#but in both those he's playing two real people so it never really registered that his hair was actually brown?

[catsaysmlem]

wait there's iceman hair colour discourse? I knew there was eye colour discourse but didn't think the hair colour was also discoursable.

is it because his hair is listed as brown in his wiki? I just assumed that was incorrect but people are saying val himself is apparently a brunet??? and his hair just looked blond sometimes because of yellow light falling on it because it's a light mousy brown or something idk something to do with colour theory. and therefore ice probably has that same colour hair. i don't know enough about this tbh so I don't really have anything to add and that was interesting to read because I always thought he was blond

#maybe its because Ive seen a bunch of movies with val kilmer where he was blond #and only like one or two where he had brown/black hair? tombstone obviously doors also I guess #but in both those he's playing two real people so it never really registered that his hair was actually brown? #the most recent thing I can think of seeing him in apart from tgm #is kkbb where he is blond iirc #iceman kazansky #val kilmer

[only-goose]

More than Nougat

Synopsis: You taught Jack about hickies and now he’s obsessed

Warnings: none really, just a whole lotta fluff

Nothing! There was absolutely nothing! No beer, no bacon, no nothing! And who would’ve eaten all the food and not replace it? The two black holes for humans you live with. The Winchesters, those boys with their bottomless stomachs drove you crazy sometimes. You’re half tempted to throw Jack into the accusation but he’s still figuring the foods he likes.

“I’m going on a supply run!” You shout through the halls. All you hear is a couple grunts of acknowledgement, until a voice behind you says “can I come?” You nearly jump out of your skin, not expecting to see Jack behind you. “You scared the shit outta be dude, but yeah, of course you can come” you answered him. “Sorry for scaring you y/n” he apologises.

You chuckle his apology off, trying not to let your heart run wild. Even though Jack was only, technically, a few years old, he resembled someone of your own age. This very quickly led you to falling for him, his newborn innocence, childish humour and clinginess (you loved though, let’s be real).

“Alrighty Jack, let’s go” you say as you lead him up the stairs, to the garage. You unlock your ‘64 Pontiac and hope in, turning on some background music before peeling out of the bunker.

“Can we have a movie night tonight, y/n?” The nephilim asks. “Absolutely” you reply “what do you wanna watch?” He sits there and has a hard think about it, “I don’t know, I’ll look up movies when we get to the bunker. Can we get snacks now though?” He asks. You nod your head as you park. You pull out a trolley and give it to Jack to push, while you wander around and get enough food to supposedly last a few weeks (you knew better than the expect it would last a few days).

Jack absolutely piles the junk food into the trolley, which gives you a good laugh, still enamoured with his childishness. He gives you a massive grin and keeps walking, always making sure to look behind him and make sure you’re still there. You head to the checkout and pay for the mountain of food you bought, Jack standing shoulder to shoulder with you the entire time, watching you interact with the register guy. Jack means his head on your shoulder after you pay and keep making small talk, even though you’ve finished all you need to do. Jack links his hand to yours to try and push his point, he doesn’t wanna be near anyone but you anymore.

After you get home, Jack wizzes off to the computer to search for a movie while you pack away the food, keeping out the snack for movie night. Jack comes bounding in a few minutes later, a dvd in hand, and says “I wanna watch this one” he hold it up for you to see. You look at him and asks if he’s sure, “I’ve never seen it so I really wanna try” he replies. You hold on your giggles as you make your way towards the dean-cave (you think it’s a silly name but whatever).

You press play on the movie as you and Jack get comfortable next to each other on the couch, sitting leg to leg so you can both reach the junk food. Sandy and Danny start singing on your tv screen and it has Jack laughing, you don’t know what at, but you don’t care. Getting to see Jack make you laugh makes your day a little brighter.

You get to the point in the movie when Rizzo appears with hickies from Kenickie. “Y/n?” Jack gets your attention as he taps your shoulder. You pause the movie as you turn to Jack, “what’s wrong?” Jack points at Rizzo and says “what’s wrong with her neck, who has hands small enough to punch her like that?” He ponders “or did she get bitten my a vampire? Some vampire bites look like that, don’t they?”

Jack looks at you concerned as you bust out laughing. “Oh Jack, those are called hickies” you tell him. He raises his eyebrow, almost like he want to ask something, so you continue. “When two people like each other a lot, some like marking their partner. It’s kind of like a possession thing” you can see the cogs turning in his head, trying to make sense of what you said.

“I like you a lot, and I don’t like when you talk to people that aren’t me, so do I put hickies on you?” Jack admits, a big grin adorning his plush lips. You feel a bit conflicted, maybe you didn’t make it clear enough that it was an ‘in love’ type of like, not a ‘just friends’ type of like and so you told him. “I don’t think you get it, it’s for people who love each other. Like want to get married and have a family, kind of love. Not the kind of love you have for friends”

His grin doesn’t falter, “I know what you meant, y/n, and I mean what I said. I like you a lot, the ‘love’ type of like. I wanna hold your hand, and kiss you, and I want you to give me hickies and I want to give you some too” if you were a cartoon, you knew you’d have hearts in your eyes and heart would be thumping out of your chest at Jacks brazen confession.

He watches you patiently as you lean over and peck his lips, testing to water. “I like you a lot too, Jack” you say as you make deep eye contact. Jack kisses you back grinning. “Can you give me a hickie y/n?” He asks shyly. “It’s kind of something you have to build up to. You have to start with marking out before you move to hickies” Jack smashes his lips onto yours as soon as you finish your sentence.

After showing Jack how to make out, you pull away which causes a small whine to rise from Jacks throat. “I’m gonna give you a hickie now, ok?” You say as Jack vigorously nods his head. You got back to kissing his lips, then start trailing them towards his neck. You spend a couple seconds looking around for his weak spot, knowing you’ve found it when he moans and bursts a light bulb.

You look up and see his eyes glowing gold “sorry” he says sheepishly. You kiss his lips, then go back to his neck. You suck and nip at the supple skin, causing all sorts of noises to come out of Jack. You pull back “that should give you a nice purple one in the morning” you say. Jack nods as you both lie down, his head on your chest as you doze off.

You wake up to Jack shaking you, “look, it’s here!” He bounces around, clearly happy to the new addition on marks on his skin when he says, “I think I like this more than nougat”

#jack kline #jack kline fanfiction #jack kline hickies #jack kline oneshot #jack kline x reader

[paperstorm]

I'm the "we all agree it was lying right" anon. I just watched some scenes from 2x04 (the one where Carlos introduces TK as a friend). The theme of that episode - people feeling safe in their relationships - made me think about 4x01. Since it aired, I've sympathized with both TK and Carlos. Carlos because of how he felt when he was younger and having to deal with it all alone, and TK, because he'd been lied to for so long and didn't get a chance to express any frustration about it. I kept thinking, "Ah TK's grown so much coz he didn't run away, he was patient, named and analysed his emotions, and showed his usual concern for others' wellbeing."

But after the 2x04 rewatch, I'm thinking about what that internal emotional analysis must have been for TK - "okay so Carlos hid this important thing from me, he lied to me for so long, what do I think or feel about it?" And his mind must have immediately gone to "his lies were about him, his past, his fears and insecurities and not really about me or us" because TK was THAT secure about their relationship. TK's growth must have helped, but surely a lot of that credit for TK feeling that level of security goes to Carlos. Carlos has been able to convince TK about his love for him completely, that maybe the lie registers as a lie, but not at all as an indictment of their relationship.

Since 4x01 aired, the fact that it was a long-term lie keeps nagging at me so much. The lie itself and the duration bothers me but maybe it's because I've never experienced any relationship where I feel THAT safe. It seems so unbelievable to me, almost like it's an idealized instance which could never actually happen between two real people. What do you think? Can people feel so secure that a long-standing lie wouldn't bother them very much?

Yes I think people absolutely can feel so secure that something like this wouldn't bother them very much. I don't think it would be the most common reaction to it, but it's certainly not impossible. I also hope that they do give TK a bit more space to express the fact that this was upsetting and destabilizing even if he understands Carlos's reasons, I think that would be a really healthy thing for him to be allowed to show, that kind of like "I'm upset and I wish you hadn't done this but I still love you" sort of thing that happens all the time in stable, healthy relationships (romantic as well as platonic and familial.)

I also think there's a tendency (and do I do this too? Absolutely) to sort of project your own emotions onto a character. So "I wouldn't forgive Carlos so easily if I was the one engaged to him" easily becomes "if TK reacts differently than I would, it's unrealistic." It's sort of the same mindset that leads to people saying they wanted TK to have to *earn* his forgiveness after the break up (although its rare anyone ever lays out exactly what that means or what it would look like). There's a bit of "I wouldn't have forgiven him immediately, so Carlos shouldn't either" in that, and from my view, TK doesn't have to earn anything. He deserves forgiveness because Carlos forgives him and that's that.

So I hope they show TK having a few more emotions about this, and I hope they show Carlos explaining why he kept the secret and apologizing, because that's how I would want that to play out if I were the one writing it. But if TK doesn't have those feelings, I mean sure ,maybe it's a bit of a cop-out on the writers' part. There's that. But maybe it's also okay for someone to just forgive someone else, without all this highly Christian and American notions of earning it and the concept of 'accountability' that is always purposely vague and has been thrown around so much it's become meaningless. Not telling anyone else what to do but it's been good for me, having been raised in a culturally Christian and Western society, to question why we're so married to the language of penance and repaying debts and earning forgiveness, and why we think those things are so universally irremovable from the concept of justice.

#911ls asks

[philtstone]

title: home again

happy birthday to my dearest friend zainab! sorry this is so late dude. pls accept 11k words about sam and bucky caring deeply abt each other. love u very much xxo

Summary: “I like running,” Bucky says, in that maddeningly noncommittal way with which he sometimes demonstrates deep and unwavering care. Sam refocuses with effort.

“Fine. Just – ditch the pants, will you?”

He watches eyes narrow and a nose scrunch in confusion. Bucky looks down. Seems to register all the unspoken meaning. Looks back up.

“Okay.”

“Okay,” Sam repeats.

Maddening, but still enough to loosen a knot in Sam’s chest.

***

PART I. I WAS BORN BY A RIVER 

2023, June

Sam wakes up with the itch to pick a fight under his skin.

When he wanders out into the kitchen there is a ready pot of coffee and the TV playing on low in the background. This is technically unexpected – in Sam’s pissed-off, half-asleep state, it’s unexpected – because it is truly the ass end of dawn. The sky’s still like, indigo-y out there – out the window of Sarah’s house, which is his house too, only he’s been spending the last month or so getting all re-used to it.

From the kitchen, as he pours his coffee, he can see the old quilting on the couch and the two big bookshelves filling up the den. They always had books in their house growing up. It was a principle Sam’s father held. He used to say, now Sammy, and he’d always say it like that, most often when it was the two of them out on the P&D and Sarah was busy untangling the fishing line. Now Sammy, here’s something I’m gonna tell you. You don’t need to be no preacher nor philosophizer to let your good shine through. But you need to know why you stand where you stand. Otherwise, one day something’s gonna come along and challenge it, and it’s gonna scare you into bein’ something you’re not.

His father’s brother was in the Black Panthers. Sam remembers remnants of this from when he was really young – seven, maybe, or eight. There were meetings, at a rented room in the local public library, and they served tea, had people come and speak sometimes. Paul did not attend some meetings. He attended others. Leadership was a question that had arisen and then been dropped many times around over the course of that time period. We need leaders. We need leaders like Paul, who got a head on his shoulders and is good at talking. Sam was a kid but sharp enough to hear all these things. Ultimately those conversations never went anywhere Real, and Paul and Darlene stayed in their old house overlooking the water and fed those less fortunate than them and attended church on Sundays. 

For so much of his life, it was known implicitly to Sam that his father knew why he stood where he stood.

Now Sam stands in the same kitchen he and Dad and Sarah’d come back to after those fishing trips, and scrubs both hands over his eyes while his coffee goes cold. The itch to pick a fight is still simmering. He takes a sip of the coffee and scowls. It’s good, but not in a way that makes him feel better.

He wanders into the living room, holding the lukewarm mug.

[read more on ao3]

#my writing #wow ... it is finally done #and so much longer than intended lmao #sam wilson #(my beloved) #bucky barnes #sam x bucky #sambucky #(because the ships are ambiguous and this is a gift for zainab i can use that tag) #t'challa #monica rambeau #sarah wilson #sarah x bucky #t'challa x nakia #yelena belova #kate bishop #kamala khan #america chavez #eli bradley #isaiah bradley #marvel #the falcon and the winter soldier #tfatws #captain america #marvel phase four #marvel phase five #even dare i say #marvel phase 6

[watching-pictures-move]

Movie Review | Street Smart (Schatzberg, 1987)

One could look at a lot of what goes down in this movie and dismiss it as unrealistic, but I found its tenuous relationship with reality easy to overlook for two reasons. One, because I don't give a shit. Realism is for suckers. Two, while some plot developments are arguably a little convenient for the movie to hold up as a great thriller, I think the movie is really aiming to skewer yuppie fantasies. This is one of a number of '80s movies that takes the vantage point of white, financially comfortable characters and has them thrust into an experience far removed from their complacent day to day lives. But compared to things like Doctor Detroit and Something Wild, where the instigating incidents are less than entirely voluntary on the part of the protagonists, here, the protagonist is more complicit in his fate.

You see, our hero is a hotshot reporter played by Christopher Reeve who's struggling to come up with a story that'll sufficiently entice both his editor, a wryly funny Andre Gregory, and the reading public. This being pre-cleanup hellhole New York, he proposes doing a profile piece on a pimp. But after hitting the streets and finding no leads, with a deadline fast encroaching, he solves his problem with the power of imagination. That's right, he completely makes up the story, filling it with colourful enough details that his editor and the public are completely charmed, and soon he's climbing the ladder of career success and getting his own TV news gig. Problem is, the story he wrote is awfully similar to an actual pimp played by Morgan Freeman, whose lawyer brings the two together as part of a defense against a second degree murder charge. Needless to say, things don't go as planned.

When they first tour the streets together, Reeve is first charmed then slowly intimidated as Freeman corrects his ideas about what it's like out there for a pimp, first through words, then through violence. Freeman suggests that Reeve's subject wouldn't survive a day out in the streets and jokes about getting one of those "TV broads" to work for him, but then wildly overreacts to losing a basketball game and then menaces one of his hookers that he suspects of holding out on him. Freeman carries with him the constant threat of violence, and while I'm not necessarily one to have moral concerns about using violence against women in what's essentially an entertainment, the fact that it's narratively justified here to feature it so heavily doesn't make the movie much easier to watch during such scenes.

Attempts to control the narrative don't go as planned. From the get go, Gregory excitedly reads from Reeve's piece, but then immediately suggests altering one of the juiciest quotes.

"It's wonderful! Listen. Listen to this! 'Although he doesn't vote and never has Tyrone has no modesty about his own political potential. If I was the president, he says, I could fix the world in 30 seconds. I sent everybody pussy and they don't have no time for trouble.' It's terrific. It's first rate. It's a real breakthrough! Let it change pussy for something else."

When Reeve has the bright idea to bring the two worlds together and invite Freeman and his associates to a party held by his magazine, the illusion that the two groups hit it off is immediately dispelled by Freeman's grievances about being patronized. ("You don't tell me how people react to me. I know what people are doing, no matter what they say. Cause I read minds, you dig?") While the movie is not the kind of bullet-pointed, focus-grouped progressive screed that you might get with this subject nowadays, I do think it's astute about the ways in which racist and classist assumptions can cause us to struggle with events that don't neatly fit the existing narrative.

Casting is the movie's secret weapon. Reeve is an interesting choice for the lead because he's someone who normally registers as entirely wholesome and nonthreatening (there's a fundamental decency to his portrayal of Superman that's kept his first two movies from being surpassed in the genre). And that quality makes it easy for us to see ourselves in his place, even when he's being a dipshit and making things worse for himself and everyone around him and then scheming to find a way out of this mess. But really, this is Freeman's show, and it's the kind of performance I've never seen him give anywhere else. Normally he's old, dignified, and talks... like... this... (pretend you're reading it in his usual voice). Here, he's sleazy, hard edged, with a quicksilver intelligence that's constantly underestimated by those around him. He's also terrifying in his capacity for violence, in a way that might seem mercurial if he didn't apply it with such precise timing. And there's also a pretty moving supporting performance by Kathy Baker as one of Freeman's hookers, someone who seems both streetwise and vulnerable, and navigates the hard edges of her life with her humanity in interesting ways. (I was gonna say that I previously enjoyed her in Frankie and Johnny, but realized I was actually thinking of Kate Nelligan, who despite their resemblance is a completely different person. I think we need to start tracking actors who look the same, because otherwise movies would get too confusing for dum dums like me.)

As a Cannon Films production, this brings to mind 52 Pick-Up, another film on the arguably more prestigious end of the Cannon spectrum (in that it feels like a real movie), but one that also carries a fair bit of sleaze and has great villainous performances (one here, two there). Like I said, the movie perhaps wraps up a bit too neatly, and there are some scenes that are pretty tough to sit through, but I think the performances and the central dynamic make this a really involving watch.

#film #street smart #jerry schatzberg #movie review

[saynotoshityouhate]

For Science Ch. 5

Ch. 1 // Ch. 2 // Ch. 3 // Ch. 4

Words: 1781

Tags: angst, love, neediness, bathtub sex, he’s too big but (spoiler) we make it work.

It had been three days. Three long, agonizing days since Bruce slammed the front door and ran away. Yesterday he sent a text, asking if he could come home. Seeing his name light up your screen made your heart jump, so happy to know he was safe and coming back to you. You responded with an enthusiastic yes.

He’d never left like this before - you’d never had a fight or had a moment where his emotions took over so badly. Of course you’d welcome him back, you’d never worried he would hurt you. Not anymore - not since he’d found this new happy medium between his two personas. Bruce clearly wasn’t as confident.

It was hard having him gone for those first few days of your new job at the university, and you’d wished he’d been there to laugh at some of the silly mistakes you had made. His bellowing chuckles were some of your favorite noises in the world.

Pulling up the driveway after classes were through, you saw Bruce’s car parked back in its normal place. Your stomach flipped, unsure what to expect, although you were mostly excited to see him.

You quietly opened the back door, walking into the kitchen. Taking off your heels, you heard soft, muffled classical music and smelled lavender and citrus. You smiled, heading straight to the master bath. The door was cracked open slightly, and you could see the warm glow of candles dancing across the shiny tile walls.

You knocked quietly on the door and pushed it open gently, just enough to stick your head inside. “Bruce?”

Bruce’s head was resting against the cool tile behind him, his eyes closed and his breathing regular. He must have just fallen asleep, his large frame filling most of the oversized jacuzzi tub. “Bruce?” You whispered again, awakening him from his dream. His warm eyes met yours, taking a moment to focus and register that you were really there. “Y/N, I -“ Bruce rested his hands on the side of the tub, beginning to push himself up to greet you. “No, no - stay there, you look so peaceful.” You nervously played with the hem of your untucked blouse.

“May I?” You lifted your hands to the top buttons of your blouse, pausing for Bruce’s approval. His adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he nodded, adjusting his dark glasses up the bridge of his nose. You proceeded in unbuttoning your crisp white shirt, setting it off to the side. Your back was turned to the submerged Bruce, but you knew the slight shimmy of your hips as you stepped out of your skirt and panties would excite him.

You backed yourself over to the edge of the tub, presenting your back to Bruce. He loved unclasping your bra for you. He took pride in being able to do it with just a flick of his finger, and seeing the tension leave your back and shoulders filled him with warmth. You moved the straps down your shoulders and dropped it to the floor, reveling in the ease of domestic life with Bruce - even in this uncomfortable silence.

Lowering yourself into the bubbles across from him, you sighed. The last few days had been hard on you, you were worried about Bruce, had started your new job, and had been brainstorming on ways to reverse your boyfriend’s physical predicament. You stretched your legs out in front of you, resting them against Bruce’s thighs. He took one foot in his large hand, rubbing the arch with gentle pressure. Your eyes fluttered closed at the wonderful release.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry for how I reacted.” Bruce’s eyes were cast downwards in shame. “I was so upset with myself, I didn’t want to risk anything happening…” You interrupted him. “No, I overreacted. I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I’m just happy you’re back.” You poked him with your other foot, asking him to do the same magic there as well.

“Where did you go?” You asked timidly, not sure you really wanted to know the answer. “I just went to the tower - Tony left my room as-is…just in case.” You made a noise of acknowledgement, your fingers idly playing with the bubbles that adorned your chest.

“I never stopped thinking about you.” Bruce extended a hand, inviting you to come closer. You accepted, allowing him to pull you onto his lap. You wrapped your arms around his neck. “I was scared, Bruce.” He held your face in his hand, rubbing your cheek with his thumb. “I’m sorry. It’ll never happen again.”

You kissed him fiercely, as if you wanted him to stop talking before he gave any excuses or reasons to leave again. You couldn’t help the whimpers leaving your chest, three days was a long time for you two to be apart.

Bruce’s cock throbbed against you, eliciting a groan from the large man. “I missed you so much,” he mumbled, nipping and sucking at your neck and collar bone. Moving to straddle his waist, Bruce’s hands found your hips, helping hold you steady.

“I wanna try - I think I can do it - I wanna try.” You ground your hips against his hardening length, your breaths already ragged and uneven. You knew it would hurt, but you wanted to do this for him. You were certainly wet enough. “No, I don’t wanna hurt you, don’t-“

You had your mind made up. Your much smaller hand took Bruce’s from his waist, bringing it to your core. “Stretch me out, please. I need you.” He could never resist you. Slowly inserting one large digit, knuckle by knuckle, his eyes were trained on you, closely monitoring for any inkling of pain or discomfort. You were feeling nothing of the sort. Your head was thrown back, the stretch sending delicious shockwaves through your limbs.

“One more, please” you breathed. “Y/N, I-“ You shot him a look, like daggers from your irises. “One. More. Please.” Bruce sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. He adjusted his fingers, slowly adding a second, drawing a moan from deep inside you. “I think - I think I’m ready. Please - give it to me? Let me make you feel good. Please?”

“Baby, I’m not sure about this. Let’s just start here, you’re taking me so well, maybe next time, we gotta take it slow.” You whined, loudly, and bucked your hips down onto his two, thick fingers. The water of the tub splashed over the edge. “Don’t wan’ take it slow, Bruce. Wan’ you - your cock. Puhleeeaase, Bruce.”

“The minute anything starts to hurt, you have to tell me, okay? Promise?” You nodded your head vigorously before pulling him closer and kissing him in gratitude. Bruce slowly removed his digits, leaving you empty and clenching around nothing but the bath water.

Bruce’s eyes were dark with lust, but still maintained the warmth of his concern for you. He held your gaze as he aligned himself with your opening. Every millimeter seemed to take an hour, your breath hitching in your throat as you stretched further to accommodate him. Bruce held your hips tightly, trying to maintain control and composure as you took him so well. It had been years since he felt the velvety warmth of a woman around him.

Your fingers dug into his shoulders as he continued to move slowly and methodically. You focused on your breathing, in through your nose, out through your mouth - pushing out whines and whimpers along the way. You attempted to hide your face in the crook of his neck, but Bruce pushed you back, wanting to keep an eye on you. “You’re doing so well, my girl, look at you.”

Looking down, you expected to see that he had completely bottomed out inside you, but there was plenty more left to go. His hand held the base, not allowing you to go any further, if that was even possible. You smiled up at him, so proud of yourself, feeling so full.

Bruce’s heart swelled - and he could finally relax knowing you were okay…better than okay really. You began to rock your hips, exploring your body’s limits, feeling the push and pull of Bruce against your walls. It was worth the effort.

You established a comfortable rhythm, riding him slowly, but forcefully. The waves of now lukewarm water splashed around you, adding to the symphony of delicious noises you both were making - the feelings sending you both into nonverbal bliss. Bruce began to tense, and you weren’t far behind. The only one with a free hand, you reached down to access your clit, quickly sending shockwaves of pleasure ripping through you. You clenched down on Bruce’s girth as you climaxed, sending him over the edge with you. His guttural growl sent vibrations through your skin as he filled you up for the very first time. You collapsed into him, every muscle giving out from the pain and exertion.

Bruce held your weakened body in his arms, both of you exhausted beyond belief. The tub had turned cold and you began to shiver. Concerned, he held you tightly with one arm while he used the other to push himself out of the bath. You clung tightly to his neck as he walked you to the bedroom. Placing your down gently, he dried you off with a towel and handed you your robe to snuggle up into before returning to clean up the bathroom. Once you were dressed, you crawled back to the pillows aligned neatly on your bed and waited for Bruce to return.

Wrapped up in your fluffy robe, you nuzzled into Bruce’s chest. “Can I ask you a question?” Your fingers idly traced his chest, droplets of water still gripping the coarse hairs on his sternum. Bruce grunted in the affirmative, his eyelids were heavy the minute his head hit the pillow. “If you could, you know, switch back. Would you?”

Bruce hummed. “I mean, I’ve thought about it. Done some basic calculations, consulted with colleagues…but that was all before.”

“Before what?” You whispered, tipping your head to look up at him, his eyes still closed gently.

“Before you. Before our life together. Before I saw the way your eyes light up when I enter a room. You read about that sort of thing in books, right? But I never knew it was real. And me? Of all people? In this state?” You sat up, captivated by his words, tears welling up and blurring your vision. His eyes met yours, one hand tracing your spine, while the other held yours.

“So no. I’m not interested in changing back. I am Bruce Banner, I am the Hulk, and I love you.”

#saynotoshityouhate #for science #bruce banner angst #bruce banner x reader #bruce banner smut #professor hulk x reader #professor hulk #marvel smut #avengers fic

[astaroth1357]

Ok but like, what if MC's fandom starts to make ships with MC and the guys. Just think about the ship wars, the fancams, the fanarts, the absolute CHAOS when the brothers find out. It would be even worse if they start shipping MC with the undatables, one day everything is normal and the next day there are ship wars fighting over MC x Barbatos vs MC x Solomon (who are both very smug about it)

The MC's Fanclub are… Shippers?!

Perhaps… The italics blurb has been fulfilling its greater purpose all along…? Perhaps in its state of existential angst, it has in fact developed a plot of its own… An arc of introspection and self-discovery in which its own longing for purpose has forged a meaningful identity… It now has… a story…

Lucifer

As if they couldn't get any MORE frustrating…

He's not an otaku. He's not a part of ship culture. He's not even sure why anyone would care about who dates who around this school, but apparently it's a big deal to some people...

He only became aware of their interest in him and the MC's relationship through some very… subtle clues…

Like the groups that would follow them around in the hallways with their phones out.

Or the multitude of fan rumors about their relationship that Satan spams him with from time to time just to irritate him.

"MC refused hug from Luci in halls today!! Are they bout breakup??? 🥺"

"Tots got pic of kiss today!! Relationship upgrade??"

"IS ARE MC+LUCIFER SECET LVRS?!? PLEASE RESPOND"

It only got worse after he found out the MC gets shipped out a loooooot….

If he had to pick his least favorite ship, it'd be MC x Mammon. He can kind of see it with any of his other brothers (admittedly, Levi is also a little mystifying) but the idea of them ending up with Mammon makes his skin crawl...

He once found a drawing of the MC and Mammon in an… explicit position in one of the classrooms and he was so disgusted that he wouldn’t even touch it. He just set fire to the paper outright. Disgusting...

Mammon

Shipping, eh…? More money making opportunities!

Has some passing idea of what shipping is from Levi and, from what he knows of it, shippers eat cutesy couples stuff right up!! If all he's got to do to make bank is to look all couple-y around the MC then sounds like a win-win to him!

He'll happily pose for a photo or two (paid in advance) of him throwing his arm around the MC or something. Want him to hold their hand? Sure thing!

But since this is still Mammon we're talking about, the second MC actually starts getting into any of it he'll still turn into a blushy, stuttery mess...

For WEEKS the headline picture on so many of their fans' blogs was an image of him turning beet red while the MC kissed him on the cheek. (A fan really got their money's worth there... 😏)

Though he doesn’t exactly like the MC getting shipped with other people, he'll still totally sell pictures of any of them together. He almost paid off an entire credit card with the money he got from the t-shirt sales of the MC and Satan!

If he had to point to one ship he doesn't like it's either MC x Asmo or MC x Levi. His opinion, but Asmo won't treat them right and they could do waaay better than a shut-in. Like him. Ship the MC with just the Great Mammon, got it?

Leviathan

… Lowkey super active in the MC shipping community but is a self-shipper to the extreme.

Like, he never uses his real name on anything (and would probably die from embarrassment if anyone ever found out) but a lot of their fans probably know a couple of his aliases.

He does everything from mod forums, runs a couple blogs, even anonymously posts his own work of him and MC that are totally not his secret fantasy dates or AU versions of themselves, shaddup.

It’s a lot easier for him to keep his involvement secret because he’s hardly at RAD, but the few times he does show up he tries to keep an eye out for anybody prowling for pictures so he can get in a good pose and save the image later.

Mind you, his version of a “good pose” rarely gets more spicy than linking pinkies, but even then he’s still lit up a Christmas Tree throughout.

Naturally, he’s also not a big fan of any ships that aren’t just him and MC and he can find a reason to be jealous at almost anything. But he keeps a special corner of hate for MC x Mammon and MC x Diavolo. Like, the first one doesn’t even need an explanation but MC x Diavolo?? Really??? Do those two even talk?? (please, please, please make sure they never actually talk because a guy like him versus literal royalty? He’d lose MC for sure….!! 😫)

Satan

He hates to actually agree with Lucifer on something, but their fans are starting to get out of hand...

Knows what shipping is in concept, he may have done it once or twice to characters in his books, but he was kind of surprised how it could evolve into such a… group activity?

He was pretty quick to pick up that the MC’s fans had a bit more interest in them together than they did when they both were apart…

I mean, those hideous shirts that Mammon was pedaling were kind of a dead giveaway…

Considering he finds their fanclub all rather annoying, even without their bizarre interest in his love life, when they started actively meddling with him and the MC he was ready to smash some heads.

No. He will not stop for pictures. No. What things they do together is none of your business. No. He has zero interest in seeing your explicit fanart and if you don’t start running that will be the last question you ever ask.

He DOES, however, appreciate the cringy “annoy Lucifer” ammo. They could keep that up for a lifetime... 😏

He doesn’t have a least favorite ship because he doesn’t care about any of this, leave him alone. (That’s a lie, it’s MC x Lucifer. He pokes fun at Lucifer, but he can’t stand it either. Big shock, I know 🙄).

Asmodeus 

Oh he is shamelessly a part of the community, are you kidding?? 

He could practically call “Shipping the MC” one of his favorite pastimes. He’ll openly gossip with their fanclub about who they’ve been with, who they’re seeing, who’s got a chance, etc… He lives for this shit!

He’s the only person who knows that Levi is also in the community and what his aliases are (not because he told him, but because Levi’s not as subtle as he thinks he is… Who else would call themselves “SupremeRuri666” and speak mostly in outdated chat lingo?) but he doesn’t out him because he thinks his very obvious crush is kind of cute. 

Plus, Levi needs the outlet waaaay more than him…

Doesn’t stop him from constantly trolling him and getting into arguments over who the MC would be better with though (the two are “virtual nemeses” as far as Levi is concerned).

Appreciates all forms of expression that comes out of the community (especially the saucy kind 😏) and will happily feed into his own shippers without a care in the world.

Truthfully, Asmo will say that there isn’t a ship he doesn’t like but if someone mentions one that he thinks is kind of “eh,” he’ll just add himself into the mix. “Oh, you like MC x Barbatos? Well how about Asmo x MC x Barbatos? That sounds loads more interesting doesn’t it??”

Beelzebub 

Oh, Beel… Sweet, sweet Beel… Beel doesn’t even know what their club is doing…

Because Beel has a reputation of being pretty protective of MC - and against the fanclub in general - the club keeps a healthy distance… but that doesn’t mean they’re not going to sneak in some picture or make a SHITLOAD of fanwork about them.

Between classes and practice Beel is a busy guy, so sometimes he just doesn’t notice that there’s people hiding behind trees when he’s out with MC. 

Honestly, his complete ignorance of it all makes it even cuter because when he acts sweet, it’s not just for the camera. That’s the real deal.

Mammon was the one who eventually let it slip that there was even shipping happening and Beel was… kind of creeped out because isn’t this stalking? But also kind of weirdly happy(?) that MC x Beel was so popular… Very conflicted boy here.

He never actually acknowledges the community, though, and just keeps on being Beel (which still gave the fans more than enough material so all’s well that ends well?)

Beel genuinely doesn’t have a least favorite ship (because he believes the best ship is whoever makes the MC happy) but his second favorite under himself is probably MC x Belphie. They look very cute together...  😊

Belphegor 

Ride or die, Beel x MC x Belphie. 

Just kidding (kind of), Belphie isn’t into the shipping but if asked he’d be pretty okay with that one.

His campaign against the MC’s fanclub and their attention stealing ways means that he found out about their shipping thing only slightly ahead of Beel when Mammon was trying to get pictures of them napping together…

Honestly, he couldn’t care less if a bunch of weirdos were weirdly invested in their relationship, but he’s not about to let Mammon just make a quick Grimm off of it. Belphie makes sure that he gives him NOTHING to work with. 

Since Mammon is the main dealer, the shippers in both the MC fanclub and Belphie fanclub aren’t nearly as well fed and pretty desperate for anything... You best believe he plays that to his advantage (because it’s okay if he does. He’s not Mammon).

Really helps that MC x Belphie is legitimately a very cute looking couple, carried by Belphie’s cuteness alone if nothing else. Add an adorable MC and you reach levels so cute it could actually melt people into puddles of goo... They could be a registered weapon.

Least favorite MC ships are any that don’t involve him or Beel. Any others may as well just not exist, he won’t even acknowledge them. MC x Who? Yeah, that’s what he thought.

#i guess this is a series now #wasn't expecting that #obey me #obey me shall we date #shall-we-date-obey-me #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me headcanons #obey me scenarios #obey me suggestions

[parchmentedpetrichor]

➳the search party ❦

in which there is much one-sided pining after a mystery girl saves fred weasley in the battle of hogwarts. the reader helps him search for her but what fred doesn't know is the girl is y/n l/n, his flatmate.

fred weasley x fem!reader

word count: ±1.6k

tw: mentions of the war

ft. the reader's very good acting skills

and all the pieces fall

right into place

the search party

the last thing fred remembered of the girl who held the wall up was her gaze. under the dimness of the world around them, he could tell she was on a mission. her eyes were cold and determined. her ponytail had swerved violently and that was the last time he ever saw her. or so he thought.

he didn't know that the very girl sat opposite to him, munching happily on icecream with a satisfied smile on her face, curiously drinking in the very familiar view of hogsmeade.

y/n l/n kept two secrets from him. the first was the massive crush she had had on him ever since he had left to open the joke shop, and the second, well, it was that she was the girl he had claimed that had saved him.

she had listened to his tales of pining after the girl with a bittersweet mood. he'd probably lose all romantic feelings when he discovered that the girl was her. if she was anyone else but her, she'd find herself very unpleasant.

he had suggested that they go on a trip to hogsmeade one sunday to possibly find the girl. with a little hesitation, she'd agreed.

for the most part, playing clueless was easy, especially when you knew everything he didn't.

there was just one problem. he only knew her by her gaze. y/n scoffed quietly to herself. fred was probably the most dreamy out of the both of them, surprisingly, considering y/n's terribly romantic thoughts that she had conjured from her lifetime of watching her friends absolutely fall in love with people.

☆

they watch the people that pass with a sort of hidden interest.

y/n doesn't even bother trying to find the girl, instead observing every passerbyer with interest, analysing them quickly.

"d'ya think she's here or maybe in london?"

y/n shrugs, "anything's possible in a world of people. if it's fate, it'll happen."

"none of these people have the look in their eyes!"

"well that look did happen in the war, so it must've been a special type of condition that caused her to have the gaze," y/n offers.

"yeah, i think so."

they fall back into a comfortable silence.

fred now has a sneaking suspicion that y/n knows who it might be. right now, she's wearing sunglasses though. he can't tell anything.

"she's got the same sort of hair," fred nods his head in the way of a girl with her hair up.

y/n nods, "wanna approach her?"

"nah, she's looking over here."

"quick, avert your gaze subtly."

"okay, okay. i don't see why though. is my gaze not smouldering enough?"

y/n laughs, "it's creepy for sure."

"you wound me."

"truth hurts, freddie."

they watch as the girl watches them with narrowed eyes.

"that's definitely not her. she had pretty eyes," fred ponders.

"maybe you could post a note of some sort on the joke shop?" y/n jokes, "girl wanted, strong gaze, ponytail, saved me in the war?"

she laughs at his disgruntled expression as he folds his arms.

"maybe i should."

y/n bursts out laughing again, "i was joking!"

"i wasn't!"

she shakes her head, "suit yourself."

"why, i do have a suit!"

"it's an expression, dummy."

"how am i supposed to know?"

"you just do!"

"extremely helpful."

"that i am, mister."

this type of playful banter continues into the night, as they occasionally walk up to strangers to check their 'gaze'.

the search is unsuccessful, and soon y/n needs to get to her job at flourish and botts, where she works as the manager on the nights of weekdays, whilst she works as head of magical wellbeing at the ministry from monday to saturday.

"hi mister boris!" she says as she fiddles with an apron, open up the cash register and sorting the new stock.

"bonjour y/n," he says distractedly, frantically searching for something, "have you by la chance seen the book of french for wizards?"

y/n nods, immediately climbing a different shelf and hands him the leather bound cover.

"this is why i hired you. excellent."

"you hired me because i could find books...?"

"you were in here too much tes jours d'école."

"it's a nice place," she gives him a small smile.

"ahh, the weasley boy from just down the road, he came up to me and asked me if i knew of a girl with a ponytail, and when angry, has the prettiest eyes. say, it does sound like you, oui?"

"non," she answers in an easy manner, "not at all."

"and how come, mademoiselle?"

"it is not."

"well i do hear angeliqua johnson saying something, oui, what was it? sauveuse, perhaps that is like tu?"

she laughs, "you got me. angie's right. i dunno how she knows though."

"so it is you! comme c'est excitant! how exciting!"

"not really, boris."

"how so?"

"he's looking for her! imagine how disappointed he'll be when he finds out she's me!"

"eh?"

"it's half true, i guess. it's not exciting, but the story's very well real."

"i n’y a pas de verités moyennes. there are no half truths, mademoiselle."

"very sophisticated, boris." y/n rolls her eyes and continues to dust the shelves.

at the end of her shift, it's almost 10p.m.

she closes up and is surprised to find it's raining.

smiling to herself, she walks in the rain happily, enjoying the beautiful ambience of hogsmeade in night rain.

a tap on her shoulder brings her out of her thoughts. she stands face to face with cormac mclaggen.

unbeknownst to her, fred stands watching the exchange.

"hello, mclaggen."

"nice night, isn't it, darling?"

y/n sighs, "what do you want?"

"i want your company."

"no, goodbye. come to chase another girl who won't give you what you want?"

he scoffs, "i get all that i want. every single girl."

"get out of my face mclaggen," her tone is dangerous and hard. fred can tell she isn't angry just yet.

"as soon as you accept my date request."

"the first words you spoke to me, mclaggen, was 'you are a miserable beauty'. what makes you think i'll ever accept?"

"well just look at you, all pretty and vanilla-"

"get out of my way," she snaps, "all pretty and vanilla is out of your league."

fred watches as her eyes turn cold and furious, before she turns away with a swish of her ponytail, sparing one last cold glance at cormac and walks quickly away.

he's struck with realisation. he's seen that expression before. he's seen the hair before. those pretty eyes that gleam ominously. it's the girl. she's the girl. suddenly everything comes into place.

he doesn't know how or why or when exactly.

all he knows is that he loves y/n. and she's the one he's been looking for after all.

he runs after her. "y/n!"

"mclaggen just get out!" she turns to face him with those eyes, and that hair.

her eyes soften at the sight of him. they turn a bit lighter.

"oh, hi freddie."

"why didn't you tell me?"

"what?" y/n fiddles with her jumper hem. he can't know, can he?

"that all this time, we've been searching for you!"

she looks dismayed, "uh huh. yeap."

"why did you keep it secret?"

"i did think of telling you, but y'know, i played it out all in my head, and you seemed very excited and all, i didn't want to ruin it by just telling you this magnificent love story," she put quotation marks, "was with me. if i were you, i'd be disappointed, so i just let you go on with the nice fantasy. and whilst i'm spilling all my secrets i might as well get it all out. i like you maybe more than i should. and so it would hurt twice as much if you reacted badly to it and, and-"

she's cut off by a kiss on her lips.

her eyes widen. when they both pull out of the kiss, he chuckles at how surprised she is.

"what?"

"i like you too."

"so you're not mad?"

"no, just never keep a secret from me again."

"okay."

"and you need to promise me something."

"what is it?"

"that you'll be my girlfriend."

she smiles, "okay."

"that's it?"

"yup. okay."

she's grinning as she places a kiss on his nose, having to balance on her tiptoes to reach him. he blushes.

"and thank you."

"for?"

"saving me, loving me."

"always, freddie."

#fredweasley #fred weasley x y/n #frederick weasley #fred weasley x reader #gryffindor #hansel and gretel #fanfic #harry potter #hogwarts #hufflepuff #angelina johnson #alicia spinnet #y/n #harrypotter #hogsmeade #battle of hogwarts

[leossmoonn]

Play Ground Days

masterlist

pairing - carl gallagher x fem!reader

type - fluff

note / request - “ughh FINALLY someone that writes good imagines abt carl from shameless! could you write one where you two grew up together and you've always been close n stuff and then at some point he realizes he loves the reader and he talks to ian and lip (maybe mickey too bc i love him) about it? (fem!reader btw if that's cool) thanks babe xx” thanks for inspo on the beginning @poesflygirl​ <3 ,,, carl and you are 16 also pls dont come for me ive only played COD 2 times last year so lmao i dont remember a lot about it, enjoy!

summary - carl has liked you since you two were young, and seeks advice from his brothers and mickey

warnings - strong language, drugs and alcohol, little talk about bad body imagine 

————

*gif isnt mine*

“I fucking knew it!” Lip exclaimed.

“Why are you telling us? We’ve known this.” Ian commented, smirking at his little brother.  

“How the hell—” Carl started. 

“You’re not exactly great at hiding your crush on her,” Mickey chuckled. 

Carl’s eyes were the size of saucers. “You knew?”

“Of course I did. I’m not fucking Helen Keller,” Mickey rolled his eyes. 

Carl groaned and ran his hands roughly through his hair. “I can’t believe this. Well, secret’s out, I guess. What do I do?”

“Just go tell her you like her. It’s not like she’s going to turn you down.” Lip shrugged, putting his cigarette to his lips. 

“Lip!” Ian hit his brother’s shoulder. 

“What?” Lip asked. 

“You weren’t supposed to say that, dumbass,” Mickey said.

 “What does that mean?” Carl asked, looking in-between his brother’s and Mickey. 

Lip sighed. “Ah, shit, right. I’ve already said too much.”

————

4 hours earlier: 2:00 PM

“Hey, shit head!” She called out, throwing rocks against the window. 

Carl got up from his bed, shocked but happy to see her. He opened his window, leaning against the frame. 

“What’re you doing here?” He asked.

She threw the rocks to the ground. “Escaping from my druggie dad, duh. What’re you doing?”

“Nothing,” Carl shrugged. 

She did her signature smirk that always made Carl’s heart flutter. “Wanna go and stuff our faces at Patsy’s Pies?”

Carl’s eyes lit up at the mention of fatty, greasy food. “Hell yeah. I’ll come down.”

She nodded, going to the front of their house. Carl ran down the stairs, putting on his shoes and opening the door to find her on the steps. 

“Hey, why didn’t you just come into the house?” Carl asked, shutting the door behind him. 

“Putting damage on your window seemed more fun. Oh, hey! Do you have an extra bed I can sleep in tonight?” She asked. 

Carl nodded. “Yeah, of course. Your dad is that bad, huh?”

“Yep, he relapsed. Super fun,” she laughed sarcastically. 

“I’m sorry. That shit sucks,” Carl said.

She shrugged. “Yeah, well, it’s life. Anyways, ready to go?”

Carl nodded. They got into her car, the girl starting it and driving fast to the dinner. As she was driving, humming to the songs on the radio, Carl stared at her. She was absolutely gorgeous. 

Her name was Y/n L/n. Carl’s oldest and only real friend. They had grown up together, Y/n living only a few houses away from him. They had met in detention in 1st grade and had been close ever since. 

“What’re you staring at?” Y/n asked, glancing over to him. 

Carl blushed. “Nothing.”

“Alright,” Y/n sang.

Carl had often been caught staring at her. It was something he usually did from time to time, but now it was more often. He couldn’t help it. There was something about her. Maybe flawless her skin was, how pretty and bright her smile and eyes were, the way she would make him feel secure and loved, something he had never got from anyone consitently. 

He never really knew why he thought those things about her. People had told him that he probably had a crush on her, but he knew that wasn’t right. He had crushes on girls before and the things he was feeling for Y/n were a lot different than what he had felt for his past girlfriends. He figured it was just that she was his closest friend and he happened to be a horny teenager, so naturally, he just thought those things about her. But oh, how wrong he actually was. 

Y/n parked her car at Patsy’s Pies. They walked into the diner, seeing Fiona at the register. 

“Hey, Fi,” Y/n smiled. 

“Hey, Y/n, Carl! Long time, no see. How are ya?” Fiona asked. 

“Good, good,” Y/n smiled. 

“Good,” Carl said. 

“Great! Well, get yourself seated and someone will be right with you,” she smiled. 

Y/n and walked off to a small booth and sat down. They picked up the menus that were already on the table. 

“You gonna get your usual?” Y/n asked. 

Carl shrugged. “Maybe. Should I change it up?”

“Yes. The double bacon cheeseburger looks good,” Y/n said. 

“Are you getting that?” Carl asked. 

“Maybe. I’ll probably get a salad or something. Gotta watch those calories, you know?” She half-joked, putting a hand on her stomach. 

“I think you look good. You don’t need to worry,” Carl smiled. 

Y/n’s eyes widened. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Carl nodded. 

Y/n looked back at the menu, hiding her embarrassment.

Carl complimenting her was something that was rare, but did happen. Y/n never remembered Carl as a romantic type of guy, but it seems that he had developed  those traits from having a few girlfriends. She liked that, actually. She liked him complimenting her, staring at her for minutes at a time, the way his ears would turn red when she teased him. She liked all of that. 

Y/n would never admit it to anyone, but she had a crush on Carl. She had a crush on him since their freshman year of high school. Well, in reality, she probably has always had one, but the first time she really realised she liked him was in biology when he got in trouble in one of the labs. She remembered when the teacher was yelling at him and he looked at her, smiling at her mischievously and winking at her. That wink had her heart racing and mind go foggy. From then on, she had liked him as more than a friend. Yet, she never said anything because well, as cliche as it was, she was afraid of ruining their friendship. He was really the only one who got her and who never abandoned her. She couldn’t lose him, so she just kept her feelings and gestures to him as friendly as she could.  

“Hi, I’m Carly and I’ll be serving you today. What can I get you today?” The waitress asked. 

“Hi, can I get the philly cheesesteak with a medium coke and fries,” Carl ordered. 

Carly nodded and wrote his order down, turning to Y/n. 

“Um, I’ll get the bacon cheeseburger with a small sprite and fries. Thanks,” Y/n ordered. 

Carly took their menus. “Great. I’ll have your drinks out soon.”

Y/n and Carl smiled at the waitress as she walked away. 

“Hey, so I thought your dad was in rehab,” Carl said. 

Y/n sighed. “He was, but I guess his girlfriend got him drunk, then convinced him to do some lines. God, I can’t believe he's even with her still.”

Carl frowned. “What about your mom? Where’s she?”

“She’s going to nursing school right now. She’s the only one responsible in this family, yet she never calls or anything,” she scoffed.

“You’re really responsible,” Carl said. 

Y/n smiled. “Thanks, C. You are, too.”

Carl laughed, “Me? I sold drugs on the streets once.”

She giggled. “True. But you’ve really shaped. I'm proud.”

Carl smiled sheepishly. “Thanks.”

Y/n hummed a ‘you’re welcome’. Carly came back with their food quickly and they dug in. Carl and Y/n spent their time talking and eating, spending about 2 hours there as they just kept talking. 

“Are you two finished?” Carly asked, gesturing to their empty plates. 

“Yeah,” Carl nodded. 

“Great. Here’s your bill, pay whenever you’re ready,” Carly smiled and took their dirty dishes. 

“Ready to go?” Y/n asked. 

Carl nodded and got out his wallet that he had in his shorts. Meanwhile, Y/n also got out her wallet. They both looked up at each other, awkward expressions on their faces. 

“Oh, I was gonna pay,” Carl said. “No, no, my treat. I invited you here,” Y/n said. 

“You sure?” Carl asked. 

She smiled and put a hand on his arm. “Yes, I am, Carl.”

Butterflies irrupted in Carl’s stomach as she touched him. He nodded slowly, putting his credit card away. Y/n and him walked up to the register and paid for their meal. They then went back to Y/n car. 

“What do you wanna do now?” Y/n asked. 

“Wanna play COD Black Ops 3?” Carl asked. 

“Yes!” Y/n smiled. She drove them back to his house, parking haphazardly on the street. 

The two hurried into the house, grabbing a seat on the couch. Carl got the controllers, turning onto the playstation. Y/n logged onto her account, selecting the gun she wanted to use. Carl then started the game. 

“Where are you?” Y/n squinted her eyes at the screen. 

“Right behind you,” Carl smirked. 

Y/n turned around, gasping as Carl shot her. 

“Fuck you!” Y/n exclaimed. 

“Little rusty, huh?” Carl teased. She rolled her eyes. “I’m gonna kill you next round.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Carl said. 

“Winner gets to pick what’s for dinner,” Y/n said. 

“Deal,” Carl nodded. 

The pair played for a couple hours, the game ending with Y/n getting the last kill. 

“Good game,” she smirked, setting the controller down. 

“I forgot how good you were at this,” Carl frowned. Y/n giggled, “I forgot how bad you were.”

Carl rolled his eyes with a smile. “Alright, where do you want to eat?”

“Hm… Noodles n Company?” She suggested. 

“Sure,” Carl nodded. 

“Alright, I’m gonna use the bathroom and then order. Text me what you want,” Y/n said, getting up from the couch. 

Carl nodded and watched her go upstairs to use the bathroom. Then that’s when Lip, Ian, and Mickey all came into the house. 

“Hey, guys,” Carl said. 

“Hey,” Ian smiled. 

“Is Y/n here? We saw her car out front,” Lip said. “Yeah, she is,” Carl nodded. 

“Asked her out yet?” Lip smirked. Carl’s face turned red. “Wh-What?”

“Oh, you’re not in love with her then?” Ian furrowed his brows. 

“I… am I?” Carl asked. 

Ian chuckled. “Yeah. You always are always happy around her, blush whenever she teases you.”

“And you’re always staring at her,” Lip added.

“That doesn’t mean I like her,” Carl said.

“Do feel dizzy and nauseous when she touches you? Does your heart race when she gets close? Do you see yourself kissing her? Would you do anything for her?” Ian asked. 

Carl furrowed his brows. They were right, all those things did happen when she was near. She was his best friend. He also sometimes think about kissing her and being with her in a romantic way. And yeah, of course he would do anything for her. Maybe… Maybe he did love her. 

“Oh, shit,” he muttered. “I… I guess I am in love with her.”

And that, ladies and gents, is where we left off. Lip, Ian, and Mickey teased Carl until Carl begged them for real help. 

“What do you mean?” Carl asked anxiously. 

Lip looked to Ian and Mickey for help on what to say. Little did Carl know, Y/n actually did admit her crush to someone. And that someone, or someones, were Lip, Ian, and Mickey. 

“Don’t worry about it, man,” Mickey said. 

“Did she say something to you?” Carl asked. “No,” Ian shook his head. “Like Mick said, don’t worry.”

“I… fine. Well, what do I do then?” Carl asked in slight distress.

“Give her some flowers and chocolate. Girls love that shit,” Lip suggested. 

“Alright,” Carl nodded. “I don’t know what her favourite flowers are, though.”

“Just get her roses. That’s really romantic,” Lip said. 

Carl smiled, “Alright. Awesome. Thanks, guys.”

He decided to get the flowers early morning tomorrow before Y/n woke up. 

————

Carl sneaked back into the house, hoping not to wake Y/n up. As he walked into the kitchen, he was shocked to see her at the table drinking coffee. 

“Hey, Carl!” Y/n smiled. 

Carl’s eyes were blown wide. “I.. uh…”

“Who are those for?” Y/n got up and pointed to the flowers and chocolate in his hand. 

“Um… you?” Carl said. Y/n smiled. “Me? What did I do to deserve this?”

Carl knew that he couldn’t make up an excuse. He was horrible at lying to her. So, he decided to just have his confession here. 

“I.. I’m in love with you,” Carl said. Y/n’s jaw dropped and she froze. “Wha-What?”

“My brothers and Mickey helped me realise I was yesterday when you were ordering dinner. They told me I should get you flowers and stuff so I did. I hope you like roses,” Carl explained and held up the gifts. 

Y/n’s lips upturned in a wide smile. “How long have you liked me?”

“Honestly, probably since we were little,” Carl shrugged sheepishly. 

Y/n giggled. “Me, too.”

“Really?” Carl smiled. 

Y/n waked up to him and took the gifts, setting them on the kitchen counter. She went up to him and put her arms around his neck. 

“Yep. I always have,” she grinned. 

“Oh, sick!” Carl exclaimed. “Oh wait.”

“What?” Y/n asked in confusion. 

“That’s what they meant!” Carl exclaimed in realisation.

“Who? What?” “Oh, Lip, Mickey, and Ian kind of told me yesterday when I asked for help,” Carl explained. 

Y/n’s eyes widened and she turned to the stairs, glaring. “Mickey, Lip, Ian! You better fucking run!”  

————

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[enthusiasticharry]

Lonely this Christmas

summary: you and Harry broke up earlier in the year, but at Columbia’s Christmas party you see each other again, and you both realise just how much you miss each other

author's note: ahhhh i don’t think i've ever been so excited to post one of my works as i am this one and i hope you all enjoy my baby. the reader in this is musician!yn and i have so many other ideas for the little story line, so if you'd like to hear them, please let me know!

word count: 11k of baso angst, really fluffy fluff and some of the best smut I think i’ve ever written. there’s deepthroating... face-sitting... really just the whole shebang. 

masterlist    |   please speak to me about LTC here! 

You truly believed that Christmas was the best time of the year. 

You loved everything about the festive time of year. From decorating the house, to listening to the music. From spending time with your family, to cosying up on the sofa and watching Christmas films. It was a special time of year, where everyone seemed to relax and walk around with joyous looks on their faces because no matter the year they’d have, it was nearly over and it’s finally time to celebrate the best aspects of the time that had passed. 

You found yourself thankful for the year, but also thankful that it was over. This year had been one of the best, but also one of the worst years of your life. The thing that caused the year to not be the best that it could was the split you had with your long-term boyfriend. It was messy, and absolutely heartbreaking on your side and because it was such a big part of the year, it became one of the memories that you wished to ignore but you found yourself struggling too. On a brighter side, you had won your first Brit award this year for Best New Artist. It was a turning point in your career, for certain. 

One thing that you’ve never enjoyed about Christmas is parties. You would much rather stay within the walls of your own house and spend your evenings alone, but being in the industry that you are it becomes a little harder. The Columbia Christmas Party happen’s every year, but this was you first year signed to the Record Label, so the first year you had been invited. You were shocked to be invited, but found yourself to be excited and dreading the experience all at once. 

The thing that you found yourself thinking and worrying about the most was what you were going to wear. You wanted to impress everyone there, since you had found this new stardom for yourself and you had created this name for yourself which you hadn’t had before. After consulting with your stylist, you settled on a custom Gucci dress that was made for you to wear specifically to this event. The dress itself was a Christmas-green velvet material, which landed to about your mid-thigh with a square neckline. Attached to the square straps of the neckline, were tulle sleeves of the same colour that bunched at your wrists. It hugged your curves perfectly and once you’d added your black scrappy heels you really felt beautiful. Your natural features are accentuated, and you, for the first time in a long time, feel beautiful within your own skin. 

That all changed the second you walked into the party. 

You felt as though all eyes were on you, as though everyone was watching every step that you took to see what you’d do. It made you feel uncomfortable and immediately feel as though the dress you are wearing wasn’t right, it was too short and you needed to cover up. You were maybe 98% certain that they weren’t thinking about what you were wearing, but more so who you’ve just clocked eyes with. 

You knew he was going to be here, and you had prepared yourself for the inevitable, but seeing him stood there completely changed everything that you had prepared for. You both were signed to the same record label, years after the two of you had met though, so it was no surprise that he was sat at one of the tables with a group of people around him as he spoke and laughed at what they were all taking about.

You tried to ignore the pinch within your heart, but it was hard. You weren’t the one who broke it off, and if things had gone according to your plan, you would still be together right now. 

You had met Harry a few years ago, when you had first moved to London and you were bar and pub hopping, singing and hoping that you’d somehow stumble upon someone who could help you start your career. It was completely by accident that you both had met, and looking back at it quite embarrassing on your part. You were in the middle of your set when he walked in, as well as Mitch and Sarah, but you hadn’t seen them at that point. You had recently learnt how to play Sign of the Times on the piano and you had purposely brought your small keyboard out with you so you could play the song. Looking back on it, you probably wouldn’t have sung the song if you did know that he was there, but you didn’t know so you sung it. It was a little shaky at the start due to your nerves about playing the song for the first time out of the comfort of your room but you quickly found your groove, and you finished strong. Harry had later told you that, after a little bit of teasing from Mitch and Sarah, he knew that from how in awe he was of you he just had to speak to you. He walked up to you whilst you were in the middle of throwing your celebratory shot back that you always take after finishing your set and the first thing you ever said to him was, “Fuck!” 

You always thought that would be a story you’d be able to tell your grandchildren, and you both had even spoken about it, but it just hadn’t worked out. 

He seemed okay, which you were happy about. His new album had just come out, and you don’t think you’ve ever cried at a record as you did at that one. You knew it was about you, it was hard not to. All of the little hints that he left throughout his songs would blow over anyone else head, but you knew the true meaning of them and you think that’s one of the reasons you found it so emotional. He was smiling as he spoke to the people, briefly taking sips of his drink every now and then, which was only water so you wondered whether he’d drove there. You both would be flying home soon, but this would be the first time in three years that you’d be flying home alone. 

To stop yourself from crying, you quickly make you way over to the bar. After running your eyes over the cocktail menu, your eyes immediately pricked at the sight of one, and you could stop the words as they left your lips: “A cherry bomb fizz please.” 

You watched as the bartender added a cherry and some maraschino liqueur, before topping the drink off with Champagne. The drink was quite sour, but you quite liked it. It caused your lips to purse and eyebrows to widen, in a good way you must add. 

“Could never handle your alcohol, could you?” 

You could feel him before you heard him, but you didn’t want to turn around. Why he felt it okay to come up and talk to you were unsure about, but at the same time you had been hoping that he would. Why you were hoping that he would you were also unsure about, but you’re certain it had something to do with the fact that you weren’t quite over him. 

“I think you’re mistaken.” You say, taking another sip of your drink, “You were the one who could never handle your alcohol. And this is just sour.” 

He hums, as though he isn’t believing a word that you say, “If you say so, love.” 

“Love?” You say, raising your eyebrow at him whilst throwing back the rest of your drink, “Thought those days were well over.” 

“Force of habit, ‘suppose.” He shrugs, “I have a few of them when it comes to you.” 

“You grew out of them.” I shrug, “Can’t remember the last time you called me love whilst we were together.” 

He drops his eyes to the counter, and you know you’ve done what you’re supposed to. This is the first time you’ve spoken to since you broke up, and you can’t believe that it’s at a Christmas party of all places. He also had the audacity to call you love, something that you couldn’t believe he had the balls to do. The last few months of your relationship you were lucky if he even looked at you, and here he now was calling you love as though it’s totally okay to do so.

“I’ll always call you love.” He says, lifting his eyes up from the counter to look at you once more, “I’ll always care about you.” 

“Where was this five months ago?” You ask, unable to stop yourself. 

Your break up, in your opinion, came out of nowhere. You knew something had changed in your relationship, since he hardy had the time for you at the end of your time together. He’d get up in the morning and wouldn’t touch, or even kiss you. Then, when he’d come home it would be the exact same thing, he’d slip into bed and to stop yourself from feeling as though you were going to cry, you’d pretend you were asleep and hope that you’d actually fall asleep. He never told you a reason for breaking up with you, apart from that he needed space and that he couldn’t be with you. That was probably the thing that hurt you the most. He broke up with you, but you never really had a real reason why. 

“I just needed to leave.” He says, “That was my main focus.” 

You try to ignore your heart breaking all over again but it’s hard to, when it’s the only thing you can think about. 

“Why now?” You say, “Why are you doing this now?” 

“YN—”

You shake your head, “I don’t think I want to hear it. I’m going to go.” 

“Don’t—”

“—YN!” You feel an arm thrown around your shoulder, one that you immediately realise is Jeff once you register his voice and his face once you turn to him, “I haven’t seen you in months! How are you?” 

You can immediately tell that he’s drunk. From the slight slurring of his words, to the smell of alcohol on his breath as he speaks. You’re just as shocked to see him as he is to see you. 

“I’m good, Jeff, thanks.” You smile, at him, trying to push the conversation you’ve just had with his friend out of your mind, “How are you?” 

“I’m drunk.” He laughs, squeezing your shoulder slightly, “But! I’s nice to see you two together again!” 

The whole ignoring the situation doesn’t quite go to plan. Once he’s said those words you immediately draw your eyes towards Harry. You’ve never wanted to leave a conversation as much as you did this one. You look at Harry, but he isn’t looking at you. 

He gasps, “You should come over to the table! We’re all here and it’ll just be like old times.” 

“I couldn’t possibly. . .” You shake your head.

“You can!” He says, “Come on, I won’t take no for an answer! And H, hurry up with those drinks.” 

Jeff walks you away from the bar and towards the table that you noticed earlier when you noticed Harry for the first time this evening. Glenne, Mitch and Sarah are there, as well as Kid and a few other producers that you recognise from working on Harry’s album, as well as a few songs from yours also. You knew that just because you and Harry broke up you couldn’t expect the friendships that had formed because of you two to just stop altogether. 

“YN!” There’s a course of cheers and Sarah’s the first to stand up and wrap her arms around you. Out of everyone, Sarah was the person who you were closest with out of Harry’s band. She had joined Harry’s band after you and Harry had been dating for a year or so when Sarah joined the band, and you two instantly clicked and became the closest of friends. You had spoken a few times with her since you had broke up, but nothing compared to what you used to. You weren’t surprised though, she was Harry’s drummer first and your friend after — or that’s what you told yourself to make you feel slightly better. 

“Hi.” You smile, dropping down into the spare seat next to Sarah. Words are thrown around the table of glee that you’re there, as well as questions as to why you haven’t been in contact. You know they’re drunk, and you suspect that is why they’re saying all of the things they are. You were quick to fall out of the conversation as it moved onto the show that they did the day prior to celebrate the release of Harry’s album. You suppose the reason your feelings were so heightened today was due to your hearing the album for the first time yesterday and then replaying it today.

It was completely different to Harry Styles but still so Harry. You hated how his music made your feel, the sad and the happy ones, as well as all in between. Harry returned to the table shorty after clutching drinks in his hands, and under his arms. Why he didn’t just make two trips, you would never know, but it’s lucky that all the drinks made it without any spillages. 

“We were just talking about yesterday.” Glenne says, taking a sip of her drink as she does before turning towards you, “Have you heard the album, YN?” 

“You don’t have too—” Harry turns to your briefly. 

“I have.” You nod, “It’s good, a masterpiece even. You should be proud of it, H.” 

You can see his shoulder tense, and from knowing him as well as you do, you wouldn’t be surprised if his heart just sunk to the bottom of his stomach. If you’ve listened to the album, it means that you’ve heard the song that Harry hoped you hadn’t. 

“What would you say is your favourite?” 

You look directly at him as you say the next words, and you hope he listens to them, “Probably Cherry.” 

The other’s carry on talking as though you hadn’t said anything at all, but Harry doesn’t open his mouth again. He doesn’t stop looking at you though, and the way you look gorgeously defeated. A part of him wondered whether he was the one who caused you to be this way. About a month ago he asked some producers he knew that were working on your album with you how you are, and they said that you just seemed sad. It broke him to hear those words, just the words he had said to you all those months ago had broken you. Out of the blue, probably not but due to you not paying any attention, the group all move in, including you and Harry to have a reminiscent group photo.

He does open his mouth again when the group disperse to the dance floor, leaving the two of you all alone at the table.

“I’m sorry.” 

You don’t lift your eyes up from the end of the table cloth you’re messing with, an exasperated laugh leaving your lips, “What for? Breaking up with me? Taking everything from me? Or, I don’t know, using that in your song?” 

“I thought you wouldn’t mind.” 

“You thought I wouldn’t mind.” You shake your head, completely baffled at his words, “Why would you think that? I trusted you with that, and now it’s on the end of one of your songs.” 

“I’m sorry about everything, but especially that.” He says, and you can tell he’s being genuine with the look in his eyes. He looks as though he’s about to cry. 

“Why did you do it?” I asks, “You could’ve asked me. I would’ve said yes, I swear to you.” 

“I was nervous.” He says, “We didn’t leave on the best of terms, and I felt as though asking would’ve have been the best.” 

“So you decided to do it anyway?” 

“Will you forgive me, please?” He asks, and you can tell his voice is about to break, “Please.” 

“That’s it, Harry.” You say, “I don’t think I can.” 

The next morning you awake with a slight hangover, which wasn’t surprising because once you’d left quickly after saying your last words to Harry, and opened a bottle of vodka that you had in your cupboard. That bottle now sits on your bedside table, three-quarters of it drunk and the cause of your hangover. You were thankful that you hadn’t gotten too drunk before you left the party, due to the wraths of paparazzi that were there as you left. You remember leaving with your head down, ignoring their calls and questions, as well as their their cameras flashed at you. You had gotten into your car, your driver had smiled at you and the second the car started moving away from the club you found yourself unable to stop the tears that streamed down your face. 

This wasn’t the first time that you’d done this since you’ve broken up with Harry, but this was certainly the worse you’ve felt since you’ve done so. Your head had its own heartbeat, and you felt as though your were stable on your feet as you trudged towards the kitchen to have some orange juice, your remedy for your hangovers to say the least. It was always something that Harry thought ahead about when you were together. If he knew that the two of you were going out he’d always stock up the fridge. The amounts of time since that you’ve gotten drunk and not had any orange juice within the house is quite atrocious and he knew from experience that they never ended well.

You drink your first glass of the drink quickly, and pour your second one before making you way back into your bedroom. Due to the amount of time you spent in LA, you had purchased your second apartment here, your first being in London. It wasn’t the nicest ever, but it was good enough for you when you were here, and something that you were thankful to have when you woke up from nights like these. 

You fall back down upon your bed and the first you think you pick up is your phone, shocked at the thousands of notifications your found on it. You’re still slightly asleep so you rub your eyes a few times before clicking upon the instagram app. The thousands of notifications are dm’s and comments upon your photos. After clicking through the notifications, you find the culprit sat with a lovely love heart emoji on Glenne’s story. 

At some point that morning, probably whilst you were growing your sorrows away with vodka, she had posted the photo of you all on her story with the caption ‘the band’s back together,’ a heart emoji and tagged you in it. All the messages were asking whether you and Harry were back together again, not because you’d ever gone public with your relationship, but Harry had gone public with your breakup in his interview with the Rolling Stones and with Zane Lowe. He was very respectful in the way that he spoke about it, which was all you ask for. You hadn’t actively gone out to watch and read what he was saying, but your manager had warned you about them before you had done some interviews and you were curious to say the least what they were about. 

In the photo you could tell that you and Harry were the only ones who were sober. Everyone else had drunken grins on their faces whilst you and Harry, to say the least, had very uncomfortable smiles across both of your lips. It annoyed you slightly that the two of you couldn’t even be in the same place anymore without having messages upon messages about whether or not you’re back together. Anyone with a brain could see that you certainly weren’t just by the expression on both of your faces. 

You weren’t annoyed, or angry that the photo had been posted because you wouldn’t have taken the photo if you didn’t want it to be posted, but you did take the photo. You were always taking photos together before the breakup, and photo booths were you speciality. It’s another thing that you had hardly done since the breakup, so it was nice to see the photo but deep down a part of you wished that it hadn’t have been taken. 

It’s all over all of the social media’s, and you decide that it’s probably best if you just put your phone down. You’re about place it on your bedside table when a notification pops up on the top of your screen, and without thinking, you tap on it, sending you straight to the messages app and to who had sent you the message.

Harry: YN? 

Why he was sending you a message in the first place, you had no idea. Why he was messaging your so early in the morning was also something that confused you even more. 

Harry: I know you’re reading this. 

Harry: Your read receipts are on. 

You curse yourself for being so click-happy when you see a notification, and more so for having your read receipts on because you know you can remove them but you don’t quite know how to. You contemplate for a few seconds what to say in your drunken, tired haze, before typing out the message: 

YN: Can I help you? 

His reply comes in a few seconds later. 

Harry: Are you free? 

YN: Why? 

Harry: Meet me at Beachwood. Usual time. 

YN: Why should I? 

Harry: Just be there. Please.

YN: I will. 

When you walk down the pavement towards the Beachwood Cafe, its as though you’re doing so without actually thinking about it. When you and Harry were together — this was your place. You can’t even remember the amount of dates the two of you have had here, tucked away in the corner whilst the music played, chatting away endlessly about things that popped into each of your minds. It got to the point that when you two were free, and managed to get to go, you had been that much that the waitresses knew your order by memory. The first time they had done it, you remember the way you both smiled sheepishly at each other and back at the waitress. 

It was decorated for Christmas. You could see a tree in the corner of the cafe, as well as lights and tinsel across the windows. If you weren’t so nervous you probably would have smiled at the sight of it. 

You push the door open and hear the familiar ding of a bell that rings whenever someone walks through, and you’re catapulted back to last year when you did the exact same thing but with a smile on your face from your excitement of seeing your boyfriend, one who you cared and loved very much. 

The low hum of Mud’s Lonely this Christmas fills the room, very apt for the current situation and you’re guessing the mood of the conversation you’re about to have. It was late, close to closing time but you and Harry found that to be the best time to come, because hardly anybody else did. 

He’s already sat at your usual table, the one in the corner because the two of you often liked to people watch. It had started off a silly game once when you were both tired and didn’t really want to talk about your lives, so you started brainstorming what other people’s were like. As much as you hated to admit it, Harry’s stories were always the better of the two of you but you didn’t mind, because you could little to the words he spoke to you for every minute for the rest of your life and you wouldn’t mind. 

He’s already gotten your drinks, you can see the two glasses upon the table in front of him. You pull out the chair, making him look up from his phone at you. You can see his features immediately soften at the sight of you stood there. 

They always used to do that. 

“I thought you weren’t coming.” You don’t reply, “I got you a peppermint hot chocolate. I know It’s one of your favourites.” 

It was one of your favourites, and you haven’t been able to have one in a while because, surprise surprise, they remind you of Harry, and the time you used to spend together. 

“Thank you.” You say, picking up the drink and taking a sip of the hot liquid, dropping it back down and looking at him directly in the eyes, “Why did you invite me here?” 

He clears his throat, and the movements of his elbows suggest he’s wiping his hands upon his trousers. 

“I want to apologise. For everything, this time.” He says, and you watch as he places his hands back upon the table, messing with the rings on his hand. He still wore the one you got him for your anniversary a year ago, “For how I acted yesterday, the day we broke up and the months before hand. I was a dick, and there’s no excuse for it, but I just hope that you accept my apology.” 

“I do.” You say, after a couple of seconds of contemplation, knowing that there was no point to having this dragged out for any longer than it already was, “I just want to know why, that’s all I want.” 

“I.” He stops and lets out a shaky breath, “I don’t know, if I’m honest with you. I was just so investing into getting the album finished, and for some reason in my mind I thought that it would be best if I was single to do that.” 

“Why would you think that?” You ask, the tears brimming on your waterline. 

“I don’t know. The second I watched you walk out of the door, and when you didn’t turn around to look again but just drove away, I knew I’d messed up.” 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” You choke back a sob, trying to be quiet to not draw attention to the two of you, “You should’ve stopped me. Explained. I love you Harry, I would have done anything to help you. You needed space, I would’ve given it to you. You needed me, I would’ve been there.” 

He drops his head, “I know.” 

“Then why didn’t you?” You suck in a breath and bite your head to stop anymore sounds from escaping, “You let me leave. You watched me leave. Why didn’t you stop me?” 

“I felt guilty. I’d just broken up with you, love, do you really think that it would’ve been a good idea for me to all of a sudden say I wanted you back?” 

Silent tears stream down your face, “You had months to, Harry. Months. You did nothing.” 

“And it’ll be the biggest regret of my life, YN, I promise you.” He says, and you can tell that he’s trying to stop himself from crying, “It will be. I’ve been a mess without you.” 

You still love Harry, and you know that you do, and you hate seeing him so upset. You believe that’s why you reach forward to take his hand in yours. 

“I have too.” 

Somehow, you and Harry had been booked on the same flight home, and you managed to get seats next to each other. Spending that time next to each other was good, you believed. It gave you the opportunity to properly speak and catch each other up on everything that had happened. Harry had apologised, yet again, for everything that had happened and you had too. You gushed over his album once you had done, and that was when he invited you to the Secret London Show he was holding at the Electric Ballroom. 

That takes you to now, stood in front of your mirror looking over your outfit to make sure that it was presentable enough. You knew you had to look presentable, but it wasn’t as fancy as the Christmas party. You dressed yourself in a long sleeved black lace top, and paired it with some black jean flares and your docs. Simple, yet quite effective in the grand scheme of things.

You were nervous to say the least about what what the evening was going to hold, especially since Gemma and other people who you hadn’t seen since the two of you broke up were going to be there. You weren’t exactly prepared, and if they asked you any questions you’d have no idea about what to say, but once you had brought that up with Harry, he said to just answer with the truth, which you were going to. 

The entire way to the electric ballroom you were nervous, your heart was beating out of you chest and you felt as though you shouldn’t have been going. You thought that up until you arrived, when you walked backstage to see Harry and Gemma stood talking whilst Harry was getting ready. Once he saw you, his features rose into a smile and yours did too, and you walked over to press a kiss to his cheek in greeting. 

“YN!” You could hear the shock in Gemma’s voice as she noticed that it was you and she immediately stood up and wrapped her arms around you, “I haven’t seen you in so long. How are you?” 

“I’m okay, thanks Gem.” You smiled, pulling away and tucking some of your hair behind your ear, “How are you?” 

“I’m amazing.” She says, “I certainly didn’t expect you to be here. Are you two back together? Please tell me that you are.” 

Instead of answering straight away, you turn to look at Harry briefly. You both knew exactly what was running through your brains, and the way you both smiled at each other made that completely obvious. He nodded, and then you knew exactly what to say. 

You grin and turn back to Gemma, “Trying to.” 

“Oh, I’m so happy for you.” She wraps you in another hug, “He was a mess without you, and I know you were a mess without him. You’re soulmates. I can’t believe he even did it in the first place.” 

“I think we all couldn’t.” You laugh.

“Hey!” Harry whines from the chair beside the two of you, “I made a mistake, we all get it.” 

You and Gemma laugh and from then it’s like the past six months hadn’t happened and you were still the best of friends. That was one thing about being with Harry, you loved his family just as much as you loved him. Gemma was like a sister to you, and she was even when you broke up but you just hadn’t seen her. Anne, well she was like a second mother to you. She always made sure to make you feel included at family gatherings, and she even came to stay with you sometimes when Harry went away for a while and you couldn’t go with him. You had missed Harry the most during this time, but Anne and Gemma were two people that you had also missed more than anything. 

The majority of people make their way to where they’re watching the show soon after, but you tell Gemma that you’ll meet her on the balcony later because you wanted to have a quick word with Harry. He was in the middle of shrugging his jacket upon his shoulders when you walked through the door, and he immediately stopped his movements and turned to look at you.

He furrowed his eyebrows, “Everything okay?” 

You shrug and bite your lip, stepping for arms a few steps towards him, “Just wanted to see you.” 

You find your eyes flicking up and down his body, taking in the monochrome yellow suit he had on with a black tie. You always loved and supported Harry’s wardrobe choices, and you had missed in the time you hadn’t been with him picking them out with him. You felt as though this was an excellent choice. 

“You look amazing.” He says, taking a few steps forward so that you’re directly in front of each other. You watch as he lifts his hands up, about to place them on your waist but he stops himself and drops his arms back down. Without hesitation you grab his wrists and place them upon your waist. His eyes widen, but the second he feels your skin underneath his hand, just separated by the thin material of your lace top. 

“Thank you.” You bite your lip and wrap your fingers around his tie, lightly picking up the material, “You look so handsome, H.” 

He almost lets out a sob at your words, but he quickly stops himself and smiles at you. Without thinking, you lean forward and press your lips upon his. They feel so familiar, yet so foreign at the same time. You want to cry. You’ve dreamt of this for months, the feeling of having him this closer to you again, and from the way he wraps his arms around your back and pulls you even closer to him, so that your body is fully flushed against his. You pull away with a smile and immediately drop your head to his chest, wrapping your arms around his waist under his jacket and hugging him close to you. You finally feel a tear escape from your eye. 

“I’ve missed you so much, H.” 

“I’ve missed you too.” 

He sings the entire Fine Line album from start to finish, and from how much you’ve listened to the album you actually know the majority of the words. You sing and dance away with Gemma, posting instagram stories of the two of you, and then one of how proud you are of Harry. You don’t need to explain yourself, there certainly isn’t a need to so you do so without any hesitation. You realise you’ve missed watching him perform, the way he can entertain a crowd with his talents has always been something you’d been jealous of. You’ve done shows here and there but because your album isn’t due to be out until the start of next year, when you plan to do your first world tour, and even though you try your hardest, you don’t feel as though you’ll ever be able to work a crowd the way he does. Where Stormzy came from, you still have no idea, since you hadn’t seen him downstairs but all of a sudden he’s singing Vossi Bop with Harry and your watching with your mouth dropped open in shock as he does so. 

You and Harry make the executive decision to go to Harry’s house after the concert. It’s how you both found yourselves sat on Harry’s sofa, a glass of wine in each of your hands. You head is leant against the back of the sofa, whilst Harry’s hand leans upon the back of it, running his fingers through your hair. It’s comforting, and the smile hasn’t left your face since he started to do it. 

“You’re so beautiful.” He whispers, moving his hand from your hair to run his finger along your cheekbone, then down until he’s running it across your lips, “I can’t believe I ever pushed you away. You were my girl. I was going to marry you, I needed to marry you, still do.” 

“I’m back now.” You whisper back, lifting your hand to place on his cheek, “And I’m not going anywhere. No matter how hard you try and push me away, I’m not leaving.” 

“I don’t want you too.” He shakes his head, “I’ll never want you too again.” 

Without really thinking, you take the glass out of Harry’s hand and place both of yours upon the table in front of you, listening to the sound as glass meets glass. He leans back on the sofa with a puzzled look, immediately realising what is happening when you move to straddle his hips, placing your hands upon his shoulders to steady yourself. His hands fall upon the small of your back, his hands dragging up and down to tease your skin. 

You lean forward, moving so that your faces are inches apart. You knock his nose slightly with yours, causing his cheeks to curl upwards with a smile before you capture it with your lips.  immediately responds by kissing your back, pushing his body so that it’s placed even closer to yours if it’s physically possible. 

Without a warning you pull away from him, slipping off his lap so that you’re on your knees in front of him. His eyes never leave yours as you so, and he immediately opens his legs so that you can slip in between them, his finger running over his bottom lip as he watches you. 

“What are you doing?” He asks.

“Want to feel you.” You reply, resting your hands upon his thighs, “Want to feel you in my mouth. Can I?” 

“Go ahead, baby.” 

You feel excitement bubbling in the pit of your stomach, and with shaky hands you move to unfasten his belt, and unbutton and unzip his trousers without much struggle. He lifts his hips up so that you can manoeuvre his trousers down and off his legs, leaving him in his black boxers. You bite your lip at the sight of the tent within the flimsy material, already growing and ready for you. You feel slightly overwhelmed that after so long of waiting, and wanting him to be in front of you again, he actually is. 

“Already so hard for me, H.” You say, running your hand over the fuzz upon his bare thighs, “Have you thought about this as much as I have.” 

“I thought about it everyday.” He replies, quickly at that, “It’s etched in my brain, the sight of you on your knees for me.” 

You bite your lip as your grin, leaning to press a kiss to his stomach, just above the happy little trial that slips underneath the hem of his boxers. You feel his stomach tense underneath your lips, especially when you hook your fingers into the hem of his boxers, wiggling the material down until you can completely take it off once he’d lifted his hips again. He’s fully hard for you, and you can feel your stomach doing little flips in excitement for what is going to happen. 

Sex, as it is in most relationships, was a big part of yours and Harry’s. It’s important that couples are comfortable with each other when revealing such intimate parts of themselves, and you and Harry were. If any of of you wanted to try anything, you could do so because of how comfortable you felt with each other. Whenever the other wanted to try anything, you’d do so without any hesitation and in such a way that you both enjoyed it. You both had your kinks, and your shared ones, and over the courser of your relationship you both explored those feelings. You were just happy that even though you had spent such time away from each other, you could still feel that confidence bubbling between the two of you, and those feelings bubbling between each other. Harry made you feel a way no other human being has ever been able to, and you were thankful because you felt as though you’d never be able to find that with anyone else, and now you didn’t have to worry because you were back together. 

“You ready to take me in your mouth baby.” He says, placing his hand upon your cheek, “Ready to take me the way you used to.” 

“Always, baby.” 

Your tongue slips from between your lips and you lick a stripe up his throbbing cock, causing a low groan to escape through Harry’s lips. You can’t help but smile at the sound, knowing that you had caused that. Another groan escapes his lips once you wrap your lips around his tip completely, taking it into your mouth and you can help but giggle slightly. He smiles down at you and pulls your hair up so that it’s off of your face, making a makeshift ponytail to help move you up and down his cock. 

“Look so good with my cock in your mouth.” His tongue slips out of his mouth to wet his lips, “Always could take me so well. Show me, baby, show me how deep you can go.” 

You comply, taking him as deep as you can until you can feel him in the back of your throat. You eyes start to water, and you look up at him through your eyelashes. You hold for as long as possibly can before he lightens his touch and allows you to pull away. A string of saliva connects you two together as you and you wipe your lips with the back of your hand to remove it. 

“Can you do it again?” He asks and you sheepishly nod, flicking your eyes between his throbbing member and him a few times before wrapping your lips back around him, “Fuck, baby, no one can do this like you can. No one.” 

His words spur you on and you deep throat him as far as you possibly can before you need to gasp for air, taking a few seconds before starting to bob your head again, taking a few seconds at each time to run your tongue over his throbbing tip, collecting some of the salty pre-come that had started to bubble there. 

“So good to me.” He lets you stop for a minute, and you place your head upon his thigh so that you can catch you breath. It was almost as though he knew that you needed to take a breather. You had the slight problem of always trying to do more than you’re able too and you almost always end up loosing too much of your breath, “Even though I’m an absolute twat. You’re always so good to me.” 

“You deserve it.” You say, your throat a little coarse from your actions before. 

“I don’t.” He shakes his head, “I broke your heart.” 

You hesitate for a few seconds, “But you’re fixing it.” 

“I shouldn’t have broken it in the first place.” 

You move so that your higher up and able to place a kiss to his lips, whispering against them, “You’re fixing it.” 

He kisses you back with more passion than before, moving his hand to grip under your thighs so that he can pick you up and place your on his. His fingers tug at the hem of your lace shirt, so you detach your lips so that you can pull it over your head. He groans at the sight of your bare chest to him, your nipples hardening into stiff buds at the feeling of the cold air immediately on your skin. 

“No bra?” He presses a few open mouthed kisses to your neck, “You’ve been with me all evening, and I never even fucking noticed that you didn’t have a bra on.” 

“You used to have a special talent for noticing when I didn’t have a bra on.” You giggle, sighing slightly at the feeling of his lips on his neck, and then the subtle feeling of his teeth grazing your skin. 

“I must’ve lost my touch. But don’t worry.” He pulls away and looks you directly in the eye, “I’ll soon get it back.” 

“Of course you will.” You laugh, but he stops it with his lips. The first time you and Harry kissed, you were so nervous. You felt as though you were going to mess up and he’d never want to kiss you again. You were completely wrong, and he actually ended up saying that it was one of the best kisses of you life. You couldn’t believe his words, and since then you completely found yourself wanting his lips to be on yours. Just as they were now, his tongue slipping between your lips and the feeling always transporting the two of you to where it’s just you, and you have the time in the world to kiss as much as you want to. 

He moves his kisses down your neck, leaving sloppy ones against your skin until he was at the curve of your breast. Harry was a boob man, you knew that for a fact. As much as he loved to hold onto your ass every now and then, you always noticed that he spent the majority of his time focusing on your boobs. Whether it be sucking blemishes into the plushly skin whilst you fucked, or laying his head on them as you both calmed down from your activities, he always, without fail, focused on your boobs. 

He knew that if he attacked your nipples skilfully with his tongue, he could have your dampening your panties and clenching your thighs together so much that he couldn’t resist it. He starts by wrapping his lips around your right nipple, tugging on the flesh slightly with his lips before letting it go with a pop. 

“Fucking love your tits, love.” He sighs and you giggles slightly before gasping at the feeling of his pinching your other nipple with his fingers, “Fit in my hands, and in my mouth, so nicely.” 

You moan in response to his words and throw your head back as he wraps his lips around your other one, sucking and sending flutters all the way down to your core. You wanted him, yearned for him, and you were beginning to grown inpatient. 

“Can we go to your bedroom?” You run your fingers through his hair and pull his head back so that he’s looking at you, “Bedroom.” 

“Is that where you want it?” 

“Want it in your bed.” You say, placing your hand upon his cheek, “Our bed.” 

He stands up with you still on him, your legs wrapped around him as he carries your upstairs. You rest your head upon his shoulder so he can look over yours and direct you safely to the comforts of his bedroom. 

This place didn’t hold the best of memories from the last few months of your relationship but if you ignored that and focused on the positives, you had some of your best times in this room. It was a place where the two of you could completely be yourselves, and have a place to call yours. The pillow talk that occurred in this room was out of this world, and it was where you planned your future. One that was put on hold briefly but now seemed to be ready for the two of you again. 

“Will you strip for me?” He asks as he places your down in the room, “I want to watch you slip out of those jeans, baby.” 

You nod but at first undress him. You slip the jacket from his shoulders, skilfully loosen his tie and pull it over his head. Next is his shirt which you start to unbutton, but Harry grows impatient and rips it off, the buttons flying in all sorts of directions. 

“Harry!” 

“Oops?” He laughs, sitting down on the bed. 

You had given Harry one strip tease before, for his birthday a year ago and it had gone down a treat. You had dressed up in your fanciest lingerie, which happened to be a black set that he had bought specifically for you for your birthday with ‘Styles’ embroidered on the inside. There was something, for the both of you, that you loved about seeing his name all over your the undergarments you wore. Whenever you wore them out in public, the two of you couldn’t keep your hands off each other, as though you were hiding a naughty secret that you didn’t want anyone to know about. 

“Are you going to?” He urged, not taking his eyes off you’re, “I’m waiting.” 

“Might make you wait a little longer.” You smile, running your fingers along the hem of your jeans, “Seeing as though you left me waiting for how long?” 

“Don’t tease.” 

“Why?” You shrug, “That was your speciality, wasn’t it?” 

He had a love for teasing you, always had done. From the first time the two of you had sex, you knew he liked to tease. He liked to tease you all over, having your body withering under his touch until you couldn’t help but beg for him to touch you. You had a slight suspicion that he enjoyed hearing you beg for him, whimpering under his touch until you were crying for him to touch you. You remember that once, he had been teasing you all day whilst you had been out and about, but once you had gotten home he was teasing you so badly, overstimulating you over and over until you were crying for him to make your come. 

“Just strip, my love.” You laugh and his words and unfasten the button to your jeans, turning around so that your ass is facing him, pulling your jeans down to reveal your black lace panties to him. You’re not surprised when he smacks his hand to the flesh of your ass, causing you to turn around with a gasp.

“That wasn’t nice.” You move so that you’re straddling him again. 

“When have I ever been nice?” He raises his eyebrows, “I don’t think you want me to start now.” 

He leans forward and places his lips to yours again, his body falling back upon the bed so that you’re hovering above him. His fingers run down from the small of his back, to her ass again until he’s gripping the flesh between his fingers, quite harshly you must say so which goes straight to your core. You know that the front of your panties are ruined by your wetness, and you know for certain that Harry does also. 

“Sit on my face.” He mumbles against your lips.

“What?” You whisper back.

“Sit on my face.” He places a kiss to your jaw, “Wanna eat that pretty cunt, want to have you trembling above me.” 

You would squeeze your thighs together, but you can’t because of his body between yours. You nod your head and clamber off him, pulling your underwear down your legs quickly. You move up the bed until you’re next to his head, spreading your legs and placing your knees on either side of his head. His hands grip your thighs, dancing his fingers along your thighs. 

“Please, H.” You say, pushing his hair off of his forehead as you look down at him.

“Didn’t think you’d be begging so soon, baby.” He chuckles, pressing a few kisses upon your cheeks. 

“I’m doing no such thing.” You shake your head, “You’re just being slow.” 

He certainly isn’t being slow when he leans his head forward and starts to attack your clit with his tongue. You have to quickly lean forward also and grab the headboard to steady yourself, a moan escaping your lips as he does so. He attacks your clit quickly, and you can’t help but grind your hips forward at the feeling. He curls his hands around your thighs, stopping you from moving anymore. You cry out as he doesn’t slow down, and you pull his hair slightly. It emits a moan from him which vibrates against your clit, creeping your closer and closer to your peak.

It becomes a cycle. As you pull on his hair, more moans and groans tumble from his lips again sty your clit. He knew the more that he focused upon your clit, the closer you’d find yourself to your orgasm. He had learnt this, and he certainly hadn’t forgotten it. 

You bite your bottom lip and close your eyes, rocking your hips back and forth against his tongue. He knows your close, due to your thighs clamping around his head. He doesn’t slow down, but instead he flicks his tongue even quicker. 

“Fucking hell.” You moan, your body starting to shake as you feel your orgasm wash over you. He continues to attack your clit, coaxing you through your orgasm until you’ve finished and catching your breath. 

“You taste so fucking good.” He says, dancing his fingers upon your thigh, “Missed your taste.” 

“Fuck me, H.” You say, breathlessly.

He doesn’t hesitate. You manoeuvre yourself off of his head and lay so that you’re head is rested upon his pillow. He leans to open his bedside drawer but you stop him, grabbing his arm and pulling his back to you.

“Did you sleep with anyone else?” You ask, knowing that this could make or break whether you were going to be fucked or not at this moment.

“No.” He says, immediately shaking his head, “I didn’t. Did you?” 

You also shake your head, “I wanna feel you, H. Want you to come in me.” 

He groans without even touching you yet, or you touching him. He immediately drops his lips to yours, and you can’t help but giggle and smile into the kiss. You wrap your arms around his back and pull him closer to you. He pulls away slightly, just to grip his cock, running his thumb over his tip a few times. 

“Are you sure?” He says and you nod, threading your fingers into the curls at the nape of his neck.

“Please, H.” You nod, hips bucking towards his, “I need you.” 

“Need you too.” He kisses you again, “Always need you.” 

He leans forward, looking down between the two of you to line his cock up with your entrance. He runs the tip over your clit for a second before pushing into you. Your walls immediately envelope him, tightening around him with every inch that he moves in. You sigh against his lips, wrapping your arms around his back. He starts to move in and out of you, your walls clenching around him as he tries to find his rhythm. 

“Fuck.” You can’t help but moan that into his ear. 

“Taking me so well.” You drop your hands to rest on your pillows next to him, to which he takes your hand in his as he starts to quicken his pace, “Missed your pussy so much. Never leaving again.” 

Instead of replying, you place your lips upon his again. From the way his eyes are screwed closed, you can tell that he’s close. If it’s possible, he starts to thrust his hips harder towards you, hitting a point so deep into you that causes a whine to fall from your mouth. 

“You’re gonna come, aren’t you?” He says against your neck, moving in and out until your thighs are shaking beneath him, “Can feel you, fuck, can feel you clenching around me. Milking my cock, aren’t you?” 

You hum, “Feel so good, H. I’m so close.” 

When you do come, you see stars. You clench around him, and profanities escape your lips. The feeling is completely how you remember it. You hadn’t been completely celibate since breaking up with Harry, since you do own a little bullet vibrator that had been your friend. You had it for years before you met Harry, and you used it whenever he was away or if the two of you fancied spicing it up every now and then.

You come down from your high just as Harry is catapulted into his, coating your walls with his as does so. His body collapses on top of yours, his head rested at the side of yours. He’s still inside of you, and both of your chests are rising up at down at a quick pace. 

“Fucking hell.” He laughs, and you turn your head to look at him. He has a grin upon his face and you lean forward to kiss his dimple, “I’ve missed this. I’ve missed you.” 

“I know.” You smiled, “You’ve told me multiple times. I’ve missed you to.” 

He finally pulls out, and you immediately felt empty. You whined slightly and he moved off of you, dropping down upon the bed next to you. You take this as the opportunity to slip from your bed. Due to not having sex in a long time, you flip your legs over the edge of the bed and prepare yourself for having to take a few steps. Taking a deep breath, you stand up and waddle your way towards Harry’s bathroom, scooping up Harry’s shirt on the way. 

You know the way like the back of your hand, and it’s oddly comforting to you. Once you’re in the bathroom, you clean yourself and do your business. Once you’re satisfied, you shrug Harry’s shirt on and do up a few buttons so that you’re covering at least a bit of yourself as you do so. 

Harry’s underneath the covers as you return to his room, smiling at you with dimples and all as you walk back through the door. He’s on his side of the bed, and you clamber into yours. The feeling of having someone in bed next to you makes you happy inside. You lay upon your side, with one of your hands beneath you head and Harry copies your movement. Your faces are close, and he leans forward to place a kiss to your nose. 

You smile, “Hi.” 

“Hi, love.” 

“Are you okay?” You ask and he nods, “Do you think we’ve rushed this?” 

“No.” He’s quick to say, “I don’t think we have. We needed this. I’ve never felt closer to someone as I do to you right now.” 

“Me neither.” You smile, moving to grab his hand that was rested upon his side, “And I don’t think I will again.” 

“Darling.” Harry says, pointing his finger in the air as he does so. 

Chloe hesitates for a second before letting out a, “Ding!” to say that he was right. 

It was Boxing Day, and after spending Christmas Eve and the majority of Christmas Day with your family, you had driven from your family house up to Cheshire to spend the rest of Christmas Day and Boxing Day with Harry’s family. You were all sat in the living room playing a game, sporting glasses of wine and basking in the Christmassy feeling of being together again. 

After Harry’s show on the nineteenth, and the acts that happened afterwards, you and Harry had many conversations. There was a few tears from the two of you, and the conversation got heated in some aspects but you were together again, and that was the main thing. Originally, you had decided to spend Christmas separate, without each other’s company just because it was such a sudden change and you wanted to make sure that you fully weren’t rushing into things. Then, whilst sat on the sofa after devouring your Christmas dinner, with Mud’s Lonely this Christmas playing through your speakers that you realised that you missed Harry, and a Christmas without seeing him now was a Christmas that you didn’t want in your life. 

You had contemplated surprising him and just turning up, but you felt as though that wasn’t fair on the rest of his family, and that’s why you messaged and asked him. He replied asking whether you were certain that you wanted to do this, and you said yes and he said that he’d have a cup of tea ready for you whenever you arrived. 

He did have one ready for you, and it was everything you needed to warm yourself up after the long journey. 

Anne, Gemma and Michal asked no questions to you, but you had no doubt that they had asked Harry some on your journey. Anne had welcomed you with a hug, and so did Gemma and once their prying eyes were away, Harry kissed you as though his life depended on it, pressed against the staircase of his mother’s house whilst fairy lights twinkled around them. 

Anne’s next to go, hoping that her answer of, “Sweetheart,” was at the top of the list. 

Chloe replies with, “Uh huh,” to which everyone “Ooo’s” in response at.

You’re rested upon the back of the sofa, with a flute of Champagne in your hand. Harry, in his flat-cap almost breaking your hear with how handsome he looked, turned around and pointed his finger at you. 

“Come on, now.” He says, “Be smart with this. It’s sticky stuff.” 

“Babe.” You immediately reply, knowing that was one of pet names that Harry called you the most.

People around the room laugh at Harry’s phrase of ‘sticky-stuff’ but that doesn’t mask Chloe’s exclamation of, “Ding!” followed by, “Top answer.” 

You smile at the knowledge and Harry turns to you also, holding his fist up for you to fist bump which you both laugh at. He holds his hand out and you pass him your drink, which he takes a sip of quickly before returning it to you so you can carry on playing the game. 

Michal is next, and for some bizarre reason to all of you he says, “Cutie-pie,” which certainly isn’t on the list. The room chuckles around you, and Harry says something about him “returning to the mines’’ which you all laugh at, but you specifically roll your eyes at. 

The game soon wraps up, and you have your meal. Harry sits next to you, and had his hand upon your thigh the entire way through. The table around the two of you chatted about all sorts, many of the questions being about when your music was coming out which you certainly didn’t expect. You started to feel as though your album, when it came out, wouldn’t be very complimentary of your relationship with Harry, and you were starting to regret it slightly, but you loved all of your songs and you hoped that when you showed Harry, and the world for that matter, that they would too.  

You and Harry, after the meal had finished, had offered to be on washing up duty. You had been given the task of washing up, whilst Harry dried because he felt as though his skills were better there. You let him believe that and carry on with drying all of the special Christmas cutlery that didn’t go in the dish-washer. 

Once you had finished, and you were drying your hand upon the towel, you felt hands upon your waist, more specifically, Harry’s. He place a kiss to your neck and you giggled, turning around so that upon were facing him. He immediately captures your lips with his, and you wrap your arms around your neck to steady yourself from the attack of his lips. His hands immediately again go to your waist, slipping his hand underneath the material of your jumper to rest upon your skin. Once you pull away, you look at him with a smile upon your face. 

“What was that for?” 

“What?” He shrugs, “Can’t I kiss my girlfriend?” 

“Girlfriend?” You ask, unable to hide your smile.

“Girlfriend.” He nods, “That’s what you are, aren’t you?” 

You nod your head and place another kiss to his lips, the feeling running through the two of you without really knowing how significant he really was. 

“If you want me to be. I want to be.” 

He lifts one of his hands and places it upon your cheek, running his thumb ever so delicately along your skin.

“I love you.” He says, with no hesitation in his voice, “I know I’ve been shitty, and I probably shouldn’t be saying this to you, especially not in the way that I am, but I do love you and I never stopped. I swear to you, that from now on my love for you will be the most important thing, and I won’t ever, ever make you second best again.” 

“That’s all I want.” You reply, leaning forward to place a kiss upon his lips, “I love you too.” 

With the year that you had, and the feeling as though you’d never be with this man again, you couldn’t believe that here you were with him. He was with you, and he was yours and there was no doubt in your mind that what happened earlier this year will never happen again. It was almost as though this was something that your relationship needed to grow stronger in itself, and it surely was now.

He wraps an arm around your neck and pulls you onto his chest, “I’m never letting you go again. I probably won’t let you out of my sight again.” 

“I can’t say that I’d ever complain.” 

#harry styles #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x reader #harry styles x yn #harry styles x you #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry styles smut fic #harry styles writing

[xgryffinwhore]

Hey! Can I request a jaeden martell x reader where basically their charters are dating on a tv show and they are really really good best friends in real life and they they both go on the Jimmy fallon show and he keeps on asking if they’re dating because everyone thinks they are and when they say no he obvi doesn’t let it go lol and it ends up slipping up that jaeden did/ does have a crush on reader and they maybe end up sharing a kiss in front is Jimmy & audience & stuff😶just an idea i had 😂:)

i love this idea wow, thinking i’m going to put my own little twist on it but i think you’ll still be pleased ;)

just friends

warnings!: suggestive topics, fluff

word count: 2.1k

five

your face was being touched up with powder, the cotton pad dabbing at your nose as the white powder absorbed into any oil your face may have had.

four

you look over at jimmy, this wasn’t your first talk show, but it had been the biggest one with the most following. it was intimidating, you bounced your foot up and down and played with your hands.

three

behavior jaeden had grown to recognize. he knew you better then you knew yourself, your anxiety was worse then you put it out to be. “you ok?” he questioned, “fine, i’m fine” you painted a small smile on your face. but he wasn’t easily fooled.

two

he grabbed one of your hands and rubbed circles into your palm, this sent vibrations of relaxation down your spine.

one

his eyes locked with yours, you swore they were a different color each time you saw them. sometimes more blue, sometimes more green, sometimes dark with mystery, sometimes light and playful.

‘aaand where on air’

you wiped the hand that was interlocked with his off on your dress, it was clammy. the curtain came up fast, and your vision was soon flooded with bright lights and silhouettes of bodies.

making out the faces in the sea of people was impossible, but you knew your friends were out there. they had flown out to see you, a) they could go see new york and b) you were on national television, and they wouldn’t miss it for the world.

jimmy was talking, you knew that much, but your nerves took over and honestly you weren’t registering a damn thing he was saying. the crowd cheered, you snapped out of your daze.

“and here tonight, we have jaeden martell and y/n l/n from the new HBO tv series: turning tables”

he turned to both of us, and gave everyone time to clap. he tired to speak over the loud hands, moving on with his show, but the crowd made that difficult. eventually the clapping died out and he could continue.

“now, i’ve watched all of the episodes but, for the people who haven’t seen: can you explain what the show is about?” he looked a jaeden, you let go of a breathe you had held in.

“s-sure” jaeden turned to face the audience more, he was soft spoken and shy, so it was important he projected as much as he could.

“turning tables is a teen drama. it’s about families of poverty in the seattle washington area and how they struggle to go to school and work. my character, jennings cooper, is the main protagonist. the show is mainly from his point of view, and how he struggle to support his family.”

jimmy nods and smiles, he looks pleased with his explanation. i’m truth the show wasn’t that simple, he knew that. but, it would take so long to explain.

“and y/n, who do you play?” he knew the answer to this obviously, but you were becoming a crowd favorite. everyone loved your personality, and you were an up-and-coming a list celebrity.

“i play parker marlow, jennings girlfriend” you blushed at this statement, the crowd giggled and ‘ouuu’ed. jimmy rubbed his hands together, getting excited at the upcoming topic of discussion.

“so, your romance on season one was steamy” you thought back to the scenes you did together. all of the kissing, which felt normal at this point. he wasn’t a bad kisser, in fact- you didn’t mind it at all. your romance through the season built up to a sex scene, your mind flashed through the memories of filming it.

filming those scenes isnt half as steamy as you think it is. it’s awkward, you laugh a lot. you had never felt that exposed in your life! however watching it was different, it looked so real, so perfect.

you blurred out your thoughts, mr. fallon still speaking on the subject. “can we expect more -“ jimmy searched for your ship name, it was on the tip of his tongue. the combination of your first names on the show didn’t make an attractive combo. it was either jarker or pennings. your last names matched a little better.

“-carlow” jaeden finished for him. jimmy nodded and smiled “yes- carlow- can we expect more carlow next season?” you both looked at each other and smiled. the writers for the show already had the next four seasons laid out. you knew that carlow was a continuing relationship on the show.

“yes, you should expect more of that sort of content from us” you stated. the people in the crowd had a positive responce to this, the applause lapping until it died out once again.

“right, your characters have so much chemistry in the show. two struggling teens just trying to break even.” jaeden agreed “yes, our characters balance each other out, and being from the same background helps them associate. jennings is kind of a bad boy-as the ladies say- he’s a felon, he steels cars and sells them to counterfeit manufacturers and dealers for money. parker, y/n’s character, has a job at a diner. she shows him the light at the end of the tunnel if he chooses to go down a good path.”

“yes, parker gets jennings a job at the diner with her, and he falls for her sweet disposition even after everything she’s been through” you add.

jimmy licks his lips and pops another question: “so id imagine the chemistry in the show heightens the real life thing?” he cocked an eye brow, the group gasping at the intrusiveness.

“jaeden and i are just friends” you blurt out, your nerves working up again. it was hard, you liked jaeden ever since you had your first kiss with him.

“y-yeah” he stutters, he obviously wasn’t expecting this either “friends” jimmy shakes his head and puts his finger on his lip “recently, you both have been showing a lot of pictures of you two together on social media.”

the audience ‘awwwed’ at the photos that displayed behind you. on the screen, there were pictures of you and him that were on both of your instagrams. you two at gardens, getting food, even watching movies at each other’s houses.

“for just friends, these photos looks intimate , wouldn’t you say” a bunch of ‘yes’’s and ‘mhm’’s came from the crowd as both of your faces became red.

“we’re just best friends, honestly” jaeden laughed nervously, he fixed his hair with his hand has he always does.

“right right- can you tell me when this photo is from?” jimmy asked, the last picture flashing on the screen. it was of you both, you had just filmed your first scene together.

the first scene you filmed together was episode two, he saved you after you fell into ice cold water. it was how the characters met, and it was filmed at a cove on a windy august day.

the picture was a little blurry, but it added character. he had his arm around you, both of your hair soaked, and you share a huge towel. you remember how cold you were, your teeth chattered so rapidly. his hair was stuck to his forehead and more small pieces went up. and your lips were almost purple, half from the makeup, half because you swore that was the coldest water you had ever went in.

“that’s from when we first started filming, it was the first time we met in the show” you recited, re living the memory in your head. you remember jaeden pulling your head into his chest when the wind began blowing. you remember his thumb trying to create friction on your back to make you just a little warm.

“yes yes- you two look so adorable!” jimmy squealed, he was the most teenage-girl-grown-man you had ever met. his hand opened one of the drawers in the faux desk he sat behind, pulling out a small blue camcorder.

the camcorder.

you know how on tv shows, there is special footage? sometimes it’s just behind the scene specials but sometimes- sometimes - it’s footage the actors document when they were just having fun? yeah it was one of those camcorders.

the camcorder was brought in by the two other co hosts wyatt oleff and finn wolfhard (i know this cast is sooo original not really) they played jaedens two best friends on the show. while they weren’t filming, they’d dick around and talk about stupid stuff. you’d never seen what they filmed, but you had been featured quite a few times; their by them pranking you, or invading your personal space.

you looked over at jaeden, you watched his adam’s apple bob and a thin layer of sweat flush over his face. he bounced his leg slightly, a habit he had picked up from you.

“let’s just review our material here” jimmy teased, his tongue darting out between his teeth. the video began to play, the sound was loud; assumingely for jaeden quiet voice in the tape.

the video started with wyatts unsteady hand, him and finn were running around set, they stopped at jaeden, he was playing on his phone in his trailer.

“jaeden wesley we have come for you” finn yelled. you could see jaeden shoot up from his chair. “hey guys” he waved. they talked for around a minute, jokes and all. then finn started to giggle, wyatt zoomed in on jaedens face.

“so jaeden, how’s y/n?” he chuckled, jaeden blushed “she’s ok i guess dunno.” wyatt stopped zooming in when the only thing in frame was jaedens head. “the kiss was good hm?” wyatt asked. jaeden continued to play on his phone, he nodded. “yeah, she’s pretty cute too.”

the video cut to another segment, this was filmed after the sex scene. you knew because jaeden laid on the bed you, in the same underwear that he wore during the scene. the boys were jumping on the bed, and jaeden took the camera and talked to it.

“this is for memory and memory ONLY! h-hey y/nnn” he was talking to the camera like it was you “you’re amazing and cool” you could hear finn explode into laughter as he stole the camera back and started running “yeah! and he wants your babies and loves you so much-“ “SHUT UP FINN!!!” and jaeden chased him around.

the video was taken off the screen. your face had become close to ghostly white. it was weird, it was almost like he was dumb enough to think finn wouldn’t give jimmy this blackmail goldmine. you looked at jaeden, he hit his bottom lip until it was red, he itches his neck and laughed it off.

“yeah ok-ok jimmy, maybe i liked her back in the day” jaeden tried so hard to be casual, but jimmy hit him with a heart stopper: “but mr martell, the last clip was filmed less then a month ago!”

your mind flickered with memories and ideas of him.

your first time meeting, how good his hand felt in yours. when you wiped icecream off his chin, and him dotting icecream on to the top of your nose. the way his hair always fell perfectly above his eye brow. and SHIT how he always smelt so fucking good. how he let you fall asleep in his arms and how he never complained when you put on some stupid romcom and-

“y/n?” jimmy questioned. “huh?” you spaced, come on y/n you gotta stop doing that. “i asked how you felt about all of this.” “well, there isn’t a right word i can use.”

jaeden took this has a bad reaction, he did a small wave to the crowd and stood up to get off the stage.

you stood up, grabbed his hand, and laid one right on him. kissing him felt normal, but now that there was emotion behind it, it just felt so right.

you both stopped for air, the crowd went wild. jimmy was clapping too, you could barley hear them, your heart was pumping throughout your whole body. you swore jaeden could hear it.

after the show, you sat in your dressing room for a bit, contemplating the events of tonight, and how they were all broadcasted for your embarrassment. but it was only the beginning. only the beginning of what was to come for mr. and mrs. jaeden martell.

#jaeden martell #jaeden martell fic #jaeden martell x reader #jaeden martell fluff #jaeden wesley #jaeden lieberher #jaeden #jaeden fic #bill denbrough #bill denbrough x you #bill denbrough fanfic #it move #imagine #it fanfiction #aged up

[reidjumpers]

Here Comes the Sun: Dumplings

Spencer Reid x Reader

Warning: mentions of food, some curse words, domestic bliss, Spencer being a little anxious

Series Summary: a journey of going through parenthood with Spencer Reid

Chapter Summary: When Spencer woke up to you making dumplings in the dining table, he knew he was in trouble.

Note: welcome to the first chapter of dad!Spencer series! For those who have faint heart, fear not, because I am not mean and I write this so we can all have serotonin boost together. Enjoy!

prologue, next chapter, series masterlist.

Nobody in their right mind would ever call Spencer Reid a fool. He might have encountered people that underestimate him or didn’t think he was as smart, yes, but no one would ever call him a fool. Not even when Emily joked about his IQ getting slashed into 60 in the presence of a beautiful woman. He had to silently agree with that statement. How could he not? In front of him was a very beautiful woman that he had the luxury to call her his wife. His beautiful, gorgeous, very understanding, intelligent wife.

But right now he definitely felt like a goddamn fool.

When Spencer woke up to an empty bed and the apartment smelled distinctively sweet like the bakery, he thought he was waking up on a really good day. But when he walked out the bedroom and spotted you sitting at the dining table calmly, a hum of songs from the speaker played in the background, and a stack of dumpling skin placed on the table, he knew he was in the doghouse.

It was common knowledge that whenever you’re stressed or upset upon something or someone, when life seemingly wants to fucks you over and over, you’d channel it through baked sweets or as strange as it sounds, dumplings. He never knew witnessing you silently make dumplings on the dining table with freshly baked cookies on the counter would be such a terrifying and worrisome sight to see.

Spencer stood silently in the doorway, rocking on his heels forward and backwards. He was quiet and careful not to burst the bubble of your own world. His mind started to run a few scenarios inside his head over and over, trying to walk through every minute by minute of every event in his life that had led him into today.

“Hey,” he greeted you after two solid minutes of thinking and couldn’t come up with any answer. His voice was gentle to not startle you as he pulled a chair across yours.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty,” you teased. It was 11:15 AM, you were most definitely saying that just to tease him.

Spencer rolled his eyes at your jab, silently reached for the dumpling skin in front of him and started to fill it with the filling. He had done this thousands of times over to know the right way to make dumplings. Your first few dates with him consisted of homemade dumplings and sipping wine. He was honored when you showed him how to make dumplings the way your grandmother did it, grinning as you said it’s a family secret and he promised to keep it as one.

“Are we having a guest?” Spencer asked as he put his own dumpling carefully into the designated plate. His dumpling would never be as good as yours no matter how much he tried, but he was proud that it was passable enough to your standard.

“No?” you furrowed your eyebrows, glancing up from your own dumpling. “Why?”

“You make more dumplings than usual,” he pointed out.

“Oh,” your voice was soft, barely audible, and he nearly missed it. “Didn’t realize that.”

Spencer nodded, reaching for another dumpling skin to soothe his worry away. Study has shown that repetitive action proven to soothe anxiety and increase focus. He could recite the study in his sleep, forward and backwards without stuttering. But the damned repetitive action of making dumplings didn’t work for him right now.

He cleared his throat. It is now and never. He would have to kiss his husband of the year trophy goodbye if he couldn’t figure out for his life what makes his wife this upset. “Hon?” he called for your attention.

You let out a hum of acknowledgement, eyes didn’t leave your dumpling for a second. It made the corner of his lips twisted downwards.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” he asked gently, mindful not pressing you into telling him things. He knew you would never keep things away from him. You would tell him eventually, but he needed to hear it.

You, however, just scrunched your nose adorably in confusion. “Talk about what?”

“You bake cookies and make dumplings, and it’s just…” he craned his neck to take a glance towards the hanging clock above the cabinet. “It’s not even twelve yet.”

You blinked at his statement. “I’m hungry.”

“You do stress bake,” he patiently pointed out. Placing his yet another passable looking dumpling into the designated plate, he let out a sigh. “You also make dumplings when you’re stressed or upset. And now you do both first thing in the morning.”

“You know me so well, huh? You should marry me if you know me so well.”

“Already did, nine months ago,” Spencer rolled his eyes at your humor, but a smile graced his lips. “So, do you want to talk about it?”

You blinked at him again, nose scrunched up in confusion at his question. Spencer could feel silence slowly settling in, filling the gaps between you and him. His mind started to make a list of things that you like, making mental notes to make a short trip to a grocery store to pick up your favorite ice cream and take a reroute towards the flower shop he saw a week ago and picked up a bouquet of roses.

He was in the middle of mentally reciting his apology for fucking up when he heard you burst into a laughter. It took him a moment to register that the sound of you cackling so hard was not a mere figment of his imagination. He saw you laughing so hard, head thrown backwards overwhelming the small dining room.

“I’m sorry,” you hiccupped, wiping away tears from your eyes with your sleeve. Spencer would’ve smiled at the sight if he weren’t so puzzled. “Babe, are you really thinking I’m mad at you because I bake cookies and make dumplings?”

Spencer sputtered, “How could I not!” he huffed, throwing his hands into the air dramatically as you laugh upon his misery. “I was so worried! You always either bake or make dumplings when you’re upset, but never both! And now you do both and you keep dodging my question.”

“I didn’t mean to!” you said defensively between your laughter. You cleared your throat, not wanting to make the pout on Spencer’s lips even more prominent. “I guess my brain really associated cookies and dumplings as something comforting. I crave for some comfort food, and my brain just screams, ‘cookies and dumplings!’ I didn’t mean to make you worried, I’m sorry.”

“This much? You’re really hungry, huh?”

“Pretty hungry since I’m eating for two now.”

Spencer froze on his spot, his hand stopped midair before he was able to reach for another dumpling skin. He blinked. Once. Twice. Three times. “W-what?”

You just smiled cheekily at him. You got up from your seat and walked towards the kitchen, leaving him alone flabbergasted at your statement. You came back a minute later, a wide smile at your face and your hand tucked behind your back.

“Ta-da!” you cheerfully said, placing baby shoes on the table in front of him. Spencer let out a soft gasp, cooed at the sight of how tiny the shoes are.

“Are you…? Are we…?”

“Pregnant,” you finished his sentence for him with a wide grin. “I found out during our case in LA and I was meaning to tell you earlier, I swear! But the case got a little crazy and we’re whisked away into doing a lot of things at once.”

Spencer let out a shaky breath, staring into the baby shoes with eyes full of awe. The news still felt unreal for him, artificial, but the warmth blooming on his chest that slowly spreading through his system left him fuzzy. A small reminder that it was as real as he wanted to be.

You probably have mistaken his silence for something else as you shifted your weight from one foot to another. You started to fidget with the hem of your shirt, eyes not meeting his. “I know we agree to wait for a year, but–”

Spencer practically leaped from his seat and scooped you into his arms. His smile was so wide that his cheeks started to hurt. You let out a small yelp as he spun you around before he placed a tender kiss on your lips. “I love you,” he said between your kisses, grinning as he stole a few more small kisses.

You giggled between his kisses, your hand flew into his face and patted his cheeks as he assaulted your face with his lips. “I love you too, you big goof.”

“A baby, huh?” Spencer let out a happy sigh after he spared your life from his kisses. His hand nestled on your waist, gently swaying you in his arms. “We’ve got to start baby proofing the whole place, make sure there are no sharp edges,” he rambled.

“Spencer–”

“I’ll go to the bookstore and pick up some book about baby names! Do you think Jason is a good name?”

“I think–”

“Oh, we should start shopping for some clothes and socks too. Make sure they’re warm–”

“Spencer!” you interrupted his rambling with your hands squishing his face. You smiled at him as he blinked his eyes towards you slowly, a little fazed that you broke his train of thought. “I love all the planning ideas, but right now let’s just focus on making dumplings and feed three of us, okay?”

“Okay,” he breathed out, slowly collapsing into his seat again. “Okay. Dumplings…” he muttered to himself, grabbing the dumpling skin in front of him. “But seriously, what do you think about the name Jason?”

“It’s a lovely name.”

“Oh, common ground. I like that.”

====================================

Series tag list:

@measure-in-pain @wooya1224 @reidemandweep @manuosorioh

#do you catch the b99 reference #spencer reid #dad!spencer #dad!spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds #cm #cm fic #criminal minds fic #cm fluff #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid smut #cm smut #mgg #matthew gray gubler #criminal minds smut #aaron hotchner #david rossi #jennifer jareau #emily prentiss #derek morgan #penelope garcia

[sunflowervolvimp3]

you’re someone i just want around: X

I will not ask you where you came from,

I will not ask and neither should you.

Honey, just put your sweet lips on my lips,

We should just kiss like real people do.

Like Real People Do, Hozier

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

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

word count: 37.9k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Florida is just as lovely—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, um, that’s very kind of you—”

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

“Niall?  Are you there?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Five, I think?”

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

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

“I mean, yeah, I think so, but—”

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you sure?”

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

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Watch it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

…Oh. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Except he does.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“When did you get a piano?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It is!  It’s just—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But only if she wants him to. 

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

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

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

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

But when has their relationship ever been simple?

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

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

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

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

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

Boyfriend.

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

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

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

Plain and simple.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We could just kiss like real people do.”

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

[fweasleyswhore]

Commitments - Smut

pairing: Oliver Wood, Fred Weasley, George Weasley x fem!reader (no incest just sharing)

a/n: I would like to do a pt 2 to this because I just have so much more I can fit into this dynamic and I like it (hornhee disease really takin over)

word count : 4.9k

warning: smut, 18+ themes, face fucking (male recieving), oral and fingering (female recieving), unprotexted sex -wrap before you tap kids-, choking, dom/sub themes, slight bdsm themes, subby reader, titles are given, its pure filth, friends with benefits relationship

mature readers only, this has heavier themes in it and i only want people who are completely ok with those themes reading

My head pounded and my stomach growled. It was the first feeling I registered as I opened my eyes. I was cold, hungry, and in pain. I blinked a few times, pulling my head up from its position on the table where I had been napping. I focussed my eyes on my unfinished potions essay. Groaning I rubbed my eyes. Not only did I not finish it, but I also fell asleep. It was due in two days and I had barely started. I still needed to-

Quidditch Practice. The potions essay fell to the depths of my mind as I scoured the library walls for a clock. Unsuccessful in finding one, I decided I was probably only late. Shoving my papers into my bag I ran out of the library, ignoring wandering stares from students I made my way to the changing rooms.

The door flung open and slowed down for the first time, panting slightly I made it over to the lockers, ready to get out my equipment. I picked up my shaky hands to do the combination when a voice interrupted me.

“I wouldn’t bother,” Oliver spoke. Based on the volume of his voice and the slight temperature change in the air, he was right behind me. Pulling my bottom lip between my lip I turned around, his toned chest was dripping, a towel hung low on his hips and his hair was ruffled slightly and damp. Our bodies were merely inches apart and I could see the anger in his eyes as I looked up at him.

 “Ollie…” I tried but my nickname for him only caused an annoyed look to grace his features.

“Don’t,” His voice was stern and it made me feel cold. “You knew how important practice was today but you skipped anyway. We play Slytherin in two days! Where were you? Giving our play strategies to Adrian Pucey probably.” He rolled his eyes and walked next to me. He turned his attention to his locker, presumably to get clothes as I was left there with my mouth feeling dry and a ball of guilt in my stomach replacing my hunger.

“I fell asleep in the library, I don’t have an excuse,” I spoke truthfully and watched my hands as I spoke afraid to meet his gaze. “I haven’t been sleeping well lately and I dozed off. I really am sorry.”

He sighed and I wished at that moment I could crawl inside myself and disappear. “L/N, I don’t play favorites, you know this, but you are an essential part of this team. In this practice, we were working in groups, Fred George and I practically sat there the entire time because you were missing from our group. The other chasers were running well-needed drills and we had devised a strategic plan that would push not only you but the three of us too and you weren’t there. Today’s practice was a waste of time for us.” His words hurt me, they were filled with anger and it wasn’t a feeling he had ever directed at me.

“Ollie I truly am so sorry. I know this and I wish there was anything I could do to make it up to you. I know how stressed you are about the game, I just, I’m so sorry.” I finally looked up and he was facing me again, his locker forgotten. He was close to me again, his body heaved as he breathed heavily.

“Stress relief?” He asked, causing me to furrow my brows. Before I could ask him what he meant he spoke again. “You are right, I am stressed, that’s why I’m asking if you will help me with stress relief.”

I nodded understandably. I couldn’t fight the smile that found its way to my face as I realized what he was asking for. “You want me to massage your shoulders Wood?” I asked teasingly. He let out a short breath before taking a step forward. He toward over me, our chests almost flush as his hand caressed my cheek. His touch was sending shivers down my spine and butterflies to erupt in my stomach. Oliver was a good friend of mine, I always left my lingering eyes on him for too long but never admitted my feelings for him. I wasn’t sure if they were real feelings or pure lust. Being on the quidditch team I was never sure if I liked him or seeing his half-naked body as he ran down drills.

“Not what I had in mind,” I bit my lip as the nerves began to build up. His hand trailed down my cheek and under my jaw which he grasped semi firmly, pulling my face up to his. Our lips met in a messy heated kiss. I gasped into his mouth as my hand found its way to his neck pulling him closer to me. His legs parted my own and he pushed his hips flush against mine. An unintentional moan slipped from my mouth at the contact but that didn’t stop him, if anything it fueled his motions. He took the opportunity to slip his tongue into my mouth, it was a short fight that he quickly won. He pulled away suddenly, my face remained in his grip, the stern hand he had on my face caused my lips to part slightly. I looked up at him, blinking my lashes and grinding my hips softly onto his leg that was positioned in between my legs.

“I want this but I need to know you do too.” His voice was usually cheery but now it was stern and low, a side of him I had never seen and god I wished I did sooner. I pushed my hips down with more force, the friction finally hitting where I need it most and I moaned.

“Godric, yes Oliver, yes, yes, yes.” His gaze was cold and his face didn’t change when I gave my answer, instead he pushed his thigh harder into me, adding pressure I didn’t know I needed. “Fuck.” I whimpered shutting my eyes.

“Tsk, Tsk,” He tutted, pulling my eyes open I looked up at him. “If you continue to have a dirty mouth like that I’ll fill it up. Understood?” Growing wetter at his words I nodded feverishly. “Words darling.” He pushed his thigh into me harder. I let out a short breath, trying to compose myself.

“Y-Yes Sir.”

“Good girl. Keep being good maybe I will forget about the punishment I had planned for your absence.” I let out a whimper at his praise, the promise of punishment striking my core, had he thought of this before? He smirked down at me as I began to rut my hips against his thigh. Occasionally he would pull his leg back causing me to whine only to push it back with more force than before causing my legs to lose feeling as the pleasure built up. We were so wrapped up in our display we didn’t hear the two prominent footsteps grow closer until they were right next to us.

“Bloody hell.” Geroge’s voice interrupted. I opened my eyes and pulled Oliver against me to shield myself, in doing so I could feel the prominent bulge that formed under his not so restraining towel. “We heard Y/N came to the locker room and Fred and I were half sure you were killing her, not…” He trailed off and I watched as his eyes looked me up and down, my hair was no doubt a mess and Oliver’s leg was still in between mine applying a wonderful but also horrible pressure to my clit.

“Glad you’re not dead Y/N, but if getting off is what you wanted you could have always just come to my dorm,” Fred spoke from beside George. Leaning against the other row of lockers he looked significantly more comfortable than George, his trademark smirk plastered his face and his eyes kept flickering to where Oliver’s leg was positioned. I grew hot at his words as I looked between the twins. My eyes flickered up to Oliver who was giving both boys, especially Fred, a hard glare. Before I could protest Oliver’s hand found my hip and he pushed my hips into his thigh, pulling me forward into a rocking motion. I reacted by throwing my head back and letting out a moan, the feeling was too good to hide it. I didn’t let myself get too lost in the pleasure as I remembered our audience. Pulling my head back I eyed the boys with half-lidded eyes. Oliver was still guiding my hips against his thigh, his eyes were trained on my face as I whimpered trying to blink and focus on what was happening, my brain was fighting not wanting to stop but also worried about Fred and George’s presence.

Fred’s eyes were wide and hungry, he was still leaning against the lockers but his eyes were trained on the way my body moved. George was too watching, he took his brother’s stance, leaning on the lockers next to me. I could see two significant tents forming in both of their trousers, George’s hand slid into his pocket and he silently palmed himself at my display.

Seeing that they were enjoying themselves I let my worries dissipate, throwing my head back I moved my hips in time with Oliver’s guiding hands. Oliver ducked his head and began sucking on my neck. Rutting my hips faster I became more vocal, Fred and George let out small grunts here and there that I assume was due to their hands work which only egged on my ministrations. Soon enough the feeling became too overwhelming to bear, my legs began to shake and my breathing was becoming labored. “Ollie please, I need to-” My words were cut short as Oliver harshly nipped at my neck causing me to gasp.

“That’s not my name.” He whispered in my ear. I felt his arms stop their guidance slowing me down.

“Please Sir, please let me cum.” I begged submissively, not worried about the whine in my voice but rather the orgasm that was so close which was starting to vanish.

His hands grasped my hips with a different purpose now and he brought me back to the same speed that had me whimpering and moaning a few seconds ago.

“What do you think guys? Shall we let Y/N cum? Has she earned it?” I snapped my eyes open looking between the three boys frantically, letting out whines as Oliver applied more pressure with his thigh.

“I’m not sure she has,” Fred spoke up, he had a drunken look of hunger that made me shiver.

“I don’t think so.” George agreed.

“What a shame,” Oliver said looking down at me. “Guess you have to wait, darling.” With those few words, he held my hips firm and removed his thigh from me. I wouldn’t be surprised if his thigh had gotten wet through my trousers but I was too upset to be concerned with that at the moment. I whined lightly at the loss of contact and tried to stabilize my shaky legs.

“How can I earn it?” I looked between the boys who all adorned with wide grins. When I got no response I decided to push a little. “If you don’t tell me I’ll just get myself off.” All three boys lost their grins, not completely but their eyes went dark at my words, and they stood up straighter, they watched my hands as they trailed down to my trousers, popping the button.

“Brats don’t get rewards,” George said softly from next to me. His hand grasped mine and halted my motions, his grip was iron tight as he looked down at me. I angled my body so I was facing him, with my free hand I cupped him through his trousers.

“Then tell me what to do, sir.” I looked up at him with the most innocent face I could muster, cocking my head to the side slightly. I’m sure the markings on my neck from Oliver ruined the innocent facade a little bit but watching George swallow hard and breathe heavily through his nose was enough to tell me it was working.

“On your knees, now.” His voice was firm and it sent shivers down my spine as I sunk to my knees. My face was level with George’s clothed cock, I placed my hands behind my back and looked up at him waiting for permission. He brought his hand down, pulling my head up from my chin, he swiped my bottom lip with his thumb. “Go ahead, sweetheart.”

I smiled at the name, undoing his pants with ease I heard a slight groan as I pulled them down freeing his erection a bit. He was big, much bigger than I’ve had before. I tried to swallow my nerves as I pulled him out and stroked him slowly. I wrapped my lips around his tip, circling the tip with my tongue that elicited a moan from above me. I smiled and began to take him, or as much as I could. He hit the back of my throat before I got to his base, I gagged lightly and began to bob my head, stroking what was left with my hand. I felt a foreign hand in my hair, straining my eyes I looked up to see Oliver pulling some strands of my hair back. I rubbed my thighs together my arousal building to extreme heights.

“Fuck,” George moaned. He pulled out enough so his tip rested against my lips. “Do you think you can take all of me?” I stroked him slowly as I thought to myself.

“Will it get me my reward,” I asked in a sweet tone. He opened his mouth to reply so I kitten licked his tip, twisting my wrist as I continued to pump him. His words were cut off by a sharp intake of breath as he hissed.

“Definitely, and if you stop being a brat it will probably get you two.” I smiled at his response and pulled back my hand, opting to rest both of them on my thighs. Opening my mouth I relaxed my jaw and stuck my tongue out. George took his dick and slapped my tongue with it a few times.

“Such a good girl, so ready for me aren’t you, whore?” He asked with a devilish smirk. I nodded and let out a small involuntary whine at his words.

“Such a little slut, you’re gonna let him use you like that?” Fred asked. He walked over, his dick now free from its restraints he pumped it slowly. He ran his fingers through my hair, grabbing it tightly and pulling my head back to face him, his harshness made me whine and I squeezed my thighs together, growing wetter. “You like this don’t you? Such a dirty girl.” He let go of my hair and my head fell forward, George’s dick slapping my cheek lightly in the process.

“Our dirty girl.” Oliver praised smoothing my hair. I smiled before opening my mouth again, making eye contact with George to let him know I was ready. He smiled and slid in slowly, I wrapped my mouth around him and tried to maintain my composure as he began to slide down my throat. I gagged lightly which caused him to groan and go deeper. I breathed out through my nose as my eyes began to well up, I closed them and focussed on keeping my throat open for him.

Suddenly I felt a hand on my thigh, opening my eyes, blinking some tears away. I could make out Fred smiling as he kneeled next to me. I shut my eyes spreading my legs for him. He dipped his hand into my trousers tracing my lips from outside my panties. I moaned at the contact around George making him groan.

“You’re getting off on this aren’t you, completely soaked for us,” Fred whispered in my ear pushing my panties to the side. I moaned again which caused George to pick up his pace. I was gagging and tears were streaming down my face but I was enjoying it so much. Fred circled my clit with his nimble fingers making me gag and moan more but I didn’t care. George’s thrusts were becoming erratic and I knew he would come soon. Purposely swallowing around him caused him to meet his end. He buried his dick inside of my throat, my nose pressed up against his abdomen I moaned, swallowing his cum that shot down my throat. He pulled out of me, a trail of spit followed connecting us until it broke, slapping against my chin. Panting, I gasped for air and leaned my head on Fred’s shoulder. Fred picked his speed up on my clit causing me to yell out his name. He continued his brutal pace and I felt my orgasm catching up to me yet again.

“Please, George,” My words were cut off by a moan and I jerked my head back. “Please I’m going to cum I need your permission.” Fred was chuckling in my ear from my desperation but I couldn’t care right now. My legs were shaking and my abdomen was cramping up as I continued to fight it off.

George knelt in front of me, grabbing my neck with a strong hand he pulled my head forward. I fought against my body to open my eyes and look at him. “Cum for us, cum like the whore you are.” As he spoke he increased the pressure on my neck. My eyes rolled back as my orgasm washed over me, I shook violently, screaming out I felt myself release. Fred didn’t stop his fingers, they continued his brutal pace and his smirk grew as I began to shake from overstimulation.

“Good whore.” Fred whispered pulling his hand away from my core. I leaned back against Oliver’s leg and watched as Fred sucked his fingers clean. Oliver looked down at me with his dark eyes, filled with lust and hunger. Fred linked his arm around my waist and pulled me up. We walked over to a bench at the end of the row of lockers, he laid me down on my back. I giggled to myself watching him struggle to pull my trousers off. My laughter was cut short as he landed a short slap to my bare pussy, I moaned at the harsh contact.

“Don’t be a brat.” He warned and I nodded. I pulled my shirt off and unhooked my bra. Fred inserted a finger inside of me, slowly he began to pump in and out before adding another one, I moaned at the light stretch as he pumped faster, curling them to hit my G-spot.

“Such pretty moans.” George praised. He was knelt beside me and began to massage my breasts. I gasped as he began to suck on my nipple. Pulling my hands up I ran my fingers through his hair. Oliver stood on my other side, he was slowly pumping his cock at the scene below him. I felt Fred pull his fingers out and I whined at the loss. Fred spit directly onto my clit, I felt the liquid drip down and mix with my own juices.

“Spread your legs for me, darling,” I did as he said and opened my legs for him. “So pretty, princess, are you ready for me?”

“Yes, please,” I whined out. George was now attacking my neck, sucking and nipping at the sensitive flesh that took my breath away. I stopped breathing completely as Fred pushed into me. Slowly he filled me to the hilt, he had to be the same size as George. I felt him bump my cervix when his hips met mine. My mouth was open in a silent scream as he let out a slow groan. He stayed there for a moment, letting me get used to the stretch that came with his impressive size. When he felt me relax he began to slowly thrust in and out of me.

“Faster, fuck, please faster.” I moaned out. He quickly obliged by setting a ruthless pace that had my brain cloudy with the pleasure I was feeling. Oliver leaned down, kissing me roughly, our teeth clashed due to my shaking from Fred’s pace but that didn’t stop either of us.

“Such a whore, putting this show on for me, is this supposed to make me forgive you?” He asked, one of his hands trailed down my torso, he left feather-light touches on my breasts.

“Y-Yes all for you.” I struggled out. He suddenly pinched my nipple, pulling it lightly causing me to moan out loudly.

“Hm, all for me? You let them down too, it’s not very kind if it’s all for me now is it?” I nodded in agreement unable to speak as Fred propped my leg onto his shoulder, the new angle intensifying the pleasure I was feeling. “What are we going to do about that then?” Oliver asked.

I opened and closed my mouth like a fish out of water. I couldn’t conjure up a sentence much less a viable answer that would satisfy him as my orgasm steadily approached.

“What a shame, it looks like I will have to punish you after all.” He whispered in my ear. I moaned at his words. Fred continued to hit that spot deep inside me that sent me closer to heaven and hell at the same time.

“I need to, please, I-” My words drowned out into a moan as Fred thrust harder.

“You need to cum, slut?” Fred asked, words spaced out with his thrusts. His hair was dripping with sweat, his chest was glistening with sweat, somewhere in the process he had lost his shirt.

“Yes, yes please!” I begged.

I could hear the smirk on his face as he replied. “Cum for me princess.” My second orgasm washed over me. My legs shook and I tightened my walls, screwing my eyes shut I let out a long moan as Fred continued to pump in and out of me, riding out my orgasm. His hips began to slow and he stopped, flush against me I felt his dick twitch, shooting long ropes of cum painting my insides.

Fred’s hands rubbed up and down my thighs, soothing their shaking. He kissed my knee and unhooked my leg from his shoulder, gingerly pulling out, I whined feeling sensitive and empty at the loss. Fred walked to the side of me, replacing Oliver who was now out of sight. He kneeled beside me and stroked my hair. “You did so good.” He praised.

George hummed softly, his head rested on my stomach under my breast where he was leaving soft kisses earlier beforehand. “Such a pretty slut for us.” He added.

“She may be pretty but that’s not going to make up for what she did.” Oliver said, he was circling his hands on my thighs, his towel now long forgotten, his erection was prominent and it prodded my legs as they shook. His tip was red and needy with precum, I could only assume how much it ached.

“Hm and what did she do?” Fred asked, feigning confusion, a slight smirk on his lips. Oliver had a smile playing on his lips as his hands trailed toward my core. He started to tease my folds, rubbing around spreading the shared release between me and Fred everywhere except my throbbing clit.

“She skipped practice, you know that.” Oliver growled.

“I didn’t mean to-” I trued but Oliver suddenly slapped my pussy, the harsh contact with my clit made me moan.

“You skipped.” He said sternly. I took that as a signal to shut up so I nodded, feeling the excitement buzz in my veins. My pussy throbbed in anticipation as his fingers ghosted over my entrance and up to my clit.

“Hm, I didn’t think about that, should I have punished you princess?” Fred asked. Before I could answer George attached his lips to my nipple, he lapped it and bit it lightly causing me to gasp. He pulled off with a pop, grinning.

“I should have bent you over my knee, showed you who you belong too.” George purred, he trailed up so his breath fawned over the shell of my ear. “Would you have liked that sweetheart? Being so marked and bruised you can’t sit straight? Everytime you sit down you will be reminded of the little whore you are for us, how you bent over willingly, swallowed my cock and came on Freddies fingers. You would like that wouldn’t you?” His voice was deep and it sent shivers through me and took the air from my lungs.

“I think she likes that George.” Oliver said grinning. “Shes practically dripping.” Suddenly he inserted two fingers into me, pumping at a relentless pace. Sounds of squeltching filled the air as he began to hit that spot inside of me, over and over again. I screwed my eyes shut feeling blissed out as George nipped my ear whispering small taunts while massaging my breasts, Fred on my other side whispering praise and playing with my hair.

“You like being used don’t you?” Geroge would ask, licking the shell of my ear.

“Such a good girl, you gonna moan princess?” Fred would add, kissing my cheek.

They continued the process until I was a writhing mess. I was about to ask for permission to cum when Oliver wrapped his lips around my clit, sucking and flicking it with his tongue that just sent me over the edge. I came for a third time, shaking crying out, I felt a few tears fall from eyes as he didn’t slow down until I was convulsing and my eyes were rolled back in my head. Oliver pulled back and I gasped for air now that I was given a slight break. Suddenly he slammed into me, his dick stretched me in a delicious way. I yelped at the sudden contact. He didn’t give me time to adjust like Fred, instead he pulled out nearly all the way before slamming back into me.

“O-Ollie.” I moaned out throwing my head back.

“What do you call me?” He growled, slapping my clit lightly and thrusting in forcefully. He halted his motions for a moment, grinding his hips into me and it felt heavenly.

“I’m sorry Sir! Please keep going!” I whined.

“Good girl.” Oliver praised pulling out an slamming back into me. He continued his relentless pace, slapping my clit and tits, pinching my nipples, occasionally leaning over to nip at my leg. I alternated between kissing Fred and George who whispered dirty things to me and swallowed the moans I left in their mouths. I felt Oliver speed up and I felt yet again that I was teetering on the edge.

“Sirs, please I need to cum,” I whined looking between all three boys. Fred and George nodded with cheeky grins and my gaze fell forward to Oliver between my legs. Oliver grabbed my hip with one hand, reaching down and grabbing my neck with the other in grip that could bruise.

“Cum then, cum on my dick slut.” Oliver grunted tightening his grip on my neck. I gave in, letting go and cumming harder than I have before. I let go, squirting onto his torso. Oliver kept pumping into me riding out my orgasm until he pulled out, cumming on my pussy, throwing white ropes on my glistening cunt. I was breathless and lightheaded, Oliver let go of my neck, my head fell back against the bench and I panted. Oliver spread my legs whistling lowly to himself.

“So pretty.” He muttered before ducking his head down and running a long stripe up my folds with his tongue. I jolted at the feeling, my body spasming as his tongue hit my clit. I felt him suck lightly and I whined. That’s when he pulled his head up, and leaned over me, his lips were in a tight line and his body caged me. He took one of his hands and placed two fingers on my chin, applying light pressure signaling for me to open my mouth. I did, sticking my tongue out as I made eye contact with him. He spat our combined juices into my mouth, some of it getting on my chin. He used his thumb to lap it up, wiping it on my tongue.

“Swallow it.” He commanded. I did as I was told, opening my mouth to show him when I was done. “Good slut.” He praised.

“Beautiful.” George added.

“Breathtaking.” Fred quipped. I felt my cheeks heat up at their praise.

“T-Thank you.” I said timidly. Oliver smiled, it was his usual soft smile that made me melt. He stood up, offering a hand I gladly took and stood with him on my shaky legs. I slipped slightly and George stood on my side grabbing my hip. I felt Fred’s gentle hand on my back offering his support should I need it.

They cleaned me up, offering support and praise every second of the way. The game with Slytherin went well, Gyrffimdor won by a landslide, and once again we found ourselves in the locker room together celebrating.

#fred and george #fred weasley #weasleys wizard wheezes #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley fanfiction #george weasley #fred weasley fluff #weasley twins #harry potter #fred weasley fic #george weasley x reader #fred weasley x reader smut #george weasley x reader smut #george weasley smut #george weasley imagine #fred weasley imagine #oliver wood x reader smut #oliver wood x reader #oliver wood smut #oliver wood #oliver wood fluff #george weasley fluff #george weasley fic #oliver wood fic #oliver wood fanfiction #harry potter characters #harry potter character smut #harry potter fanfiction #hc #smut

[sohin-ace]

Josuke & Okuyasu - Magazine

Inspired by that one fanart I can't use because I can't find the artist.

Enjoy~

'Boys will be boys'.

We don't count the times this excuse was used to justify the hormone-driven and often stupid decisions or behaviors of male teenagers.

This applies to our two protagonists, Josuke and Okuyasu who just happened to be at that age where boys were curious about their own selves but most importantly of course, curious about the opposite sex.

They couldn't really be blamed, sexuality was a normal part of a teenager's life after all. Which may or may not imply them oogling questionable things here and there or watching specific videos, for instance.

Josuke and Okuyasu decided to feast their eyes as a part of their numerous 'bro dates' as they called them, and made it a regular thing.

Of course, they made these moments very secret. Only them could know what sinful things they were doing after school. They trusted no one else than each other and nobody should ever know about their activities.

They especially couldn't let a girl know about their shenanigans. Oh no, that would be an absolute disaster if they were to be caught red-handed by a girl from their school. They would have to carry the heavy title of 'disgusting perverts', stamped right on their foreheads for the rest of their highschool years, if not their life.

One day as they got out of school, they decided to check out the X-rated section of a local konbini, section placed strategically in the far corner of the shop, and opened some nice porn magazine for their needy eyes. As one does.

"Yoooo Josuke check this out!" Okuyasu exclaimed to his friend while pointing to one of the pages, already blushing madly and coughing up an impressed chuckle.

"Oh my god!!" Josuke whisper-yelled to his friend, trying to not catch people's attention. "That's hot! You think those boobs are real?"

They kept on drooling over pictures of sexy women in bikinis or underwear and posing suggestively for 10 more solid minutes, completely forgetting about their surroundings.

They weren't really worried about getting caught as the section they were in was pretty far away from the entrance of the store and nobody really passed by this corner of the shop anyways.

As they were in their own little fantasy world, they didn't notice a certain H/C haired female coming up behind them.

"Hey isn't that the red head girl from last time?" Josuke commented as he pointed at a certain picture.

"The one who was licking a cherry? Yeah I think so." Replied his tan best friend who started chuckling.

"Who even licks cherries like that?"

"I don't know but she can lick my cherry if you know what I'm sayin'~"

They both snorted obnoxiously and stupidly to themselves until they suddenly heard a very familiar someone right behind them.

"Hey guys! What's up!"

The boys jumped, screaming high pitched 'Eeeks' and 'Uwahs' at the sound of your sweet voice startling them into the worst heart attack they'd ever experience, threatening to cut their short lives even shorter.

Josuke nearly dropped the lewd magazine from his clammy hands and they both turned around abruptly, sweating bullets as they desperately and clumsily hid the piece of dirty evidence behind their backs.

'Oh no. God, everything but not this...' They both thought in unison, as if connected.

The last thing they could have ever expected or wanted, was seeing YOU, of all people, here out of all places and now, out of all times. They really had the worst luck. Suddenly, getting struck by thunder seemed appealing.

"O-o-oh hey Y/N-chan..." Okuyasu stuttered shakily, still sweating profusely.

"What uh... Ahem... What are you doing... here...?" Josuke continued clearing his tight throat and eyeing his best friend with rising anxiety.

The boys were silently communicating, trying to come up with anything, any excuse to either hide their shameful crime from you, or make you leave as soon as possible. They had to work their so-called 'bro-telepathy' like they never did before.

"I was passing by to get some strawberry milk, but then I recognized your hair in the distance! I'm so glad to see you!" You smiled angelically at them while showing them your little pink carton of strawberry milk like it was some prize.

You were beaming so brightly at them, they almost had to squint at your radiating light and beauty. Oh no this was bad, they were both striked by you like an arrow right through their heart.

'She.... SHE'S TOO CUTE FOR THIS WORLD!' They both screamed in their heads.

You, in particular, should never know about what they were doing. EVER. You were way too pure and too innocent for this. Who knows what your reaction would be if you discovered their lewd secrets? Would you judge them? Be disgusted by them? Never talk to them ever again? They couldn't possibly risk that.

Sadly, they were not as glad to see you here as you were to see them. You eventually asked them the oh-so-dreaded question that they wished you'd never ask.

"So, what were you boys doing? Reading manga?" You leaned over to the side slightly trying to see what they were hiding behind their backs and they both panicked.

Obviously you didn't notice the big 'R18' sign over all three of your heads and surely, you couldn't know what this part of the store was since you probably never checked it in your entire life.

In an amazingly coordinated moment, Josuke swiftly handed the magazine to Okuyasu while walking towards you, passing in front of the Jobro, the action completely hidden from your sight.

Josuke came in front of you and grabbed your shoulders, smiling big and trying to act as natural as he could.

"Aah um yes! Manga! Actually there's this one manga I wanted to show you, good thing you're here!" The pompadour-haired haafu was still obviously in utter panick, even if he tried his best to play it cool.

As Josuke was trying to deflect your attention from their guilty pleasure, Okuyasu took this advantage to turn around and scurriedly hide the magazine back in it's original shelf.

You were confused at their shady behavior and furrowed your eyebrows a little bit. You noticed Josuke was sweating and panting slightly, but your eyes traveled to Okuyasu fumbling with the magazines behind and you tried to make out what he was doing.

But Josuke wouldn't let you discover their evil plan for anything in the world, and so, he cupped both your cheeks in his large hands earning a gasp from you as he almost squished them, and turned your head back to face him.

He leaned down to your height and your eyes widened, puzzled by his spontaneous actions.

"Y/N Look at me! Look at my eyes!" He stared at you with a serious expression and you blushed at his sudden bold act and how close he was.

"J-jojo...?" You yelped as your heart was beating fast in your chest.

You were so confused as to what the hell was going on and why they were acting so weird. You knew the two could be up to some truly bizarre adventures sometimes, but that was just so strange.

Whatever they were trying to distract you from, it was working. His face was so close to yours, and his big hands were so warm, you subconsciously put your small ones over his wrists in response, face now red with blood and adrenaline.

You were beyond puzzled at everything that was happening, but you were so lost in Josuke's ocean blue eyes, you completely forgot about what Okuyasu was hiding so clumsily.

Speak of the devil, the tan male suddenly came up to you both, and Josuke released you from his grasp as his best friend made a surprisingly genius offer.

"Ohh Y/N, you didn't pay for that milk yet, right? Good, it's my treat then! Josuke, let's get some too! I'm thirsty."

The scar-faced boy casually wrapped a large arm around your shoulders and swiflty turned you around in his strong hold, effectively dragging you away from the adult section of the store, and barely letting you any time to even glance at the overly sexual display around you.

"Eh? What about that manga you wanted to show me?" You looked back at Josuke, regaining your composure slowly.

"Oh that? Never mind, it's not important anyway- Hey Okuyasu, do you want banana flavor or chocolate?" The fourth Jojo quickly changed the subject as he opened the fridge doors and picked up some drinks.

"You guys are acting so weird today..." You loved the boys, and they usually brought you into their messes, that wasn't anything new, but sometimes you really couldn't understand them. "I'll go wait in line while you guys make up your minds."

You gently patted Okuyasu's chest who almost forgot to let you go and you walked away towards the cash register.

When you were finally out of earshot, they both stared at each other, thinking of how they just dodged a bullet so big, it might as well just have been an atomic bomb.

"D-dude... That was so clutch man...." Josuke sighed, still swallowing his stress out and his best friend only shut his eyes and cringed before grabbing his drink.

"Just shut up, let's not talk about it..."

"Aaahh!!" Okuyasu let out a loud sigh of delight as he sipped his banana milk. "Man, that hit the spot."

"Yeah! Nothing better than some fresh milk in the summer. Great idea Y/N."

You three walked out of the store and headed back home, enjoying your drinks. You giggled at their over-the-top reaction and handed them your own carton.

"You guys want to try strawberry flavor?"

"Oohh~" Okuyasu gushed before smirking and taking the item from your hands. "An indirect kiss from my little Y/N! Lucky~"

Josuke gasped and snatched the drink as well, snickering when he was done. "Can't say no when she's the one who proposed huehue!"

"Well you both drank from the same straw, so technically you two kissed too!" You laughed at their priceless shocked facial expressions.

"WHAT?!"

"Naah dude, no homo, no homo." Josuke patted his friend's back, reassuring him with the holy expression famous for saving countless men from potential homosexuality.

Okuyasu sighed in relief. "Yeah, no homo! Still in the bro zone, bro."

You snorted at their questionable reasoning and kept on walking when you suddenly saw two familiar faces coming towards you.

"Oh! It's Koichi and Yukako!" You waved and smiled at the couple who approached you.

"Oh hey guys, what are you doing?" The short male greeted with a smile.

"Oh nothing much, I bumped into them in the konbini." You sheepishly answered and Yukako quirked an eyebrow at the two suspicious looking males next to you.

"Really?" She feigned, still staring at them. "What were they doing without you I wonder..."

"I don't know, reading manga I think? I'm not sure, they wouldn't tell me." You tried to look between her and them and they seemed to glare at the girl as hard as she did them.

"Huh?" She scoffed and shifted her weight on one leg." I bet you guys were reading porn again. Y/N I can't believe your patience around those guys."

"HUUUHHH???" Koichi yelled in pure surprise at the revelation and you three widened your eyes.

"YOU FREAKIN- OH MY GOD SHUT UP!" Okuyasu gasped and screamed at the girl who was smirking in victory.

"W-what?" You stuttered and looked at the two visibly stressed boys. "Po-... I don't- ... What??"

"Y/N DON'T LISTEN TO HER SHE'S LYING!" Josuke guiltily tried to reason as you covered your mouth in shock.

"Well it's the truth, right? Did I hit a sensitive subject, perhaps?" The brunette chuckled cutely, infuriating your friends even more.

"YOU'RE DEAD!!!"

Josuke sprinted towards Yukako who easily hoisted her awe-struck boyfriend over her shoulder and ran for dear life, having no regrets whatsoever.

An old one. A very old fic, it hurts to read it. I'm going to go ahead and post some old stuff I wrote just to get them out of my drafts. I hope they'll be enough for my beautiful gangsters.

#jojo's bizarre adventure #jjba #jojo #jojo no kimyou na bouken #writing #x reader #reader insert #jojo part 4 #part 4 #diamond is unbreakable #josuke higashitaka #nijimura okuyasu #platonic #josuke x reader #okuyasu x reader

[dr3amofagame]

TW; Death mentioned

I had this thought, I was watching the Hunchback of Notre Dame and remember in the beginning where the Gypsy mother ran to the church and claimed sanctuary, but she died on the church steps

What if c!Dream either was let out of the prison or escaped and c!sam chased him down (for whatever reason you want) and Dream runs to church prime in the Holy Land, claiming sanctuary, and maybe Sam accidentally kills Dream on that land in front of the church

this was a FUN ask, anon, sorry it took so long for me to get to it

tw: DEATH, DEREALIZATION, religious themes, blood, grief, vomit, murder, violence, implied torture/abuse, dark themes, dark content, prison arc/pandora’s vault

To be honest, when George opens his eyes, he has no idea if he’s awake or not.

This has become an...alarmingly common occurrence. He’d been bothered by it at the beginning, had spent hours stuck in his own head, dropping and picking up items, counting forwards and backwards, seeking any sign possible that what he was looking at was real and not just a figment of his own dreams. In the end, it’d all been for nothing; he would be 100% sure in reality, that what he was looking at was the real world, only for it to dissolve into shadow and himself back to lying on that same bed in the middle of nowhere that he’d never remembered lying down in. At some point, he must’ve just...given up. It’s not like the dreams were unpleasant; they were the exact opposite, most of the time. Unlike that one reality-bending fit of wakefulness that had ended in him boxed in by lava in the middle of a chamber of red, one that wasn’t a dream, surprisingly enough, his dreams are usually just- normal. He goes to his field, harvests some wheat. Talks to Quackity and Sapnap and Karl, though he’s almost certain he’s not talked to any of the three in a long time in the waking world. Sometimes, he’ll even be visited by a god wearing Dream’s face, XD, though sometimes XD is there in the real world, too, so they’re hardly a determining factor. If he’s really lucky, in the dreams, he’ll even see Dream.

Dream, as he remembers him, not as the monster he’s been told he became. Once, the dream had even dropped in the flustered, confused form of Dream from the beginning of the server, all fluffed up hair and boyish joy. Usually, he’ll see a Dream that’s been let out the prison, hale and whole and sheepish, stuttering through brief apologies and hugging him in that overeager way that makes his ribs ache and then the three of them, for the lack of better words, prance off into the sunset without a worry in their minds.

And then he wakes up.

George rubs at his eyes, looks up at the sky to reorient himself; it looks real. It feels real. The sun is warm on his skin, the grass still wet with dew from the morning, brushing against his ankles as he stands up. He’s in the area behind Punz’s house, his walls and towers looming in front of him, and George blows a breath through his teeth as he goes towards the direction of the Prime Path. There’s no knowing if this is a dream or reality, but either way, standing in one place does nothing for him. Better to get the rest of the day over with than to waste it here.

He’s not even halfway to the Prime Path when sirens sound on the horizon, giving him pause. That’s never happened before. They’re loud, and shrill, and something niggles at the back of his head in a vague sense of familiarity, begging for him to understand and take note. He frowns, and picks up the pace- if he gets on the Path, he might get a better idea of what’s going on. At the very least, if there’s something dangerous, his best bet is the Holy Land.

Surprisingly enough, when he gets there, there doesn’t seem to be anyone around, only the consistent drone of sirens on the horizon. George strains his eyes along both sides of the path; nobody comes, or speaks, or makes their presence known. There’s only George, alone. It’s strangely eerie.

Is this a dream? he considers briefly, before shaking his head. It doesn’t matter.

It’s another several minutes before anything changes. He stands there, at the edge of the Holy Land, until he hears a faint clamor that draws his attention, prompts him to edge forward along the path. The sound, starting faint, quickly swells in volume, underscored by the hum of the siren still ringing in the distance.

First come the shouts, overlapping, too muffled for George to quite pick the words out between the sounds. Then come the footsteps, low and rumbling, making the path creak and shudder. Then-

“Get him!”

George watches, eyes wide behind his goggles, as a dull orange blur reaches the crest of the hill and stumbles down it in a dead sprint, not paying him a second glance as they swing under the arched entrance to the Holy Land to enter within it. They collapse into a heap on the quartz steps- and oh, that’s blood seeping out of them, staining the white red, their hands tight on the stairs as a shivering string of sounds leave their crimson-speckled lips. Their face turns towards him, unseeing, and George feels something splinter, irreparably, in his chest, because that’s Dream.

He’s dreamed about Dream a lot, but never like this. Never injured, like this, face hollow and haunted, scars splitting his skin into shards. The wheezes in his dreams had always been from laughter, not this seething, spitting rattle that emerges from his chest, worryingly wet and irregular. He’s collapsed on the bottom steps of Church Prime, legs bent strangely in a way that must be uncomfortable against the ground, arms resting against the edges of the stairs, all skin and bone and still-bleeding cuts, and he looks like he’ll never be able to stand up again.

“Please, please, pl-please,” he stutters through his sobs, meaningless begs and platitudes falling on George’s ears and making him cringe back at the sound, “please-” and George doesn’t quite know what he’s begging for, doesn’t know what has left his friend in a ruin on the ground, leaving bloodstains on the stone, but the words worm under his skin and into his skull and refuse to leave. Footsteps continue to pound on the path behind him; George turns around, gasps at the sight of two figures, fully in enchanted netherite, thundering over the wood and into the Holy Land.

“What-”

“There!” The voice is rough but familiar, and the figures dash over to where Dream is lying, defenseless. His pleads rise in pitch and volume, becoming almost unbearable to listen to, and there’s an angry clamor of voices and an awful, wet crack and a shrill scream-

Silence.

“Holy fuck-” George’s head is spinning, the voice finally registering- that’s Quackity, stance wide, a sword in his hand. Beside him, tall and imposing, stands Sam, his full set of Warden armor shining brilliantly under the still-rising sun. His hands are wrapped around his trident, gleaming cyan, the end speared straight through Dream’s chest.

“You killed him,” Quackity hisses, head raising and only then meeting George’s eyes. “Sam- what are we going to- you killed him.”

“I-” Sam shakes his head. “I had to, he was going to get away-”

“Sam-” Quackity’s voice pitches higher, more desperate, “Sam, did you- oh fuck, we’re in the Holy Land-”

The air shatters.

That, at least, seems to be the only way to describe what happens; George watches, breathless, as the air shimmers and warps unnaturally, the way his dreams do right before he wakes up, only centralized in the Church entrance instead of surrounding him on all sides. Blood continues to run down the stairs, stark against the pure white of the quartz, so dark it almost seems black. The ripple clarifies, deepens; there’s a sound like ripping fabric, and something carves a tear through what seems to be existence itself. Behind, there’s a starless void, alluring, wanting, calling, dark and deep and everlasting and the End this is The End-

A whirl of white and green and gold, and the tear is gone, leaving something entirely other in its wake. George shivers in his place; he thought that he’s seen XD angry, before, remembers vividly the feeling of being chased, the God’s voice calling after him as he shut the doors of Punz’s house behind him. He remembers the way their voice had glitched, growing deeper and distorted, the rage with which they had growled at him when they thought they were being used.

That all pales in comparison to this. That was all nothing compared to this.

“YOU-” the deity booms, voice echoing and crackling and rolling like thunder and cracking ice and the roar of the ocean on the sand, making George clamp his hands to his ears in vain. “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?”

George remembers being uncomfortable, back then, at how inhuman XD had seemed. Their jokes, gory and violent and startling, their idea of a prank being playing with people like dolls subject to their whims. It had taken him a while to really seem to get the God and for the God to understand him in turn, a while for him to understand that ignorance did not mean malice, that even a God that had never once known mortality could be so startlingly human. Here, their wings spread over them, seeming large enough to block out the sun, something dark and writhing behind the mask they wear, a sourceless wind howling around their robes and battering against the walls with aimless fury, George is reminded by how powerful they really are. That they are still eldritch, still a God, that they will not hesitate to judge those below him, the ones that they stare at, now, helpless and mortal and trapped within their gaze.

Sam stumbles back on the church steps, grip loosening on his trident. It continues to stick up out of Dream’s unmoving body, splattered with blood halfway up the handle.

“Oh no-” he hisses, and Quackity backs away with him, “no, no no I didn’t want to kill him,”

“THIS DOMAIN IS MINE.” Anyone else and it might’ve sounded petulant, childish. Here, with the deity’s fury directed on the two of them, even on the sidelines all George can feel is terror. “YOU HAVE TAKEN A LIFE UNDER MY PROTECTION, MORTALS.”

“Sam,” Quackity’s eyes are wide as saucers. “Sam, we gotta- we gotta run-”

“WHERE WILL YOU GO, LITTLE MORTAL?” XD disappears, then flashes back into existence at the Holy Land entrance, making Quackity and Sam shriek with their escape route blocked. “YOU HAVE ABUSED THE AUTHORITY YOU HAVE BEEN GIVEN AND DESTROYED WHAT WAS NOT YOURS TO BREAK. YOU HAVE PURSUED POWER BEYOND YOUR UNDERSTANDING AND OUTSIDE YOUR POSSESSION. YOU HAVE ENTERED MY DOMAIN, MY REALM. DO YOU REALLY THINK YOU SHALL LEAVE UNPUNISHED?”

“XD,” Sam shouts, and thunder cracks overhead.

“A LIFE FOR A LIFE,” XD rumbles, their words final, and in the end, just as every other time, all George can do when the world ends is watch. Lightning spears to the ground, striking both Sam and Quackity with twin flashes of brilliant white, striking from a clear blue sky. The air sparks from the power, charged with static electricity and making George’s hair stand on end; thunder claps, seems to shatter the world into two as they disappear in twin shrieks and the smell of burned flesh. Just as quick as it happens, it ends, and George is once again left alone in the Holy Land, vomit clawing up his throat and tears stinging the backs of his eyes as he dry-heaves into the grass.

“XD,” he more begs than says, eyes fixed on Dream, still lying too-still on the church stairs. The deity turns to him, their face strangely blank. “XD, please- please tell me this is a dream.”

“Would that make you happy, George?” the god replies, and George sobs, face collapsing into his hands.

“Please, XD, please tell me- please tell me this isn’t real, please-”

“I don’t understand, George. Would that ease your distress?”

“XD- THIS CAN’T BE REAL- THIS- I-” George sinks to the ground. “He- he was supposed to be okay. He was supposed to come back, he wasn’t-” he grips their robes within his hands. “Please, XD, you can bring him back, please bring him back- this has to be a dream, he can’t be- he can’t be dead-”

Through his cries, the sirens continue to wail.

#tw death #tw derealization #tw dereality #tw religion #tw religious themes #tw grief #tw vomit #tw murder #tw violence #tw torture #tw abuse #tw dark themes #tw dark content #prison arc #pandora's vault #-> my writing #my writing :D #my asks !! #-> my asks #g slur