. His hand tries to give the same attention to the other one, grasping onto it as his thumb caresses the pebbled nub.

The crescendo of the song comes muffled in the background and it’s as if it’s echoing inside your head while you mindlessly roll your hips against his. The motion makes the lining of his zipper rub deliciously against your clit under the thin fabric of your underwear, and it reminds you of his hardening length pressing on his jeans. It seems to remind him as well, as his mouth parts from your chest in a groan, his lips licking at the space between your breast, kissing all the way back to your neck, where he hides his face with a strangled moan when you grind down a bit harder.

“Can’t take the tease, baby.” He pants. “Need you right fucking now.”

You pull back from him, gazing down at the tent on his pants and bringing your hands to fiddle with his belt. It takes you a bit longer to manage to pull it out, as his eager lips attack your neck once again. At this point, you can only imagine the marks he’s made on your skin, knowing the reddened spots will soon come to a purple shade, but it’s the least of your worries as you pop the button of his jeans, opening up the zipper.

“Stand up just for a sec, darling.” He taps on your hip and you do as he asks, stepping back to plant your feet on the floor.

He shifts out of his pants, bringing his briefs along with it and you watch the way his cock all but jumps out of its restrains, slapping back on his stomach. The tip is a reddened shade darker, a trace of precum already oozing out of it, dripping down his length and making you rub your thighs for some sort of relief as you feel your mouth watering. You want to reach for it, grasp it as you feel it throb on your palm. You want to trace the prominent veins adorning it with your tongue and discover all the sounds he makes when he’s all but begging for you to wrap you mouth around it already. But more than anything, and what speaks louder to you at the moment, is how you want to feel it deep in your belly, rubbing against your walls until your legs shake.

“My eyes are up here, love.” You look up at him, a smug grin on his face as he draws you in by your hips.

“Can’t help it.” You watch his fingers play with the waistband of your cherry colored underwear, meeting his eyes as you let yourself mess with him a bit. “Just have such a beautiful cock.”

“Christ.” He groans, yanking your panties down your leg, making your arousal drip down your thighs. His lips immediately trace on your pubic bone, hands travelling to grip on your ass as his teeth sink into your skin slowly. “Didn’t know you were this filthy, bunny.”

You enlace your fingers on his strands, pushing his fringe away from his forehead as you mount him again. “Only for you.”

“All for me? What did I do to deserve you?” He smiles, pecking your lips and pulling your closer so you can feel his cock poking at your stomach. “Why don’t you lie down for me?”

You shake your head, pushing his shoulders back gently until his back hits the mattress. “You lie down.”

“Shit, baby, gonna sit on my cock?” He shifts back just slightly, watching you sit back on his thigh as you grab his length, giving it an experimental pump that makes his breath audibly hitch. “Fuck-- such a good girl, aren’t ya?”

You chew on your bottom lip, flickering your palm over the tip and collecting a bit of the precum before rubbing it once more. He lets out a strangled moan, head tilting back on the mattress, his curls splattered around him like a halo. Which is an ironical contrast to what you’re doing to him.

His voice comes out in a breathy, chest moving frantically as he peeks down at you when you give him another slow pump. “Please, darling, don’t torture me right now, need you so bad.”

If it were another occasion you wouldn’t listen to him, simply continuing your teasing as if he hadn’t said anything at all. But right now you can feel your wetness pooling where you sit on his thigh as you all but throb for him at the sight of his angry cock in your hand. It’s just as much torture to you as it is to him to keep this going any longer, so you just shift up, gabbing his base and rubbing it along your folds one, two, three times, before finally aligning it with your entrance.

His nails dig on your thighs in anticipation, his eyes watching with barely a blink as you slowly sink down. Your mouth hangs open but nothing except a choked gasp comes out of it. There’s a delicious burn that comes with him slowly spreading you open for him, and when you fully sit down your eyes are teary and can’t help but clench around him, earning a full moan in response.

“So fucking tight.” He pants, chest moving up as he takes a sharp inhale when you clench again. “So wet too, baby, drenching me.”

“Fuck, Harry.” You lean forward, hands lying on each side of his torso as you pull up the tiniest bit just to sink down again.

You want to start slow, gradually fastening your pace but you can’t seem to hold yourself back. As his hands grasp on your hips you start to bounce on him at a hard pace, your moans meshing together as well as the faint vocals blasting outside the closed door. Rolling your hips on his, he hits spot that makes you sit on your heels again as you throw your head back, crying out his name.

It’s hard to keep focus as you mind is blurry from the pleasure that takes over every cell of your body as well as the alcohol still running freely on your bloodstream. All you can focus on right now is Harry. It’s his hands gripping on your skin, helping you fasten your pace. It’s the sound of his voice pitching on a needy whimper, telling you how good you feel around him. It’s the sight of his face creased in pleasure when you look down at him, the veins staining his neck and his locks sticking to his damp forehead, cheeks rosy and lips plump. He’s the only thing in your mind as you chant his name under your breath like a quiet prayer.

“Is my cock that good, bunny?” He meets your thrusts with his hips, making you sob out a moan. His lips tug on a smirk, “Look at you helping you helping yourself out on my cock -- fuck, look like a proper dream.”

There’s a familiar tightness in your stomach, one that makes your toes curl and your rhythm falters. “I’m almost there, shit.”

“Won’t last much longer too, baby, feel too good.” He groans holding your hips in place when you stumble on your pace again, deciding to thrust upwards, your pelvis meeting in loud smacks. “Gonna cum for me? Gonna let me see you looking all pretty when you cum all over my cock?”

“Harry, please.” You’re not even sure what you’re asking for, your eyes closing as you roll back your head. A trifling cramp is starting to set on the back of your thighs but you barely pay any mind to it as the bliss takes over your whole body. You’re so close to your high you can almost reach it, just needing a small push.

“C’mon, baby.” Harry urges you, hand reaching where you’re connected to rub at your clit harshly.

And that’s all you needed, opening your eyes as a couple tears fall down your face when you feel your orgasm taking over you body, the white ceiling feeling far away like an imagine you watch on the television. You’re not exactly sure when Killer Queen started playing, but as the waves of euphoria hit your body, you can hear the guitar solo ringing in your ears, the crescendo of the song only enhancing the thrill of your high as you ride your orgasm along with it.

You practically collapse down on his chest, his hot skin sticking to your body. He’s still panting under you, warm breath hitting your neck as he holds onto your ass, his thrusts coming sloppier as he comes right after you. The sensitivity of your center makes you whine along with his strangled moans when he holds his hips to yours,burying himself in you as he paints your walls white.

For a moment you just stay like this, cheek resting on his chest, the sound of his heartbeat slowing down by the minute blending with the music coming from outside the closed door. His fingertips trace patterns on your bare arm that’s hugging his torso and keeping him close. You can feel your mind getting clearer, not just from the alcohol but from the high of your orgasm. And as the sound of the soft wind knocks against the window glass, you’re almost lulled to sleep just like this.

Harry shifts slightly, you feel his lips pressing on your head before he carefully moves to sit up, letting you fall back on the bed gently. “Mind if I have a smoke, bunny?”

You give him a lazy smile, shaking your head as you look up at him, reaching for his locks that poke wildly on his head. Leaning down, he gives you a quick peck before getting up. Turning to your side, you watch as he looks around the room, finding his briefs thrown by the end of the bed and quickly putting them back on. He grabs the pack of cigarettes along with his lighter and heads towards the window.

Opening up the window, allowing the evening breeze to slip through the crack and dance around the room, he pulls a chair leaning on the wall to sit directly by it. The chair is stacked with colored cushions on top of it - one yellow, one red, and one blue - he throws two of them thoughtlessly on the floor next to it, adjusting the remaining one on his back as he leans down to sit on it. The stool is low enough so he can relax his feet on it comfortably, fingers fiddling with the lighter for a second before rising it to meet the end of the cigarette resting between his lips. Freddie Mercury still sings loudly in the living room, the sound coming a bit muffled thanks to the closed door, but making it as background noise as you come quiet to admire his figure against the last creeks of sunlight hitting the side of his profile.

You chew on your lip at the scene, wishing you could record it somehow and play it every night before falling asleep. There’s something inherently erotic about having him smoke a cigar just on his underwear, humming along to the tune of the song, right after having you scream his name into his pillow.

The light streak of wind coming from the window breaks you out of your thoughts, making goosebumps rise on your skin as you come to the realization that you’re still sitting naked in his bed. It doesn’t take long for you to find your panties hanging from the edge of the mattress, picking them up to quickly slide them up your legs before you get up to search for your other articles of clothing. You can see the colorful pattern of your playsuit lying next to the closed door, but as you crouch to pick it up something else catches your attention in the pile of clothes thrown around mindlessly on top of a wooden chest

It’s the pink shirt. The same one he wore on the day you first saw him play.

A grin takes over your face as you pick it up, throwing it over your shoulders and sliding your hand on the sleeves. It has the faint scent of his cologne mixed with the lingering smell of cigarettes, something you’ve come to associate with him. You don’t bother to button up the material, letting it hug your body as you take a quick look at yourself in the full-body mirror leaning on the wall in front of you. You turn to him, his eyes still focused on the view outside, a thin coat of smoke leaving his lips and getting lost in the breeze, so you clear your throat as to get his attention.

He looks at you, eyes shamelessly scanning down your body and you’re afraid the cig will fall from his lips as they grow on a smug smirk.

“Look at you,” he lets his feet fall from the stool, fixing them on the floor as he motions for you to get close. You approach him without a second thought, climbing on his lap as his hands hold onto your hips. He takes another look at you, grasping the cigarette with his fingers and taking out of his lips. Reaching for your face, his thumb caresses the side of your eyelid gently. “Looking like a proper rockstar now, even got the smudged makeup.”

You giggle. “That’s more your fault than mine.”

“I guess it is.” He taps the butt of the cig on an ashtray prompted on the stool of the window, eyes still trained on you. “Should do it more often then, s’fucking hot.”

You smile at the connotation, picking at the hem of the shirt and gazing at him from under your lashes. “Guess I might be starting to like pink, that’s also your fault.”

“Look way too good in pink not to like it, bunny.”

“Stop that.” You hide your face on the crook of his shoulder.

“Telling the truth.” His free hand grips on your waist, pulling you closer as he tilts his head to kiss at your neck. “Looks good in everything.”

“Could tell you the same thing.” You pull back to look at him, teeth sinking on your bottom lip as you smooth your hands down his bare chest. “But I do prefer this fit on you, really brings out your eyes.”

“Naughty.”

You lean to connect your lips, hugging him close with your arms wrapped around his neck and enjoying the tender moment as you distribute kisses around his face just to hear him giggle. And when you bring your mouth to his again, you barely feel the softness of his lips before he all but jumps on his skin. You pull back, furrowing your brows, ready to question it but he beats you. “Forgot I got something for you.”

“For me?” You blink. “What is it?”

“Go sit on the bed while I fetch, will be just a minute.” He gives you a quick peck before you’re pulling away.

You do as he asks, sitting back on the bed, right next to the wrinkled spot where you lied just minutes ago. He walks across the room, opening the door where you came from and disappearing in the hallway. The record is still blasting through the apartment walls, sound coming louder now that there’s no barrier between you.

While he’s gone, you take a moment to look around his room, something you didn’t get a chance to do when you first came in tangled on his arms. It’s not much messier than the living room, really, only the small piles of clothes you’ve spotted earlier that give the illusion of an untidy room. There’s a light wooden dresser that sits next to the chest, and from where you sit you can see two candles standing alone on top of it, similar to the ones on the piano.

You swing your feet on the edge of the bed, letting them brush along a blue fluffy mat that hugs the floor underneath it. And as you run your hands on along his mattress, you notice the soft superficie, making you look down at a knitted blanket spreaded across the bed. It’s made of different colored squared stuck together in an oddly comforting pattern. You want to lie down on it, and let yourself be swallowed by the cozyness of the material against your skin, but before you can do so, Harry appears back in the room, closing the door behind him as he makes his way to you.

“This blanket is so nice.” You run your hands through it, smiling at him.

“Thanks, I knitted it.” The information makes your eyes bulge out, you open your mouth to inquire further but he’s already talking again. “This is-- uhm, I dunno, just something I thought you’d like it.”

The small box in his hand catches your attention as he hands it to you, his eyes looking down at it and even with just the moonlight illuminating the room you can see the blush on his cheeks. He props himself down on the spot next to you, watching your fingers turn the rectangular box around. It’s a cassette tape case, you quickly realize.

When you gaze at the back of it, there’s names of songs scribbled behind it. Not many, but a good collection of them, from Fleetwood Mac to The Bangles, and even Billy Joel. And it doesn’t take you long to find a pattern with the song chosen for the tape. Their all love songs. It makes your heart swell even more, if that’s even possible at this point.

“These are so cheesy,” you bite your lip, barely able to contain your smile.

He rolls his eyes. “They’re romantic, bunny.”

You keep examining the titles written neatly in his handwriting, raising your brows when you land on a specific one. “Every breath you take?” You tease, “That’s an interesting take on romance.”

“Shut up.” He giggles, eyes watching you carefully. “Do you like it?” His voice is adorably hesitant, it makes your heart stumble on a beat.

“I love it.” You say in just above a whisper, feeling the butterflies in your stomach get a little more vivid once your eyes land on the last song scribbled in the back of the tape. Somebody to Love. Brushing your thumb over the words softly, careful not to smudge the paint, you look up at him to find his green irises glistening at you. You shake your head almost in disbelief at the tenderness behind the gift. “Did you record this just for me?”

“Uhm yeah some of them I did but—” He looks down, focusing on his fingers as they pick a loose string from the blanket under his leg. “Some of them I just... Sang”

“You sang?” It takes you by surprise, how you thought there was no way he could make you feel warmer.

“Yeah… All of them, actually.” His dimples dig deep on his cheeks as he quickly peeks his eyes at you. “It’s just… The quality is shit when you record it from the radio and the dj keeps interrupting and stuff.” He shrugs, “Thought if I sang it could be more, personal? I guess.”

“I love it.” You repeat.

“You do?”

“I do.” You chew on your lip, watching his eyes glimmering on the dim light of the room. “Is there a reason for this sudden present?”

“Kind of I--” He clears his throat, fully glancing at you. There’s an expectation behind his eyes, you can tell from the way he takes a sharp inhale that he’s nervous. “Thought I make you-- ask you, actually, if you’d be mine?”

You can’t help but giggle at how adorable he looks, your eyes getting a bit glossy as you nod without a blink of a thought. “Of course I’m yours, Harry.”

“Yeah?” His smile grows. “As like, m’girlfriend?”

Throwing your arms around him, you press your lips against his cheek, careful not to drop the tape in your hand still. You pull back, tilting your head as giving him a fond smile. “As in your girlfriend, yes.”

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