#however I do hope we get good wonder woman content down the line because she deserves it
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Excited for any superhero projects?
Hi Anon! I am, yes. Off the top of my head, in terms of things coming out in the future, I’m very much looking forward to the Thunderbolts movie. And you have good timing because I was just thinking about the Thunderbolts movie yesterday. What If? season 2 looks like it could be very fun, and I’m tentatively looking forward to Avengers 5 and 6. Depending on if they treat the characters well of course- I can’t take another mess like Endgame. Will fully admit that if they let me see Natasha, Wanda (main Wanda, none of this rumored multiverse nonsense), Pietro (ditto), Tony, Steve (an actual in-character version please), and/or Loki again, bring Jane back as a Valkyrie, or write Thor well I might be willing to forgive a lot though.
I’m also pretty excited for Armor Wars since I love Rhodey, though admittedly that excitement took a bit of a hit when I saw the relevant Secret Invasion spoilers. Blade as a character isn’t really my jam, but I am looking forward to seeing Dane Whitman again in that movie, especially as Black Knight, so I’m gonna list that too. And I’m very curious about the Agatha tv show rumors I’ve heard and if we might be getting Billy, potentially with Teddy, and if Wanda might be back.
…Nearly forgot Cap 4! Looking forward to that, with a few caveats. Those caveats being I need them to not villainize Sharon and take back the Power Broker thing, and I… truly have no idea how to feel about Sabra, given current events. I was excited for her inclusion, if dreading the discourse, now I don’t know how to feel about it because the likelihood of her inclusion being tone-deaf is even higher, and said discourse is going to be 100 times worse.
I also still have to watch the Loki finale episode and The Marvels. Very much looking forward to The Marvels; I have mixed feelings on the Loki finale since I’ve gotten a little spoiled for it, but I want to see how it ends just the same.
I’m super behind on Marvel movies, I kind of lost steam after Multiverse of Madness and haven’t seen the last 4 or 5 movies. Of those, I’m most looking forward to watching Wakanda Forever. (That would’ve been Love and Thunder because I adore both Jane and Thor but uh, 😬 I’ve heard about it and I had no faith in Taika Waititi to begin with, so…) After WF I think I’m most looking forward to watching GOTG 3 even though I’m fully aware I’m probably gonna cry my eyes out. Feeling a bit meh on Quantumania sadly, despite loving Cassie Lang in comics, based on what friends who’ve seen it have said, and fully expecting to have to grin and bear it through Love and Thunder.
In terms of unconfirmed projects, I need Eternals 2 yesterday. Also a Shang-Chi sequel and a second season of Moon Knight. The rumored Vision Quest show could be very good or alternately very bad, but I love Vision and he deserves a starring role, so I’m crossing my fingers it happens and isn’t just a retread of Tom King’s Vision because that comic was incredibly depressing. (Adore Viv Vision though, and would love a proper robotic Sparky the dog!) I also saw a rumor a bit ago that we might get a Clea backstory show, which I would be incredibly down for since comics Clea is one of my favorite underused characters, and has a really coolbackstory with a lot of potential for an interesting story. And I love the Young Avengers, so if we get to see them as an official team in the future I’ll be hyped for that.
For non-MCU things, I’m vaguely looking forward to Deadpool 3 despite not being a mutants/X-Men enthusiast because a. Deadpool is just fun, b. the Taylor Swift Dazzler rumors. For DC, The Superman: Legacy casting has me really really excited. I love Superman and it seems like we might actually get a good take on him this time! In terms of things farther down the DC pipeline, I’m a big Supergirl fan so naturally I’m hyped for the planned Supergirl: Woman of Tomorrow movie, despite being halfway through that comic and still unsure if I like or not. And I love Damian Wayne so cautiously excited for the rumored Batman movie featuring Bruce and Dami.
#thanks for the question lovely anon!#asks#answers#my stuff#also re: dc i will admit i’m v sad it’s likely we lose gal gadot as wonder woman.#not only was her casting perfect but her writing and acting in her origin movie was also#however I do hope we get good wonder woman content down the line because she deserves it#diana is just as cool as clark and bruce and has a huge and interesting corner of dc; she needs more time in the spotlight#(diana is the thor of dc no i will not be taking questions at this time)#(actually the fact that I have to be describing her with that analogy instead of the other way around is a little absurd)
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One Step Forward, Two Steps Back (Obi-Wan x Reader): Part 2
Summary: After Obi-wan’s accident, and Anakin’s brutal words, you left the Jedi Temple to try and let you both move on. However, you soon realise that forgetting your fellow Jedi is harder than you thought...
Part 1 - Part 2
A/N: Well, it’s been a hot minute since I wrote the first part of this and I know people were keen for a follow-up but I always struggled to get the words out. However, I blame the new Kenobi series for utterly re-igniting the flame I have for this character and this came out - finally! That and the fact the third episode has RUINED me today...
Warnings: Angst, mention of injury, implied smut / start of smut
Masterlist:
It had been two weeks since the night you’d left - or, run away, if you were being more accurate.
In fact, despite remaining with Padmé at the embassy for the duration of her stay, you couldn’t help but feel like you were still running. Every time you ignored a message, or a call, or even the very mention of anything to do with Obi-wan Kenobi you felt your heart ache worsen.
Just because leaving was the right thing didn’t make it the easy thing.
You couldn’t just magically forget the past fifteen years or so, no matter how much you wanted to. Maybe then you could find some kind of peace.
Maybe then you wouldn’t be up all night imaging the pain and confusion he must have been feeling, waking up and finding out that he had saved your life, only for you to have left and ended things without a word to his face.
Yeah. You pretty much hated yourself too at this point.
You could only hope it got easier with time.
Until then, however, you were content to bury yourself in your work and the reason you were actually here on this planet - to watch over the woman sat next to you, strapping herself into your ship as you prepared to escort her to the latest in a long line of meetings.
How Padmé could do it day after day, never complaining or showing her exhaustion publicly, was beyond you. In private, though, it was a whole other story. In fact, her tales about some of the long and dreary meetings she’d been stuck in were the highlight of your evenings. Last night had been particularly amusing, with Padmé sharing how one senator had actually fallen asleep during the ten minute rant another had given at the proposal of increasing taxes in the area.
You’d snorted into your tea, trying and failing not to picture it. It was the kind of thing you’d have normally passed on to Obi-wan. For, despite his sometimes sensible exterior, he had a sense of humour like yours and irritating senators, in particular, always made him chuckle.
You’d reached for your comms device, force of habit taking over as you went to message him. However, the sight of the numerous unopened messages already waiting for you on the screen were enough of a reminder for you to put it down.
The soft sigh that had escaped your lips didn’t go unnoticed by Padmé, but she hadn’t said a word. Not until now, anyway.
“You know Anakin called earlier.”
You blinked, tensing for just a moment as you focused on programming your flight plan into the ship’s mainframe. “Oh?”
“Yes. He wanted to know how we were getting along.” Padmé smiled. “Don’t worry, I said we were making progress even if things have been running a bit behind schedule since that storm the other day. He also said Obi-wan is back on his feet again… just, you know, in case you were wondering.”
You paused. You could sense the question in her tone, as if she could see straight through you and the nonchalant way you nodded. “Well… good. I’m glad to hear it.”
“He asked after you.”
“Anakin did?”
“Yes, but on behalf of Master Obi-wan, who says he still hasn’t heard from you since we left.”
“Oh.”
“Yes, oh. I don’t know why you’re surprised. He’s your friend, Y/N,” Padmé scoffed, rolling her eyes at you.
She sounded surprised and a little confused as she looked away from her harness, and turned her chair to face you. To be fair, apathy at the news that Obi-wan was alive and well was not exactly your style.
You might have well as just come out and said that something was wrong. Why else weren’t you dancing with joy?
“I don’t know what happened between you but I know you both. You can work it out. You can only spend so long hiding from your problems, staying with me on this planet and ignoring his messages. He’ll still be there when you get back and he clearly misses you.”
It took everything in you not to break. As it was, you gripped the controls a little tighter than necessary as you chose to prepare the ship for flight rather than meet the Senator’s gaze. “That’s the problem.”
“Problem?”
“Forget I said anything.”
“But Y/N-“
“Padmé. Please.” You hated how your voice cracked. “Drop it.”
Padmé sighed but honoured your request. She didn’t say another word about it, even if you did catch her shooting you pitying looks throughout the rest of the day. Maker knows what she thought was going on between the pair of you.
You didn’t even know how to explain it to yourself. How were you supposed to explain it to Obi-wan? After all, he deserved an explanation and you knew he’d be asking for one the moment he was back on the same planet as you were.
At least he was well enough to do so. That was the thought that gave you comfort as you tried to suppress your pain and focus on the task at hand. You were supposed to be working, after all.
So, you held your head high, doing your best to look the part of a Jedi.
Standing guard as you chaperoned Padmé through her various meetings was a good distraction, as was making sure that there were no possible threats to the proceedings in general; It was hard to think about anything else when you were busy thinking about how many possible weak spots there were in the room for a brave assassin to target.
The answer - as you determined - was 34. 35 if they happened to be under 4 feet tall…
Needless to say, you were glad to make it back to the embassy in one piece as the day drew to a close. A hot bath and a tall glass of whatever alcohol you could get your hands on sounded divine right about then to help ease the pain of listening into hours and hours of diplomatic jargon that made no sense to you.
With a smile, you bid Padmé a goodnight, watching as she went into her rooms across the hall, before you turned to do the same.
However, you’d barely stepped over the threshold before you heard it.
“So, this is where you’ve been hiding.”
The voice made you jump as did the sight of the man sat, waiting for you, on the sofa in your room. Without looking up you knew who it was; you knew that voice anywhere.
“Obi-wan… what? What are you doing here? I thought you were back at the temple resting. Should you even be up?”
“Hello to you too,” he smirked, his usual sarcastic tone oddly comforting. “I’m alive and in one piece, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Thank the Maker for that.
Given the condition you’d last seen him in, battered, bruised, and bandaged within an inch of his life, you couldn’t believe how normal he appeared (most likely the result of Anakin’s diligent care and an impressive amount of time in a Bacta tank). He barely had a hair out of place.
It took everything in you to fight the sudden urge to throw yourself into his arms and prove to yourself that he was indeed alright.
Instead, you took a step closer, trying your best to compose yourself so that he wouldn’t feel the way your heart threatened to burst out of your chest. Then again, it was most likely too late. He’d probably sensed it the moment you’d entered the room.
He’d caught you off guard and he knew it - it had most likely been his plan all along.
“Anakin said as much to Padmé. We were both relieved to hear you were out of the med bay.”
“Were you? I must have missed that message. Then again, something must be wrong with your comms,” Obi continued, his meaning clear as he gestured to your traitorous data padd lying on the caff table in front of him. “After all, I’ve left several messages the past few weeks which have gone unanswered. Needless to say, I was surprised to arrive to find your communicator is, in fact, working.”
“Well, I...” you stammered, feeling the heat rising in your cheeks at his accusation.
Nervousness seemed to have crept up on you, because all you could do was stand there like an idiot, your breath caught in your throat. It felt like you were a youngling again, standing before Master Yoda as he scolded you for whatever mischief you and Obi-wan had got yourselves into.
“Yes?”
“I left a note-“
“Ah, yes,” Obi hummed, rising to his feet. “I was wondering when you would mention that. Would you care to enlighten me as to why you left the temple without a word, other than that note?”
You gulped. “Because Padmé needed an escort and there wasn’t time for me to wait, to tell you in person. I said all I needed to in that note.”
“We both know that isn’t the truth, Y/N. Please. I came here because clearly this is the only way to get you to talk to me-”
“Well, you should have saved yourself a trip because there’s nothing to talk about.” Your voice cracked as you turned around, feeling a wave of guilt wash over your body at the sight of him. He looked so tired, so distraught, and you knew it wasn’t just the accident that was to blame. Yet again, you left nothing but pain in your wake. “Please, Obi. You shouldn’t have come. Just… leave me alone.”
“You know I can’t do that.”
“Obi-Wan-”
“Please.”
His tone almost broke you.
You never had been able to deny him. He had somehow rooted himself deep within you, tethering himself to you with an invisible string that somehow always drew you back to one another. Even now, it felt like he was tugging on your heart, causing a deep ache at the thought of banishing him from your side.
You let out a sigh of reluctance. “Fine, but only because we both know Anakin learned his stubbornness from having you as a Master and I don’t need you following me around until I give in.”
“Thank you.” Obi-wan was quick to nod his head in gratitude (even if he didn’t refute your point).
Somethings hadn’t changed.
You remembered the first time he had tried that tactic on you, constantly shadowing you around the halls of the temple until you agreed to help him steal Qui-Gon’s ship on a dare. You were only ten at the time, but it felt like you had known each other for a whole lifetime - it had been that way since the moment you’d first laid eyes on one another as younglings.
Despite fearing the consequences of what would happen if you two were caught, you had eventually agreed to help, unable to resist him for long.
How simple things had been back then…
You sighed.
“You know, you didn’t exactly answer my question before. What are you doing here? And why do I feel as if Padmé is somehow involved in this?”
“Because you always were rather perceptive,” Obi-wan chuckled, reclaiming his spot on the couch behind him.
He gestured to the seat opposite in clear invitation - one you decided to accept, despite the fact that this was technically your room. After all, it had been a long day and if you were to open this particular wound then you would at least be seated whilst doing it.
You were also relieved, but not surprised, to see he had already helped himself to your tea collection too. At least he’d had the decency to pour you a cup.
“That, and we both know our friend, Senator Amidala, all too well. She simply cannot stand not being able to fix something, including us it seems.”
That sounded like Padmé. Hell, you’d been in that meeting room long enough today to know the true extent of his words. Padmé saw every problem as a puzzle to solve, and nearly every time, she did - even if it meant sticking her nose where it didn’t belong, or getting herself in the middle of trouble along the way.
No wonder she and Anakin were close. They were practically the same person, in that regard, and were more than likely responsible for the few grey hairs both you and Obi-Wan had discovered over the years.
“Us? What - but I - I haven’t told anyone anything -”
“You may not have, but I cannot say the same for Anakin,” Obi smirked, sipping his tea as if to hide the expression. “Nor, his eager apprentice, either. Apparently they may have mentioned to Padmé about our… lack of communication, amongst other things.”
Why were you not surprised?
“Of course they did.”
Maker, you hated this.
You hated that you had acted as judge, jury, and executioner without letting him plead his case.
You hated the echoing chasm that now existed between the both of you.
But most of all? You hated that you left and stayed away for so long.
It shouldn't have been this way; you should have been at his bedside when he awoke, ready to thank him, and celebrate his recovery in person. You should have been helping him heal his wounds, rather than hiding away and licking your own.
“I was a coward.”
Saying the words aloud somehow made you feel lighter, even if you knew it would take more than words to fix this. The guilt was enough to cause your eyes to water, while you tried your best not to look at him.
However, admitting the truth was the first step on a long road to enlightenment, as Master Yoda had once said.
“I was a coward and I ran. I ran from you and the feelings I had for you - the feelings that I know you feel for me too. That crash was too close, Obi. I almost lost you and what’s worse is that it was because of me. I hurt you. Even Anakin knew it. You would never have done something so dangerous and stupid otherwise. You took out that fighter, at cost to yourself, because of me.”
The confession came pouring out of you.
“So, I ran and I left that note because I wasn’t strong enough. I couldn’t say those things to your face without you knowing that I didn’t mean them, because I don’t - and I’m trying so hard, Obi. I want to honour you and the promise you made to the order, to Master Qui-Gon and Anakin… I don’t want to put you in that position.”
“So you left?”
“Yes.”
“You made that decision for me, on my behalf?”
You blinked, sensing the hurt behind his words. “Yes. I did, and I’m sorry... I love you too much to do this to us anymore. I thought by making the choice for you I was sparing you pain in the long run.”
“Well, you thought wrong. I need you to hear me when I say this, Y/N. I choose you. I choose you, no matter what it means for us or whatever our future may look like. I choose you because I love you and I have for as long as I can remember.”
You knew how much he meant what he said when he used that tone. It's the one he used often when addressing the council or when there was some sort of important threat that needed to be dealt with. It was resolute, and left no room for misunderstanding.
“These feelings came to be all on their own, and I could never resent you for them. You didn’t force me to feel this way, nor do you force me to act in any way I would not choose to do myself. Do you understand?”
“Obi-wan… I-" you choked, unable to convince yourself that he was not still angry with you. However, he seemed to know exactly what intrusive thoughts were plaguing you - the same ones that had caused you to flee in the first place. The ones that told you deep down you weren’t enough, that this was a mistake, that he couldn’t possibly be here saying these things to you.
"Tell me that you understand that. Please."
You gnawed at your bottom lip. "I... understand."
Relief flooded in his eyes at your words.
Finally, both of you seemed to be on the same page, but it still didn't erase the shame you felt. Tears rolled down your cheeks as your lips trembled.
“Obi, I'm so sorry... you were hurt and I abandoned you. Seeing you like that, and knowing my part in it all, I let my emotions take over and you didn’t deserve that. I left and I should've stayed. I messed things up-"
The words died on your lips as he took your face in his scarred hands, passionately pressing his lips against yours.
Your mind was reeling but all you could do was hum in the kiss, fighting the urge to pull away.
No.
No more running from this.
On that point, he was right; whatever steps you took next you would take together, and denying this connection was clearly not possible. Not when it consumed you so entirely, your soul crying out for his and causing your knees to go weak.
His lips clashed with yours, his fingers threaded through your hair, tilting your face up. That devious smile grew, and your toes curled in your boots as you saw the smile you’d spent the last few weeks dreaming about. “There’s my darling, Y/N.”
“Obi,” you sighed.
It was odd how much you’d missed this… missed him… even the way his beard lightly scratched your chin as you kissed him made your heart skip a beat. You felt as if you were somehow complete, like a piece of you had been missing but now returned as he took you in his arms, pulling you roughly against him.
You were his and he was yours.
"I'm never letting you out of my sight ever again, you understand me?"
“I’m never leaving you again,” you whined earnestly, a smile of your own escaping your lips as he began to trail his kisses against your jawline and neck. He knew you all too well and was clearly not above playing dirty when it came to reminding you.
Hence his choice of tactic, tilting you both backwards until you lay against the sofa cushion - penned in, with no escape, you were forced to listen as he pulled back long enough to meet your watery gaze once more.
“I need you to remember, it's ok to get scared. It's human. You're afraid of losing me the same way I'm afraid of losing you, Y/N,” Obi stated firmly. "I love you and I'm not going anywhere. Not unless you’re beside me, wherever that may be.”
You stared up at him with a hesitant, watery smile.
His throat bobbed. “I missed you. Every second, every breath. Not just this,” he said, shifting his hips for emphasis and dragging a groan from deep in your throat, “but … talking to you. Being with you. Having you beside me. I missed having you as my friend even more.”
Your eyes burned. “I know.”
As soon as the words left your lips, his arms tightened around you in reply, his forehead lowering to press to your shoulder.
You stroked a hand through his silken hair.
“I know. Never again,” you promised him, and whispered it over and over.
Taglist (people who asked about part 2):
@obiwanownsmyass @tommysparker
@graniairish @itscheybaby @blondekel77
#obi wan kenobi#Obi-Wan Kenobi#obi wan#obi wan x reader#obi-wan x you#obi-wan X reader#obi-wan x y/n#kenobi#Kenobi series#Kenobi x reader#Kenobi x you#star wars#star wars prequels#Star Wars x reader#obi-wan kenobi x reader
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Page Turner
Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader
Summary: Y/N becomes a little impatient while Spencer is reading...
Category: SMUT (18+)
Content: Thigh riding, thigh fucking, cum play
Word Count : 2.5k
MASTERLSIT
NOTE: this is just FILTH FILTH FILLLTHHHHH, and it was supposed to be a blurb but i got kinda carried away so it’s a little longer than that... so enjoy your porn with no plot 😊😂
And shoutout to @broken-stardust for beta-ing this for me!! we originally talked about the idea for this fic months ago, so i’m glad you finally got to see it ❤
———
She was in the mood for a little trouble.
Well, it was more like she was in the mood for a good fuck, but at the moment, with Spencer's strong desire to finish this incredibly long book series he'd just discovered, the mood for trouble came as more of a... fun little footnote that would most certainly add to the experience she was looking for.
So she strode up to Spencer, who was sitting comfortably on the couch with his book open and his glasses perched cutely on the tip of his nose, and straddled herself on his right leg wearing nothing but a pair of thin cotton underwear and a t-shirt.
"Hey," she said, low and seductive as she planted a wet kiss into his neck. Her hands clutched his shirt, willing herself to be closer and with every intention of him putting the book down and paying her some attention.
Either he truly wasn’t in the mood, or he was teasing her.
"Hey," is all he responded with, clipped and distant. His eyes scanned the pages, albeit slower than usual due to the woman clinging herself to him and begging for attention.
"You've been reading all weekend," Y/N half-whined, pressing herself into him and attaching her lips to his neck again. "Can't you at least take a little break?"
"It won't take me long to finish this book, and then we can, okay?"
She knew it was fair. It was more than fair, actually, but that didn't help the fact that she was still incredibly horny, and if she took care of it herself, it wouldn't have been enough. Maybe that was selfish, but she didn't care.
So she whined for real this time, more like a disappointed child, as she gripped his shirt and pulled herself closer to him. "Spencer..."
She expected him to warn her, to tell her to wait or something—anything—but instead he opted for the exact opposite.
He did nothing.
Y/N promptly decided that wasn't the correct response and rolled her hips, grinding down on his leg for friction. Her tongue drew a messy line up the side of his neck as she circled her hips and sought out the stimulation she so desperately wanted. And at the way his body tensed under her, obviously wanting the same things but holding out in favor of restraint, she knew her plan was close to working.
So she let out a long, content sigh and tangled her fingers in his hair, tugging it gently and continued to ride his thigh, moving quicker and harder with each second as she felt her body start to unravel. Her lips attached to his neck and mumbled all sorts of little noises that should have gotten him to fucking do something...
And still, even as she felt herself cling to him and her body recover from a short (and quite frankly unsatisfying) orgasm, Spencer remained in his position, still flipping pages in that godforsaken book.
"Spencer," Y/N grunted. She was exasperated, and strongly hoping that she wasn't giving him any satisfaction in her need for attention.
However, instead he seemed a little defensive. "Wh—You're distracting me! I can't finish the book as quickly if you're distracting me..."
"Fine," she sighed, peeling herself away from him and trying one last thing to get him to submit.
Y/N slid the underwear off her legs and tossed it gently at his face, watching it fall into his lap in front of the book.
Still nothing. His eyes roamed the pages, and he was clearly highly invested in whatever story was written on them. And god damn it if he still wasn't the cutest thing she'd ever seen.
So she slunk back to the bedroom and plopped herself down on the bed with only a t-shirt, laying down and crossing one leg over the other. And when she tossed her head to the side with a sigh, she noticed the other books in Spencer's current interest scattered along his side of the bed.
Well, I'm not particularly in the mood anymore, and there's really nothing else to do...
"Why the fuck not," Y/N sighed, reaching out and fishing for the book that had the number 1 printed on the spine.
***
With the final paragraphs of the story swimming through his brain, the book settled closed and neatly on the cushion beside him, Spencer looked down at his lap and noticed the bundle of cotton sitting there, next to a small damp spot on his pants where his girlfriend had been just under a half hour earlier.
He felt bad, ignoring her like that. It was hard resisting her when she was literally there, in his lap and getting herself off on his leg. And while he could practically hear Morgan in the back of his mind, telling him with disappointment in his voice, "It doesn't matter how important you think something is, that is always gonna be the most important thing,"... Spencer really couldn't help it. The book was so good he couldn't put it down. Not even for sex.
And now that he'd finished, he was focusing on what his brain decided it couldn't handle before, remembering her wet, hot breath on his neck and her fingers tangled in his hair as she rode his thigh, begging him for attention.
He was feeling guilty.
And he was going to spend the whole rest of the weekend making it up to her. He swore it, no matter who called, no matter what came up, he wasn't going to pay any attention to it unless it was his girlfriend's limbs tangled with his.
His hand reached for the book so he could return it with the others, but he thought better of it, wondering if Y/N would say anything. Instead, he figured walking in empty-handed and announcing how he was ready to give her his undivided attention for the rest of eternity if she'd let him would be a better option.
Spencer was feeling good about his decision, but when he opened the bedroom door and saw her, he felt even worse about ignoring her.
Because there she was, one foot pressed flat into the mattress and the other crossed over her knee, exposing her bare cunt to the world as she held a book in her hands. She looked statuesque and absolutely delectable, and he'd turned her down for a book he could have easily finished tomorrow morning.
Oh, he was definitely going to make it up to her...
"H—Hey, babe," he got out, trying to get her attention like she hadn't already heard the squeaky door open.
"Hey," she responded, similar in tone to how he'd answered the same greeting earlier, and it made his stomach turn.
Was she doing it on purpose?
Spencer took cautious steps towards her, stepping around the bed and clearing off the books scrambled on his side so he could take their place. "What are you reading?"
Rather than speaking, she tilted the book so he could see the cover and then returned to her position, eyes scanning the pages, and he couldn't tell if she was doing it to mess with him or if she was truly invested.
"Okay... Well, um... I'm finished now, i—if you wanted to, um..."
When Y/N finally took her eyes off the pages, she looked at him up and down as he sat on the bed... She took in his apologetic eyes, the slight pout on his lips that she could never resist...
And then she resisted him. Sort of.
"Eh, sure. Just let me finish this chapter first."
She sounded utterly bored.
And once again, Spencer wasn't sure if it was genuine or if she was just doing it to get back at him. But either way, it made him feel bad about before. He wanted to respect her wishes, grant her the time to finish reading just as she'd granted it to him... But he also wanted to make sure she knew just how sorry he was.
"Oh... Okay." He laid down next to her and watched her face as she read, her eyes occasionally blinking, mimicking the butterflies in his stomach at the sight before him. Even if she was mad at him, she was still absolutely stunning, and he was never going to take it for granted.
His fingers reached out to brush some of the hair from her eyes so he could see her better, and despite herself, she smiled a little, gently leaning into his touch.
That's my way in...
"I'm really sorry, Y/N... For ignoring you. I was just really caught up in the book and I—"
"Babe, it's fine," she dismissed, like it wasn't ever a big deal in the first place. "Trust me, I totally get it now. This is so good..."
As soon as she finished speaking, her eyes were roaming the words again, her bottom lip tucking gently between her teeth as she turned a page.
Oh... so she wasn't just messing with me, then...
Spencer's eyebrows raised and he sighed a little, truly unsure where to go from here. "Oh... Well... I'm glad you like it?"
She hummed, barely acknowledging him, and it amused him to his very core. So much so that he couldn't help but lean forward to kiss her cheek out of habit. And when she scrunched her nose, barely brushing off his touch, he started feeling a bit more devious. So he kissed her again, this time on the jaw, and then again and again trailing down her neck. And he stayed there, sucking small marks into her skin while she remained in her position.
He remembered what he saw when he opened the door, and the thoughts swirling around in his head begged him to utilize it.
He really wanted to be polite and let her finish reading... But also...
Spencer shifted, leaving the bed only to return on the other end, with no pants as he crawled up in between her legs on his knees. Seeing as she wasn't going to move her legs at all, he settled for running his hands gently over them, tracing every dip and curve they took, all the way down to the back of her thigh, which was out and exposed as it was aiding in resting her ankle over her other knee.
When he got close to her exposed pussy, she shivered a little. "You're distracting me..."
The obvious teasing that laced her words sent a smile to his lips. He couldn't see her face for a moment, but then she angled the book down and peered over it, giving him eyes that challenged, Do it and see what happens...
So, without breaking eye contact, Spencer gently ran his finger along the opening of her wet cunt and watched as she flung the book back up to her face, hiding it from view. He played with her clit for a while, circling it gently with his thumb while his middle finger slowly slipped in and out of her.
Y/N whined. "That's not fair... At least when I was interrupting you, I didn't try to give you a handjob..."
Spencer hummed in agreement, removing his fingers from her and bringing them to his lips. "Hmm, I suppose you're right..."
So how am I going to make it even...
He took his dick out of his underwear then, holding it in his hand and resisting the urge to slip it inside of her. Instead, he settled for the small gap between her thighs, a whine escaping him once he realized it was nowhere near the amount of stimulation he'd get from anything else.
His hips snapped forward urgently as he chased some form of release, frustrated at how it felt good, but not nearly good enough.
"Not so fun, is it?" Y/N sang, flipping a page amusedly once he'd let out another exasperated whine.
"What's to stop me from just fucking you?" he hissed, gripping her legs and trying his hardest to be patient.
"You won't... Because you won't learn your lesson otherwise."
Now she was messing with him. She was punishing him for ignoring her, and he breathed a laugh, knowing he should have seen it coming. But he wasn't going to argue with her, not when he was well and truly aware that he deserved this.
Still, it didn't make it any easier.
Spencer's whimpering increased tenfold, though, once she took a little pity on him and squeezed her legs tighter, giving him more friction and bringing him closer to the edge.
"O—oh my g—od..."
It happened so fast. One second he was relieved at this new wave of pleasure and the next he was pulled underneath it, his lower half tensing, pulsing, and burning hot. God, she was warm... And wet, and tight, but in a completely different way than normal, and it all was too much.
Her thighs and lower stomach were covered in cum, and that thought alone was enough to keep him going. He was overstimulated and probably should have refrained, but the silky, warm skin of her thighs just felt so good gliding over his dick, he just couldn't.
By now, Y/N had completely tossed the book aside, watching in awe as Spencer seemed unaware of her actions. His eyes were shut tightly, so focused on coming again, and the head of his cock peeked out through the gap in her thighs with every thrust forward, glistening and nearly red...
And then he was coming again, and she watched as the milky substance spilled out over her skin. A strand of it dripped slowly down the front of her left thigh, and the sight made her whine.
Spencer opened his eyes then, an overwhelming kernel of love and adoration blooming through his chest as he watched her watch him.
And then everything slowed.
He shoved the book off the bed and laid down beside her, looking down to admire his work.
"Fuck," is all he said, in one huff.
He was clearly pleased with himself, a fact which made Y/N beam. "Oh, you like that, huh?"
With a vigorous nod, he reached a hand out to spread some of the mess around, his fingers gliding slowly and softly over the planes and curves of her still-crossed legs.
"We have to do that again... Though, I could do without the 'you punishing me' part..."
Y/N let out a laugh, grabbing his wrist and bringing his fingers to her mouth. She darted her tongue out to taste, slowly dragging the tip along the underside of his middle finger before taking it fully in her mouth.
"Don't give me a reason to punish you, then," she quipped back after letting his finger go with a soft pop and tilting her head to look at him.
That look in her eyes, the one that always gave him butterflies, elicited another heavy nod.
"Deal."
———
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#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x reader smut#spencer reid smut#criminal minds#spencer reid#spencer reid fanfiction#criminal minds fanfiction#criminal minds smut
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Saving Mini Benson Pt:1
Request: From @youngjusticeimaginesus: Hi, I was wondering If maybe you'd be willing to do a oneshot where Olivia's daughter gets kidnapped by Lewis instead of Olivia?
Summary: That’s right my favorite peoples... This is going to be a two part mini series because there was no way everything that I needed to say could be done in a one-shot! I won’t go into much because I don’t want to give it away but please note THIS PART IS A DOOZY! The next one may be worse but still this arc made me cry in the show and I cried writing this
Characters: Olivia Benson, Fin Tutuola, Amanda Rollins, Nick Amaro, William Lewis, Donald Cragen, Reader
Relationships: Olivia Benson x Daughter! Reader
Warnings: MAJOR Violence, Guns, Cigarette Burns, Episode Spoilers, Alcohol, Smoking Weed, Mentions of Shootings, Death, William Lewis, Mentions of torture... (I Think that covers it but if it doesn’t please let me know)
Word Count: 2320 (Like I said.. there was no way this was gonna be just a oneshot.)
And with that all being said: Let’s jump into it.
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Olivia and her daughter rarely fought but when they did neither one wanted to admit the other one was right. Olivia loved and hated her daughter for being so similar to her. Even now as she watched the miniature version of herself stalk the interview room the exact same way she would send her heart racing. Usually the similarities would result in a smile but not today. Today Olivia’s vision was a deep red as she confronted her daughter.
“Y/N you were caught smoking weed underneath the bleachers during class! So not only did you break one rule you broke two!” Olivia shouted, folding her arms.
“Wow glad that you know how to count,” Y/N mumbled looking out the window.
“What did you just say to me?”
“Look mom I just don’t get what the big deal is? It was one joint. One class!” Y/N retorted, throwing her hands up, “I am a straight A student who has a full ride scholarship to Harvard.”
“Yes, because Barba stuck his neck out on the line for you and put in a glowing recommendation,” Olivia spat, “What you did was careless. You could have ruined everything that was given to you.”
“You know for once in your life could you ever be fucking proud of me! I do everything that I can do to make you proud and yet at the end of the day I am never fucking good enough for you.”
“That’s not…” Olivia went to argue but was interrupted by Cragen opening the door.
“Olivia we got a problem. I need you right now,” He said, then shut the door without waiting for an answer.
“Just go save another poor unfortunate soul mom. Don’t worry about your daughter. I’ll pick up my own pieces like I always do,” Y/N said, wiping tears from her face as she grabbed her coat.
Y/N stormed from the room before Olivia could stop her. She made her way through the precinct eyes trained to the floor as her mother’s voice rang out, “You better head straight home Y/N! We are not done having this conversation and you are grounded!”
Choosing not to say anything, Y/N merely raised her hand in the air flipping her mother off before the doors shut with a loud slam behind her. Tears made dark spots on the concrete as Y/N made her way back to their apartment. Even the noises of the constant car honks and people screaming couldn’t drown out the voices in her head today. Failure. Waste of space. Stupid. No one. Unwanted. Unloved.
It was the repeated song that kept her feet moving forward until she finally placed her key in the lock. She threw her bag by the kitchen island and threw her keys on the counter. She was about to turn on the living room light when a noise caught her attention.
“Hello? Hello?”
As she turned the corner her vision was filled with the sight of a gun pointed right at her temple. A smirk crossed William Lewis’ face as he looked at Y/N, “Ah welcome home Little Benson. I was hoping that it would be your mother who was walking through the door but I guess you will have to do.”
Y/N went to scream but instead Lewis jammed the gun against her throat, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. One small slip of my finger and your mom will be left with a new kind of art all over her walls.”
Y/N let a single tear roll down her face before Lewis’ gun made contact with her skull and the whole world went black.
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Olivia had already tried to call Y/N twice but it kept going straight to voicemail. The last known location had been their apartment so at least she had the sense to head straight home. The guilt in Olivia’s stomach was insurmountable. Watching her daughter explain that she never felt like she lived up to her standards. Olivia had promised herself when she had Y/N she would never end up like her mother. Yet there she was shaming her child for one mistake. Y/N was more than just a good kid, she was excellent. She was smart, beautiful, humorous, kind, and so much more. She was everything Olivia could have ever hoped for. Knowing that her daughter thought she wasn’t proud was the worst pain she could have.
After the third call Olivia finally decided to leave a voicemail, “Y/N I know you are mad but I need you to know something. I am proud of you and will always be proud of you. You are the best daughter and the most amazing human. I was rough on you early. Please let’s talk through this. I’ll be home soon with your favorite Chinese. Just don’t do anything stupid? I love you.”
When she hung up the phone she placed her head in her hands and let out a large sigh. Fin placed a reassuring hand on her back, “Liv, it is going to be okay. She is just being a teenager.”
“No Fin, you should have seen her. It was like I was physically taking her heart out and ripping it in front of her. I should have never said those things. I didn’t mean any of them… I was just upset.”
“She knows, they always know.”
Olivia merely shook her head and began to gather her things to head home. She walked out of the precinct without a goodbye and headed down the street to Y/N’s favorite Chinese place. They knew what she was going to order as soon as she walked in the door asking where Y/N was. Liv pushed off their question and scrolled through her phone as she waited for the food. Y/N’s phone was still off giving Olivia an eerie feeling as she finished the walk to the apartment.
Once inside she noticed Y/N’s bag on the floor and her keys on the counter. There was a sudden rush of cold air that made her notice the window that was open to the fire escape. She shut it quickly and then moved to Y/N’s room. The door was still open with everything the way she had left it that morning. Once her calls were unanswered Olivia opened the window again crawling onto the fire escape. Sometimes Y/N would go to the roof to watch the sun slowly crawl behind the buildings.When she reached the top however she was met with an unsettling emptiness.
Olivia reached for her phone to call the only person who was able to calm her anxiety lately, “Amaro, Y/N isn’t here. I can’t find her. What if something happened to her?”
“She probably just went to a friend’s house to get away,” Amaro replied stirring the contents of his drink, “She will be back in the morning just to relax. Sleep off the anger and come back with a clear head tomorrow.”
Liv pondered this suggestion over and over deciding what she should do. When the silence became too long Amaro interjected again, “Liv, I’m serious. You two had the biggest blow out that I have seen in awhile. Give her time to be mad at you and think. If you smother her she might only push further away from you.”
She thanked her partner for the advice and then shoved her phone back in her pocket taking a sweep of the roof once again. Finally she slowly made her way back to the apartment shutting the window with a slam before locking it. Olivia wandered over to the kitchen moving the cereal that covered the top of the fridge to get to her secret cupboard. From the opening she pulled a large bottle of her favorite red wine. She popped the cork and decided to forgo a cup taking a long swig directly from the green glass. A large sigh escaped her lips as she plopped down on the couch going over the events of the day in her head.
As the contents of the bottle slowly drained till there was nothing else Olivia realized her fears were all coming true. She was becoming her mother. A woman she never once wanted to be. Three empty bottles later she finally curled under Y/N’s sheets crying into her pillow until she finally was able to fall asleep.
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The next morning when Y/N did not return and her phone was still shut down all bets were off. Olivia was furious but more importantly she was terrified. Something was horribly wrong. Her morning was spent talking to Y/N’s two best friends and searching their houses for her. When that search was unsuccessful Olivia went to the school hoping Y/N had gone there. However, she had been absent all day and there hadn’t even been a call to excuse her from the day.
When the morning bled into the afternoon Olivia was running around the city to all of Y/N’s usual hangout spots. The search of the library told her that Y/N hadn’t been there in over a week. The local bakery hadn’t seen her in three days. The coffee shop where Y/N always bought Olivia’s coffee when she came to see her at work had seen her two mornings ago but nothing since then. Even the old lady that had Y/N over twice a week to help her with errands and chores around the house hadn’t seen her.
It was dark by the time that Olivia fell into her desk chair at the precinct. With her head in her hands she let the tears fall. A whole day was gone and there was still no sign of her daughter. If she had been kidnapped they were running out of time and losing it quickly. The longer she was out there the longer the person had to get away with whatever they wanted.
The squad huddled around in Cragen’s office looking at Olivia curled over her desk. Rollins was the first one to speak, “I bet you Lewis has something to do with this.”
“And what makes you think that?” Amaro asked, “There are plenty of people who could have a vendetta against Liv.”
“It’s just a feeling.”
“Yeah well have you ever considered the idea that maybe Y/N just ran away,” Amaro retorted.
Fin, Cragen, and Amanda all turned towards Amaro, shocked. Cragen was the first one to speak, “I know you haven’t been here long Amaro but this isn’t Y/N. Something is horribly wrong and we are going to figure out what is going on. Fin and Amanda go check out Lewis’ usual hiding spots. I’ll take Liv through her apartment once again to see if we missed anything.”
“And me cap?”
“Amaro… you stay here and set up a tip line,” Cragen responded curtly and then they all disappeared to find where Y/N had disappeared to.
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Y/N woke with a jolt as she felt cold water splash her face. She was met with Lewis staring only a couple inches away from her face. He grinned and grabbed Y/N’s chin as she tried to look away, “Well well there. Looks like someone is finally awake. Feeling thirsty?”
Y/N nodded her head yes waiting to scream as he curled his fingers around the edge of the duct tape. As he was about to pull it away he jammed a gun against Y/N’s throat, “Make any noise and I will shove this gun straight down your throat.”
Finally when he pulled the tape away Y/N spit right in his face, “Just shoot me already if you are going to threaten me with it.”
“And miss out on all of our fun Mini Benson. I think not. There is plenty that I want to do to you before then.”
Y/N began to panic as Lewis lit another cigarette. She remembered the way the others had burned against her chest and sides. She had lost count after twenty perfect circle burns and after the second pistol whip to the face she had passed out a second time, She couldn’t go through all of that again.
“My mom knows I am missing and she will be out looking for me. Just let me go and she will never have to know that you did it. Please,” YN begged.
“What is she going to think about that bruise on your face? Or the marks on your skin? I can’t let you go… plus I know that you both fought before you came home. I bet you that she thinks you just ran away and are leaving her,” Lewis chuckled.
“How.. how did you know that we fought?
“This lovely voicemail your mother left you,” Lewis said, placing your phone against your ear.
Tears began to run down Y/N’s face as she heard the apology her mother had sent her. Damnit! Why did I have to fight with her? We could have avoided all of this. Is the mantra that ran through her head as Lewis slammed the phone against her head and threw it at the wall.
“She isn’t coming for you,” Lewis snickered.
“Please… just let me go. I will do anything.”
Lewis pulled his gun and placed it against Y/N’s scalp, “You are still bargaining with me? Really. We are way past that baby.”
“I am the daughter of an NYPD detective. A decorated well known detective. My mother, her partner, her squad, the entire department will hunt you down. You think that you’ve put people through hell. It will rain back down on you.”
“You know what… let it rain,” Lewis said and then hit Y/N once again making her world go black for a third time.
#Olivia Benson#Olivia Benson x Reader#Olivia Benson x Daughter Reader#Olivia Benson's Daughter#olivia benson fanfic#Law and order SVU#william lewis#william lewis arc#special request#mini series#saving mini benson#trigger warnings#blood#violence#guns#major violence#mentions of murder#mentions of shooting#mentions of alcohol#smoking weeed#alcohol#there is more#please read the above notes#i can never write these things as a oneshot#i have too many details#there will be a part two#maybe a three#no just two#we shall see
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though you weren’t mine [kmg]
—summary: new in town, with judgement following after every step she takes in life, the least she expects is to find a box filled with cd’s that reads ‘throw away’ written in messy handwriting on its cardboard surface. when looking at the videos, she realizes there is a highlight to her day—as if he was part of a sitcom, and his name is kim mingyu.
the downside? she doesn’t know where to find him. once existing in the same house as hers, no one knows where he went, but his smile remains petrified inside her head.
—title: though you weren’t mine
—pairing: kim mingyu x reader
—genre: photographer!au ; musical actress!au ; strangers to friends to lovers!au ; videocamera!au
—type: fluff ; angst ; suggestive ; romance ; drama ; humor ; slowburn
—word count: 25,891
—warnings: mentions of alcohol, death (though briefly), and past relationships.
Three onions. One head of garlic. Lettuce, clinging to the space in between his teeth and still, her seat companion in the train doesn’t close his mouth for the slightest bit.
As far as she knows—and it has been two hours of conversing with this man, so she’s knowledgeable enough to speak—, he worked in refineries. A little bit over seventy, with a white chemise cladding his body, tucked inside a pair of beige pants. The rounded glasses on the bridge of his nose keep falling, but he keeps playing with them as he speaks about the most miniscule of matters. For one, in 1997, his wife left him for his best friend, and secondly, his youngest is starting to look more like his (please, say ex) best friend with the passage of time.
Now, she is not a DNA expert, neither is she a fortune teller to be able to foresee the future when she got in this train, against her will, only to fulfill her biggest dream.
The city awaits her entrance, and when she gets there, she hopes to take a big bite of the world, mix dance and singing, along with acting, in order to further emphasize her spot in the industry. Break the malicious curse that follows everyone in her blood, only destroying their careers under the weight of their actions.
“And, you know what she did?” Licking the mayonnaise off his thumb after taking a big bite of his sandwich, the older male continues with his story as she lulls her head against the window. For one second, her eyes divert towards the pink clouds accompanied by lilac skies. Trees swing with the harsh wind, three days-worth of spending her time with Jinho over here sounding like the worst of experiences. “My daughter told me she doesn’t want to college after all. Can you imagine that? I paid for her education in four different majors, and she dropped out of all of them…because she wants to be, and hear me out,” As if she hasn’t been doing that for the entirety of the train ride. “A YouTuber.”
“Oh no.” Acting is her forte. Fake crying without a single droplet of water thrown at her face. Elongating words. Dramatics. All of the like—it’s what theater means, but at this point, her tiredness trails after her sentence. “Yeah, all that money…gone to waste…sir, that’s terrible.”
Just as terrible as the way he is eating this sandwich.
Smacking his lips once again, the man shakes his head. “What was your name again?” He asks, for the umpteenth time, and she lets her lips wrap around her name. She may change at this point, something easier, just so this man stops talking about himself and starts to be a proper companion instead. “Yeah, always be sure of what you’re going to do. There are millions of people you can disappoint, and they will tell you they will support you through everything and anything, but it’s a lie.”
“Ah-ha.” She drags, trying her hardest not to scrunch up her face. Instead, she rummages through the pocket of her black coat, looking for the perfect distraction that is her phone. “I think someone is calling me, Mr. Jinho, if you’ll excuse me.”
“Yes, yes!” The old man speaks quickly, taking the last bite of his sandwich only to speak with his mouth full after. “I hope it’s good news!”
After moving his legs from the side, she makes a bee-line towards the bathroom. Brown leather seats on each side of her, with people talking normally, softly, and yet, seemingly happier than her with her train ride. Her friends insisted on this—something of the like of ‘humbleness’ in their whole speech when giving her the train tickets that would take her to her newest pursue in life. Away from her well-known family, and the judgement that weights her down even when she opens the door to the bathroom and closes it behind her.
An unpleasant whiff of air has her sighing deeply. Great. The white tiled walls and sunflowers decorations do nothing to make her feel less like an outcast in this train. Though, she needs to sit down and look through her phone for a while, perhaps pee before getting out of there, and hoping that Jinho’s sandwich did its job in getting him to sleep. Her feet steps forward, putting down the toilet seat in hopes of not even seeing anything inside to compare to the smell in here, before taking a seat on top of the toilet.
Fuck my life, she thinks.
One day you’re at the top of the world, the next, you’re seated on top of a toilet with suspicious contents. Life, some call it.
As if the afternoon couldn’t get any worse, she unlocks her phone, a series of messages from her best friend appearing on the screen. God, she misses her. Leaving her best friend behind while having a medical emergency is one of the choices, she thinks she will never forgive herself for making. What kind of friend does that? She has no idea. Yet, Miyoung practically shouted at her to go follow that dream. The musical’s rehearsals started this month, and she couldn’t miss the opportunity of finally reaching proper stardom. Not word from mouth, but with actions instead.
Earlier, she had asked:
To: Miyoung.
How’s your foot doing?
Though, probably napping, it took Miyoung four hours to answer.
From: Miyoung.
Still connected to my leg, so far, so good.
But…haven’t you seen the news?
News? No. Well, if she’s not counting Jinho’s romantic history—and family timeline, at that—since 1991.
If the child isn’t really his…why would he be telling some stranger in the train?
To: Miyoung.
I was supposed to know any news?
From: Miyoung.
OMG.
Enter my account. Check your ex’s Instagram.
And tell me where we’re hiding the body.
Miyoung, God bless her, is the purest figure skater she knows. The woman follows everyone in social media without caring if they stepped on her heart with all her might, or did something to her friends. Her ex-boyfriend, a very famous comedian, is not the exception. While she had hit headlines for unfollowing him on social media—and vice-versa—, Miyoung does wonders on keeping her updated. Two weeks it has been since their break up, and she has never been readier to move on.
Though, upon opening his social media, she’s welcomed by the usual—parted black hair, curved eyebrows, downturned and bored eyes, with slim lips and a tall frame that bends against its will forward, his stance normally accompanied by baggy, stylish clothes that more often than not rake the smell of alcohol and weed. On this occasion, however, someone else clings by his side and the man does not have the utmost decency to make the picture a little bit less like it belongs to some raunchy college student’s Instagram profile.
His big hand, that linked with hers, and touched her skin in promises of forever, splays on top of the woman’s butt. Gorgeous in more ways than one, with long curled hair and a smile on her lips as he kisses her cheek. The worst part? That she dated someone who captioned this picture, with God-knows-what-kind-of-model, in the worst of ways.
Her stomach churns when she reads: “Here with the main bitch.”
Ugh. Delete all the kisses. Erase all the memories of ever sleeping with him. Create a time-machine so she can slap herself across the face and tell herself ‘he’s not even that funny, wake the hell up’.
To: Miyoung.
Ew.
From: Miyoung.
You don’t care?
To: Miyoung.
Of course, I care.
I kissed that.
I made out with that.
I let that fuck me.
From: Miyoung.
Sid-looking ass.
Fuck him.
All those times Miyoung told her not to date him, and there she was, making a fool of herself.
To: Miyoung.
We don’t judge people by their appearance here.
But he’s trash.
From: Miyoung.
Two weeks, girl.
It took him two effing weeks to get over you.
It shouldn’t hurt, right? Though, her heart contracts a little at the touch of disappointment. Never had she trusted someone as much as she did with her ex, and there she is. Forgotten. Mocked. Poked fun at.
The second bitch.
The ‘no-one-cares’ bitch.
Fuck.
To: Miyoung.
I’ll get over him too, just watch.
From: Miyoung.
Oh, babe, I know.
And you’re on your way to it.
With certainty, even in this goddamned train, with a smelly bathroom and a talkative seat companion, she can do it. Reach her dream. Get a name. Never need a man ever again.
Everything is going to be fine. It always is for her, and this won’t be the exception.
###
Everything is not fine.
Brick walls clad the building in front of her. Tall enough for it to even be considered a skyscraper, creating shadows across her body. The world is much bigger than hers, and yet, sometimes she thinks she is the center of it all. A white screen with black lines showcases the name of one of the newest musicals to be performed tonight at nine, but she can only imagine how her debut in the musical world will look like on her first night. Twinkling lights from the night falling in love with the title of her play—When The Kids Fall Asleep.
When she read the script, she was actually aiming to find some small spot in a TV series, waving in the back or saying three lines. Instead, she came across this piece of magic because of her manager, whom was once her mother’s manager. The story read almost like a book, the demos filling her ears when she asked for a demonstration for her audition, the story of four families that conjoined when trying to reach their dreams without telling the children about the hardships of the real world. For them, everything must be perfect.
Her character, she had fallen in love with. Poor yet leader-like through everything, trying to raise a three-year-old without making her miss a single meal. When she falls asleep, she has to live off earning money by selling meals and, continuously, finding it harder to feed her little family and working as a stripper.
Doing justice to such a role may erase the mistakes lingering in her past.
With a push of the door, the cold metal handle meeting her fingertips, a new world is introduced to her. Rows and rows of burgundy seats, all staring towards the not-so-empty stage. People scatter around, some extending their limbs, others taking sips of water, but the swish of the door closing behind her catches some people’s attention.
The director is someone she knows. The strands of her bleached blonde hair are pushed behind her ears, tightened by a hair-tie to keep it in place. A tall nose, plush lips, and a set of thick glasses meet her enigmatic, yet serious face. A black turtleneck covers most of her body, long limbs and stylized slender body making her look more like a model than a director. Practically glued to her chest is the printed version of the script, and the closer she gets, the more the golden lights scatter across Kaleigh’s body.
“Look at that, if that isn’t our fashionably late rock-star.” The chuckle that rips through Kaleigh’s lips fakes every single emotion that could be mustered in this situation. A sharp breath in makes her curse herself internally. Well, she’s definitely not used to having to take the subway…and definitely not use to people not waking her up. Her manager is there for that, but now he’s too far away from her to actually work as a babysitter, as well.
“Sorry,” She breathes out, hands threading with the straps of her hoodie before smiling softly. “I…I didn’t know how to catch the subway.”
“Are you kidding me?” Kaleigh asks, mocking tone in her voice ever-present, clapping her hands together as if watching the most ridiculous of comedies. “Your family isn’t famous enough for you to act as if you’re out and about in limousines.”
Truthfully, yes. A family of rock-stars, like her mother, that happened to leave the band in search of a better chance, only for her first solo album to fail in the charts. Of models that never went past the runways. Of singers that remained as one-hit-wonders and producers that never got to have names remembered in the world of music. It’s always a peak and then a downfall for her family’s curse.
…But, she does have enough money not to worry for the rest of her life, so there is something good about being criticized throughout her entire life for the family she grew up in. “Well…no, but I’m used to people driving me around. It won’t happen again, I promise.”
Upon sparing one glance towards the stage, Kaleigh must understand that she wants this conversation to be over. “Whatever,” She instructs, deep voice lingering with tiredness. “This is your team. You can get to know them as you practice. This is the first time the entire cast is together.”
Her eyes scan towards the groups of people, all of which she had studied from the printed version of the script she read when Jinho had finally fallen asleep on the train. Thank God, she almost thought that man was going to get off the train with her and follow her around. One of the male leads, she recognizes as Jaehyo, tall and over his thirties, short brown hair accompanying widened eyes, almost deep-looking. A vibrato to die for, as she saw per his audition.
“You’re Jaehyo, right?”
The man looks up from his script, a crooked smile appearing on his features that perhaps, gives him the attractiveness of that one friend’s young dad that she would look at when she was a child, unaware of why her cheeks would heat up at the mere sight of him. “You know me?”
“Why wouldn’t I?” Going up the set of stairs, she looks around the room once again. Small woman, black short hair, a rounded face with speckles of brown across her cheeks, matching her orange blush. The best dancer of the team, definitely. “And that’s Sue. She plays Joah’s character.” Of course, how could she not? Joah is one of the background characters, but thrilling in its own way. The owner of the strip-club, and the one that takes care of the children in the house of the four families, trying to paint a perfect picture of broken shreds. “And you are—”
Upon pointing at the woman seated by the edge of stage, the light wood carving against her uncovered, toned thighs, she hears Hyun’s sharp tone. The main star, the oldest child—twenty-one, that figures out that her mother is a stripper and goes on a rampant of wanting to take over the same steps. She’s a triple threat, that’s for sure—singing like a goddess, dancing like she belongs to the stage, and acting like she lived through the same experience.
“Are you over with your little Wikipedia search revising speech?” Hyun says, moving her long brown hair away from her shoulders to look at her with sharp almond eyes, her plush lips pursed, though still beautiful with the blaring anger inside her casting over her features. “You’re late. We don’t have time for you to play the fangirl character.”
Hyun stands up at the same moment that she shares her anger with everyone else in the stage. Jaehyo, on one hand, is the one to speak up first. “Hey, we weren’t even waiting for that long—”
“So, just because she has money, we have to excuse her diva behavior?” Running her hands over her gray shorts, Hyun gets in position, staring at Kaleigh.
“Look who’s talking.” She spits out, looking up and down at the woman that she had once thought was the best addition to the team, now seems to be up and against her, ready to blare Achilles’ cholera all the way towards her. “The only one making a fuss over me being twenty minutes late here is you—”
“Because my time is valuable, unlike what you think.” Hyun responds just as she gets close, sparing one glance towards Kaleigh. “Right? I’m the main lead. If I can get here early, so can you.”
“Shit, sorry.” She whispers, a frown appearing on her features. “I’ll make sure to get here two hours earlier because your character is so much more important than mine.”
“Well,” Kaleigh interrupts at that moment, hooking her fingers around one of her dangling diamond earrings. “It’s not wrong. Hyun is our star. If she gets here on time, so can you.”
Lowering her head just at the same time that a smile appears on Hyun’s face, she sighs. “It won’t happen again, I promise. I’m sorry.”
Her dream scatters right in front of her, both from her wrongdoings and for the way that Kaleigh looks at her up and down, before nodding. “Doesn’t matter. We can work on various things as you’re here. You have a lot to improve.” Kaleigh answers, a smile reaching her cheekbones. “For now, just stand in the back and watch the professionals do so.” Her hand extends towards Hyun, exclaiming her utmost ambition and hope for her presence in this play.
“For every scene?”
“Yes. You can dance in the back.” Kaleigh finalizes with a tilt of her head. “Ah…does that bother you?”
“Well, if I’m in the back for every scene, I won’t be able to deliver my lines properly—”
“Honey, here’s how this works—” Kaleigh starts, extending one leg in front of her before playing with the edge of her script. Never does she break eye-contact, even when she is stepping on her heart. “You are new, but you aren’t new to the public. You’ve dated a few good names, appeared on magazines since you were a child…and you’re kind of good, but we’re aiming for publicity here. If you’re here with us, we make this play more profitable and, hence, we can continue displaying it for however long they let us. And, with the passage of time, you can step forward and be looked at more…but you’re not as good as the rest, as easy as that.”
Then, why did she get accepted? Once again, the light of her family’s curse casts down on her, creates shadows on the kind of person she can be. Just when her lips are about to part, trying to shelter her pride with the utmost knowledge of how this industry works, Kaleigh claps her hands together.
“In your spots. First scene. The kids are waiting behind the stage, I need you to deliver those lines as if you’re in the verge of hunger. And you better be, we’ll be here the entire day.”
It’s not like how she imagined it to be. So far in the stage that she can’t even see the seats, the light casting down on Hyun even when she is not in the scene. Her voice dulls, every line coming out of her lips with less enthusiasm as the practice passes by. Just a publicity stunt, that’s why she was accepted. Tears weld up in her vision, and they are not exactly her character’s…but now she is here, and she has to make do with her dream.
###
There’s one point of a person’s lives where they can no longer see their friends as much as they hope to. Life gets busy, some create families, others hunt for their biggest professional goals, and then, she’s left in solitude, carrying the boxes that were left outside of her new house by the moving truck. Spacious, perfect for two to three people, and yet only there for her to live in. Somewhere in a suburbs-like spot, with plenty of families staring at her as a groan leaves her lips upon the lumbar ache on her back. Whatever. If normal people can do it, so can she.
The trees on her front yard move with the wind, same as her hair, trying her best to go up the set of white stairs that lead to her gray doorstep, the ‘welcome’ rug in front making her feel less like this is her home. Her friends and family are not here, and the friends that she has here are too busy with their own lives to help her unpack as much as possible. Along with that, she has to go over her lines and avoid delivery in order to use the kitchen as much as possible.
When she drops the last box on the living room, the gray tiles and the white doors giving an elegant vibe in contrast to the cardboard, her hands rest on her waist. The only thing she has managed to do after getting home from practice three days ago was construct some shelves for her TV, and put a bed in the bedroom to sleep in, but other than that, the house is empty. The couch welcomes her weight when she throws herself over it.
Okay. It could be worse. She has a ceiling over her head.
…And a mattress, a kitchen, a TV and a shelf.
But she has worn the same clothes at home for the past four days.
Lifting the white sweater up to her nose, she sniffles deeply. Clean, apparently, but that’s something she has to deal with as well—laundry as soon as possible, because of her amount of outfit changes during practice. Her eyes close tightly, as if she would be able to ease the headache appearing inside her head in the matter of seconds, but when she opens them again, she’s welcomed by the same white shelf she constructed, and the little wood shelf by its side that came with the house.
Though, it’s more like a cabinet, there’s a door to it, and it’s not locked, swinging back and forth with a squeak. Maybe, she should get rid of that before actually starting. Standing up again, each muscle hurting from endless hours of practicing and now for carrying around seven boxes inside her house, her slippers clank against the flooring until she kneels in front of the cabinet, opening the door and sighing out of glee of not having to hear the movement of the wind against it.
A box is inside, the words ‘throw away’ written in capitals and blue marker ink. Better follow what the owners wanted, it could be some haunted doll that she has to get out before it eats her alive at night. Though, just as she lifts the box in between her hands, ready to throw it away or recycle it, the bottom portion opens, letting a bunch of CD’s fall on her feet.
Ouch, but also, huh?
Is this the old owner’s porn stack?
She should just throw them away, but when her fingers wrap around the CD’s, she reads the titles written in the same blue ink. Anniversary. Date. Bed. New York.
Ooh, bed sounds kinky…
Is it an amateur sex tape?
Better check it before she throws it away and people look through it, right?
Thankfully, numbers are scattered across the CD’s, small enough for her to almost ignore them, but upon grabbing her laptop from the coffee table, she slides the CD in. All in order, she starts with number one.
Maybe, a sex tape would be better…it wouldn’t have captured her heart quite like this.
###
01: NEW YORK.
“Ah, Kim Mingyu, don’t leave me behind like that!”
Groups of people scatter in front of the recorder. Tall buildings, in colors from grays, blacks, whites to browns, read out the typicality of New York, as per the title. Bustling, with barely any space from one person to the other, like lovers marching on their way to success. The person with the camera lets it shake a few times with her steps, the tone sweet and melodious as she calls out the same name again. Kim Mingyu. Kim Mingyu. Babe.
Definitely her boyfriend.
Upon reaching a wide back with a navy-blue thick coat thrown over it, the person with the camera expands her free hand on his back, sharp breaths leaving her lips, trying to regain her composure. She moves over to the side, finally showing the face of the culprit of her distress. A car passes by so fast that it swooshes his hair, the brown strands moving away to showcase his gorgeous golden skin. Not only is that gorgeous about him, but the fold of his romantic eyes, one squinted as he holds a camera up his face, taking a few pictures of the Times Square, accompanied by his defined nostrils, straight nose and dried, thin lips that he licks in the matter of seconds before looking over towards his girlfriend.
God has favorites.
“Log number one of the lives of Mingyu and Yoona. We are out here in New York to celebrate our second anniversary, isn’t that right, Mingyu?” Her voice is dulcet enough to compete against popsicles and candy. Mingyu seems to sense that, a twinkle in his eyes when looking down at the person recording him.
But he’s a camera person, she can tell that much. When he turns towards the camera, he extends his arms as wide as possible. “We’re here to celebrate two years of me standing Yoona and not dying in the process.”
Yoona slaps him in the arm for that comment, laughter ripping from his lips. “No, say why we’re really here.”
Mingyu looks around for a second, grabbing her hand before dragging her along through the busy streets. “I’ve always wanted to come to New York, so I thought that coming with you would be the best way to experience it.”
“And why are we recording us?”
“…Because I plan to audition for Hollywood so we can be like Brad and Angelina.”
“…They divorced, Mingyu.”
“They didn’t.” Mingyu replies, though he is clearly in the wrong. “Why would they—?”
“Because people get divorced, Mingyu.” Yoona reasons, far more knowledgeable than her boyfriend. “But be honest, why are we recording ourselves?”
At last, he looks away, the timer of the video growing smaller and smaller as he stares ahead. Slowly, a smile takes over his features, filling his cheeks when he says: “This is log one of the videos we’re going to show our children once we become a family in the far future.”
“Or not so far.”
Staring into the camera, Mingyu shrugs. “You never know.”
And that’s how it ends. With that precious smile of his giving hope to those who don’t believe in love, for it’s clear that he’s in love with whoever is recording him.
###
02: BED.
The door of what is now her bedroom opens up in the video, the same recorder not knowing how to keep the camera upright as she moves toward the spacious bed. Her knees hit the bed, stealing a huff away from the man thrown on the bed as his hands come forward just as his body does, grabbing the culprit that interrupted his sleep by jumping on him.
“Morning, morning, birthday boy!” His face is much more swollen than in the last video, his dark hair tousled everywhere as his eyes squint, try to look at the camera before closing entirely, throwing himself back in the mattress with a sigh.
“I’ll go back to sleep.”
But, Yoona keeps pushing, resting her weight on top of Mingyu, showcasing the pictures of them splayed on their respective bedside tables, before patting her hand against his cheek. “Wake up, it’s April 6th.”
“I know that day it is…” His voice drags, pressing his cheek to the white, comfortable pillow that seems to include a dampened spot created by him.
“Okay, kids. You may watch this ten years from now or something, let’s hope your dad isn’t as grumpy in the mornings as he is right now.” Yoona instructs, jumping a bit on his abdomen only to watch him not relenting at all. “Your dad was born on April 6th, 1997—” Oh, same year that Jinho was left by his wife. What a coincidence. “Shall we sing happy birthday for him?”
The video ends with a smile appearing on Mingyu’s face the more the song goes on in that lulling voice, reaching upwards to steal a kiss from her only for the camera to cut short.
The guy’s charming, she’ll give him that.
###
07: DRUNK.
Mingyu’s flushed face seems a bit older, his hair pushed away from his face as he rests his forehead against the refrigerator. It’s not the same one in her kitchen right now, but the division is the same, so it’s technically still in this house. Only when Yoona comes close to him, stumbling a bit on her steps, does he look up, waving his hand at the camera, the sleeve of his white and red sweater coming down his hand.
“Min…gyu…” Yoona has trouble forming coherent sentences, though Mingyu’s smile is ever-present. Happiness bleeds through him when being with her. “Mingyu, dance for the camera. Make that money worth, baby.”
The man chuckles, lifting his hands in the air and swinging his hips from side to side comically, earning a few whistles, howls and cheers from some people, perhaps equally as drunken as him, only to end up getting close to the camera and saying, with his handsome features pressed up close to the device:
“I wanna throw up.”
This video definitely has a smile plastering on her face. Funny.
###
10: ANNIVERSARY.
“Kim Mingyu, welcome to our log. We haven’t talked here for a while.”
Mingyu looks away from the scenery outside of the car, perhaps a taxi given by the position, moving the hood of his black sweater away from his head and fixing the sunglasses on his face to rest just at the tip of his nose to look at the camera. “You’re recording again?” Mingyu asks, though he is already waving at the camera and by the lack of response, she must have nodded at him.
“It’s October 13th, that means we have been together for three years.” Yoona starts, just at the same time that Mingyu grabs her hand, brings it up to his lips and presses a petal of a kiss to her knuckles. God, she should really stop watching this if she doesn’t want to feel lonelier. Why does she always pick the bad ones? Yoona has good tastes! “What are your thoughts on love, Mr. Kim?”
Mingyu leans his head back, though he looks at her from the corner of his eyes. “Stop calling me Mr. Kim.”
“Okay, go on Kim Mingyu.”
“It’s alright to just call me Mingyu.”
“I’m the one with the camera, shut it.”
Though, the man in question tries to find the right words, a goofy smile appearing on his features before extending his hands, as if further help himself explain. “Love is comfort? It’s what you expect, really. Ah…everyone thinks, at least once in their lives, that they are going to find someone and then, you just do.”
“Mingyu,” Yoona threatens, somewhat of a hiss to her tone. “What a bad answer.”
“It’s an answer!” He replies, widening his eyes and lifting his tone comically.
“And how did you know it was me?”
Mingyu pauses for a second, his lips joining together to give a tight-lipped smile before shrugging. “I just knew.”
###
13: RING.
“It’s recording.” A joyful voice, though belonging to a man, speaks from behind the camera before Mingyu lowers his weight to stand in front of the camera, taking off his black hoodie to wave.
“Hi,” Mingyu instructs, though the busy exterior must be getting him nervous, looking around before smiling sweetly. For one second, he looks like the modern version of a Prince. “I’m here today to buy Yoona an engagement ring. Seungkwan is recording me…and…yeah, I’ll just show you the process of me finding the perfect ring.”
Though, the man recording is more given to being on camera, turning it around and moving to Mingyu’s side so they are both in camera. His bright red hair and innocent features match his overexcited nature. “Welcome everyone. I’m here because my ring size is the same as Yoona’s. Mingyu and Yoona—”
Mingyu chuckles, hiding his hands behind his back before shaking his head. “This is not a broadcast, dude.”
“What do you know, Mingyu?”
The rest of the video displays memories of Seungkwan speaking into the camera and recording Mingyu as he picks the perfect ring. Rose gold with five diamonds, one that says costs him more than he even has and made him ask for money from all his group of friends.
Love has a meaning then.
###
14: I SAID YES.
This video is much shorter, though she can already recognize Seungkwan’s lively voice as he records the lovely couple. Yoona, with her bangs falling across her forehead, thin lips and big eyes stares up at Mingyu when she hugs him, his knees dusted because of his kneeling position in front of her. The ring dazzles against the light of the salon they all find themselves in—perhaps, some event, with pink balloons and golden decorations.
Mingyu, as happy as ever, wraps his arms around her waist, lowering his lips until they connect with hers. Not missing a bit, a smile appears over his features, as per usual with Yoona, but the woman only displays her ring to the camera.
“It’s finally happening!”
###
31: DELETE.
Yoona spends two good minutes talking about the wedding, the decorations, the elegance of her designer dress that she paid too much for. Definitely not in their ordinary room, the city twinkles darkly on the opened, spacious windows of the hotel they are staying in, the beige desk and the champagne curtains matching. Her hair is shorter, her voice different, fixing her eyelashes and her bangs as much as possible whenever she speaks.
Mingyu lowers his weight beside her, resting his cheek on her shoulder just as she is speaking, but she cuts herself off to look over her shoulder. “Mingyu…” Her voice lowers, taking his face in between her slim hands to look at his features. Ready for bed, he seems to be, dark bags surrounding his eyes and the figure of a shadow around his lips making Yoona shake her head. “You haven’t shaved and the wedding is tomorrow. What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
For someone’s whose language had been lively and lovely throughout the recordings, this surprises her. What happened to Yoona? Mingyu stares up at her, pushing his hair away from his face. “I’ll shave tomorrow,” His smile falls then, frowning up at her. “If I shave now, it’s not going to be perfect tomorrow.”
“You look disgusting with that rat on your face.”
“It isn’t even noticeable, come on.”
“Of course, it is!” Yoona complains, huffing when she leans back on her seat, bringing her knees up her chest as she has a stare-off with Mingyu. Before he could say anything, she interrupts him. “I don’t even know how I’m going to kiss you tomorrow with that thing—”
Mingyu stands up then, pointing at the camera as he snaps, getting away from the main screen. “It’s not like you do anything remotely nice anymore unless you’re recording us.”
Yoona looks over her shoulder, talking to Mingyu. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“The only moment you’re truly happy with me is when you’re talking to these nonexistent children of ours—”
“You said you wanted children, Mingyu.”
“…I do, but it’s—it’s not—to have children, you have to do more than just record the good parts of your relationship to show them just how perfect their parents were.”
Yoona scoffs, rolling her eyes while looking at the camera. “Well, I thought I had a perfect boyfriend, you see, but the more comfortable you get, the stupider you become.”
Mingyu stops on his tracks, moving over to the camera before placing one hand over it. Though, by the ministrations and the movement, Yoona seems to flick it off. “Turn that shit off.” He threatens, voice levelled, only to have her shaking her head. “Yoona, I said to turn that shit off. I’ve recorded every time you wanted, but it’s enough. We already—”
“Did I ask for your opinion, Mingyu?”
“I—”
“I didn’t ask, so keep it to yourself, okay?” The man actually listens, biting down on his bottom lip before rushing his hands through his hair a few times, grasping at his scalp one last time before moving over to the mattress. Yoona checks if he is around one more time before leaning her weight forward, resting her elbow on her desk. “Like I said, my dress is by Belle Epoque—”
Though, she can’t bring herself to watch any more of the last log, meant to be deleted.
###
In the middle of the night, lacking sleep yet raging insomnia like it is her job to blare thoughts inside her head as per musical notes, she figured out something. Nonsense is timeless, and staying in the far back of the stage, along with her companions, only to make Hyun shine the harshest is not what she imagined when moving out here. It’s not what she desired, and it’s not going to happen.
The instrumental of Jaehyo’s first solo runs through the empty stage, three hours earlier than Hyun could ever get to the practice room. The man gives a few steps forward, extending his arms on each side of his body as if to ask for instructions.
When calling her name, he adds: “I don’t know why we’re here.”
Though she pauses the instrumental, there is certainty in her voice, pushing her messy hair back, trying to unglue her eyelids that remain touched to the other because of her lack of sleep. One sip of caffeine should be enough for now. “It’s not fair that we’re getting pushed to the back when we have solos. Hyun shouldn’t be the main dancer of your solo.” She instructs, staring at Jaehyo’s surprised expression. “So, we’re preparing something else to show to Kaleigh.”
Jaehyo chuckles at her words, rubbing his hands against his face. “I don’t think she’s going to accept it.” He tells, letting go of his cheeks to add. “Hyun is, also, too much of a strict main for me to go against her just like that—”
“You’re thirty-five Jaehyo, grow up.” Her words come out harshly, days of standing Hyun’s verbal stabs catching up on her. Take for example Kim Mingyu, the God made Prince in the videos she watched. Gorgeous, elegant, somehow sweet, and yet, following through with a marriage that probably made him unhappy in the long run. She doesn’t have the time to lose the opportunity of shining. “…You’re excellent with choreography, and I can help with some of the vocals—”
“I think she’s right.” Sue says after slipping out from the back of the stage, the red curtains dragging over her body, much more energized than anyone in this room. “Hyun is the most talented of our team, but we are not Hyun and her little group of backup dancers. We are also characters.”
Nodding, she agrees. “Exactly.”
Jaehyo looks back towards Sue, then up again at one of the youngest of the team before rolling his finger in the air. “Okay, start the instrumental again. I think I can make up some new moves.”
Jaehyo’s body moves with precision, professionalism at its finest as he makes every step count into the road of heartbreak that his character finds himself to be in, driven by addiction, stopped by his reality. One arm forward, fingers curling with each word he says, notes hit at the same time that his lines are delivered. The talent in the room palpitates with what Kaleigh can’t see, a trio of people who would love to work with Hyun but end up down-casted by the light of her endless talents.
Hours pass by, and she is reminded why she started liking musicals on the first place. Seated on her grandmother’s lap, on the first row of Broadway musicals, staring at the dancers and the actors, the way a story could come to life with the three best versions of art. A nod of her head, a hum of her voice, a vibrato or two, a falsetto when she’s feeling brave…it all comes together with a version of When The Kids Go To Sleep that the world deserves to see.
Though, the middle of the morning hits with the entrance of another person. The doors open, closing harshly behind the culprit, interrupting the line that she is breathing into the air continued by elongated, quickened steps. When she stares ahead, past the rows of empty seats, she sees Hyun’s small face, her typical sport-like outfit cladding her immaculate body.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, newbie?” Hyun asks, not even conscious of her steps as she goes up the set of stairs and stands in front of her. The music comes to a halt thanks to Jaehyo, whom rushes down the stage with a jump and pauses the Bluetooth speakers, but she isn’t back down. Not with this bitch.
“Practicing, babe. What do you think I’m doing?”
“Ruining the musical, for example.” Her reply has her balling her fists. Not that she has ever been part of a physical fight—oh, but she has been close, and she thinks that if she can land a fake punch for a scene, a real one shouldn’t be that difficult. “…This part of the stage…” Hyun steps forward, tapping her shoes against the spot she was in, jutting her chest outwards to bring her back. “This is mine, and you have to earn this spot—”
“Stop it with the dramatics, God. We’re not in High School Musical, stop acting like a child.” She groans out, throwing her head back at Hyun’s antics.
“You say that because you’re just used to things going your way. So, the pretty little princess can’t get used to being shadowed for once.”
Sue takes this moment to step forward, placing her hands on both of their chests. “Hey, let’s stop this—”
“Fucking whatever celebrity passes by you didn’t work for you, and that’s your fault. Now, this is my dream, and you don’t get to ruin it because you feel like the attention is not on you for once.” Hyun continues speaking, lifting her voice with each moment that passes. Pushing Sue to the side, she gets closer to her, breaths mingling with the nonsense she is speaking into the air. What does she know about her past what the media says? Judgmental bitch.
“You don’t know me. Stop talking as if you do, bitch.”
“Oh, baby, a bitch?” Hyun asks, placing one hand on top of her chest before chuckling. “Ouch. What level of bitch? The usual, level one bitch or level ten, horny bitch like yourself?”
“Regret that.” She pushes, wrapping her fingers around Hyun’s shirt to bring her closer, only to watch the woman chuckle.
“What? You’re going to kiss me like you do with every little celebrity friend of yours?”
Fire bursts within her vision, not counting her breaths when her free hand comes forward and slaps the woman across from her straight on the cheek. Two steps back make her realize exactly what she did, Hyun’s smile faltering with the gasp that leaves her lips. Her chest heaves up and down, hand tingling and burning under the weight of her ministrations…but fuck, it felt good to shut her up for once.
The media has portrayed every mistake, blown it out of proportion, and made a mess out of her life. She was never judged as a normal person, but as the daughter of celebrities instead. It’s not fair for whatever the media portrayed to continue to follow her even when she’s trying to earn a name for yourself.
Sue exclaims at that moment. “Stop it, you two!” Resting one hand on Hyun’s shoulder, she helps her up only to have Hyun walking forward, ready to retreat the precious gift of pain. “Hey, no! Stop it!” Sue tugs Hyun by her small waist, trying to keep her in place.
“Who’s the bitch now?”
“I’m going to fucking kill you—”
“Stop it!” Jaehyo screams from his spot, coming towards the stage again. For someone who avoids arguments, he seems to be angered. “Let’s just…let’s just wait for Kaleigh to get here, practice, and forget this ever happened, okay? We’re a team, we’re not here to harass each other.”
Though, not a single word comes out of her lips, but a glare from Sue tells her that she needs to speak up. “Okay, I won’t do it again.”
Yet, when she turns around, tears weld up in her vision. A broken dream, her pride shattered, and a past that will follow her whether it is true or not…that’s what her life will always consist of, no matter where she runs up to.
###
First month in the new city, and the only thing that keeps her sane is the box filled with CD’s that she keeps inside her shelf, watching Mingyu’s face and smile whenever she needs to remind herself that there are good people in this world.
Sure, flowers don’t bloom in everyone, and what is shown on the recordings could be a bettered version of Mingyu. She knows what it is like to be portrayed as someone else in front of the cameras, after all. Yet, the rosiness of his tanned cheeks and the smile on his features speaks about something inexplicably thrilling. It makes her care about what happened after. Why would they leave all those CD’s behind, and had their marriage work?
Out of her thirteen neighbors, twelve don’t know a thing about him.
It’s a cycle, with the harsh sun confusing the endless wind falling on her back. One door opens, they welcome her into the neighborhood, ask her how she’s doing and they answer her questions.
Do you know who Kim Mingyu is? Yes, of course, he lived where you live right now.
Do you know what he does? No idea.
Do you know what happened to him, per chance? He left one day without saying a thing.
At this point, she may believe that Kim Mingyu was a ghost, and that was the reason why no one ever saw him leaving, or knew why he left. Confusion takes over her—for once, she doesn’t know why she is looking for the man that has brought her comfort for the past month, because nothing would come out of it. It’s not like she’s a fan of him, and will eventually end up meeting him and say: ‘Hey, watching your videos before your relationship fell apart made me feel better because you have such a welcoming, goofy personality’. Yet, there she is, standing in front of the final house of the block, ringing the doorbell on the pristine white walls.
A cat purrs once the doors open, escaping the confines of the home to twirl around her legs. The old woman in front of her, however, does not seem to mind her pet being so sweet, tugging at the edge of her long flowery dress, hunched over as she barely walks, a gray braid falling on her shoulder. A dulcet face, though much older than ninety, accompanies the lonesome woman who smiles at her presence.
“Oh, you’re the pretty girl that just moved in here, right?”
Well, that’s something new. She hasn’t heard much compliments ever since she got here—burn after hit, hit after burn, all coming from her endless hours of preparing for the first night of her musical, and the ones to come. “Depends on who you ask.” She jokes around, extending her hand to greet the woman in front of her. She outs her name into the comfortable atmosphere around them. “Yes, I’m the new neighbor. Nice to meet you…you have such a pretty home.”
“The smallest of the block, but the sturdiest.” The old woman gets out, able to capture anyone with her words. She leans her weight against the doorframe, a tired sigh leaving her lips. “Hye-Eun, that’s my name…and that’s my cat Rose.”
Kneeling down to scratch Rose right on her neck, she hums. “She’s so pretty.” The orange-furred cat seems to understand her, pressing her cheek against her knee before she looks away from her. “I’m sorry to interrupt, Mrs. Hye-Eun, but I have some questions about the previous owners of my house that no one has been able to answer me—”
“You’re not interrupting a thing. I was just watching TV.” Hye-Eun admits.
“I’m glad.” It’s all she seems to be doing these days, too. Not going out. Definitely not spending her time inspecting the city. Instead, she’s either practicing or tiredly lounging around the house. “…Do you happen to know what happened to Kim Mingyu, the owner of the house?”
Hye-Eun stops for a moment, bringing her hands up her nose to rub at it before smiling. “He was a cute one, wasn’t he?”
Heat takes over her features, for she does not shy away from any man…but the stranger has something in him that puts her heart inside a carrousel and gives it a million twirls. “Indeed.”
“He left the day after his wedding. I’d say…about a year ago.” Hye-Eun, for seemingly being so old, captures the date well. One squint of her eye keeps her going, trying to recall the details. “He didn’t leave with Yoona, though. I remember because he brought me some food before he left. Such a caring boy…”
Her judgement may not be the slightest bit wrong about him. A smile appears on her features when she takes Rose in between her hands, looking at the cat’s face for a second before continuing to rub over her fur. Very calm for a cat, actually. “What was he like?”
“Enchanting, really. He used to greet everyone, play around with the kids when he could…he is a photographer, so he took lots of pictures in our neighborhood.” Mingyu sounds much like the man in the recordings so far. Had Yoona been the only one pretending, or was that just a little fight in their relationship? “A little bit dumb, but the sweetest of men are like that. Though, forgetful, too, he never came around after leaving.”
She doesn’t know him and yet, at times, when she doesn’t see his videos for days, she starts to miss his smile. People around the neighborhood, or the ones that truly intertwined with him, must long for his presence. “Seems like his wife was a lucky one.”
“She was.” Though, Hye-Eun says something else about the woman… “Pretty, but too controlling. Mingyu was just too stupid to notice.”
Those words have the smile on her face faltering. “…Really?”
The relationship that she had judged as normal on the first place, now seems to fall on the weight of Yoona’s wrongdoings. “Yes.” Hye-Eun finalizes, nodding her head before smacking her lips together. “But I know nothing else. Sorry, honey.”
“No worries, Mrs. Hye-Eun.” She finalizes, giving Rose back to her owner before resting her hands inside the pocket of her jeans. A photographer, brand-new feelings blossoming with his marriage, Mingyu sounds like one hell of a picturesque man. “Thank you for your help. I’ll get going now.” With a bow, she turns around, ready to take off to her house, when Hye-Eun speaks from her spot.
“He’s a pretty one, isn’t he?”
She stops on her tracks, looking over her shoulders. “Pardon me?”
Hye-Eun rests a kiss on top of Rose’s old cheeks before she chuckles. “A woman doesn’t go around asking about a man through a neighborhood just because.” Though, she has some reason there, if Mingyu is a married man, why should she care? “…Watch out for that heart, honey.”
“Oh no, Mrs. Hye-Eun, I’m afraid you have misunderstood—”
“I haven’t.” The sweet woman says, a smile appearing on her rounded features. “…Just, be careful, okay? Mingyu is the kind of man anyone easily falls for.”
Crossing her fingers across her heart, she replies: “I promise those are not my intentions, ma’am.”
With a chuckle, Hye-Eun takes a hold of her door, ready to close it when she finalizes this conversation. “It’s not what you intend to do, but what you’re actually doing.” The door closes, and she watches Hye-Eun retreat with her cat.
Why is she looking for Mingyu on the first place? Perhaps, a part of her wants to meet him—see that smile from up close and ask what happened to his relationship.
But that’s not her issue, not her position to be in, and that’s the reality of life.
###
“How many times do I have to tell you not to add new steps to the choreography?”
The baby wipe rubbing against her skin stops her motions along with her hand, looking at Kaleigh’s reflection on the mirror, right next to hers. The white lights cast down on the entirety of the face, one half sporting the bruises and dirt on her character’s face, the other completely void of makeup. Kaleigh, however, looks as put-together as always, moving her glasses, holding her script to her chest and pursing her reddened lips when she raises her eyebrows.
“I thought it’d look better, sorry.” Though, Jaehyo and Sue do it at times as well, choreographies and lines that they have worked on behind Kaleigh. They never get repercussions, aiming to be the very best brand of musical actors, but in her case…it’s always a bad move. With the passage of time, her confidence in her talents has deflated. “It won’t happen again.”
“You say that all the time.” Kaleigh answers, looking down at her script with a sigh before flicking a few pages. “And you, still, can’t go to the front. Hyun has worked on her dancing and her physique more than you have, so…stay back.” Though words hurt her more and more each time, digging against her heart like a sword twisting and twisting, opening the wound with more force than the last time. Yet, she only nods, knowing better than going back home and proving everyone right about the curse that follows her family.
“I will.”
“…I don’t want to tell you this, but another mistake, and I’ll kick you out.” Kaleigh, always strict, finalizes with those words, not knowing how to be softer. Little did she know that she left her figure skater with a broken foot at home, only pushed into the train because everyone insisted on her following her dream. Miyoung is much better now, but she can’t follow after her dream anymore. She keeps going, but at what cost? Showing the people that love her that, for once, she is not just some celebrity’s family member?
More often than not, she wants to package her bags and go back home. Wrap her arms around Miyoung and cry for both of their dreams. Buried deep, aching, bleeding. Instead, she watches Kaleigh retreat towards Hyun, sharing a smile with the woman and words of endless praise that should be for her.
Not to be misunderstood. Hyun is as talented as a person can get, but her outward hate towards her and the rivalry she started out of nowhere affects her. What was once admiration towards Hyun now translates into anger, pulsing envy that has her looking to the side as Hyun downs her fifth energy drink of the night. Her pupils dilate, eyelids blinking rapidly, chest heaving for a second as her fingers twirl one against the other. She stares at herself in the mirror, far away from taking off her makeup, before releasing her lines once again under her breath.
She’ll give Hyun that she’s a hard worker, but more than five energy drinks in just one afternoon practice?
The recital is getting closer, pamphlets thrown around, social media presence starting—and the interviews will inherently come soon. Yet, Hyun seems to be under a lot of pressure, the strain of one of the notes she whispers into the thin air coming from endless hours of rehearsing. Main lead but still very much human.
She shouldn’t give a shit. Hyun can start peeing orange like the color of the energy drinks she is having, and she shouldn’t mind, but what does she do instead when leaning against her seat and looking to Hyun’s lonesome speech?
“I don’t think you should be drinking that many energy drinks.”
Hyun looks different when she looks over to her. Her eyes seem to be unable to close, bottom lip stuck in between her teeth, dragged across the surface before tilting her head to the side. “How about your start minding your own business?”
She shrugs. This is a woman, after all, and they may be miles apart personality-wise, but she can’t bring herself to look at Hyun ruin his own health just to function a few more hours on stage. “Well, it’s minding my business. I don’t want to be the one to take you to the ER when one of your kidneys explodes.”
Hyun scoffs, moving her hair away from her face before looking back at her reflection in the mirror. “I’d rather die than share a car with you.”
Why does she even try with this one? It’s clear that she won’t ever let herself be pampered, even when she worries about her health. “You know what? Invite me when that happens. The happiest day of my life, for sure.” She replies, rubbing on her face harshly, not caring if she takes off the entirety of her makeup before tossing her bag over her shoulder and getting off the chair.
When she gets out of her second home, the city welcomes her. Bustling lights, passing cars, the speech that never stops…and yet, she can’t bring herself to like it. She’s one hair away from losing it all—the opportunity of being in this musical, that is, bringing her character to life, but if she doesn’t lose that…her pride as a person will be stepped on.
God, she really needs to stop caring about the musical for once. Her character is different from who she is, and too much practice is about to make her turn out crazy.
Her phone comes up to her ear as she starts walking to the subway, calling one of her friends that live in the same city as her, hoping for an answer when she says:
“Drinks tonight, babe?”
“For sure!”
###
For once, she feels like herself. Stepping out of a taxi, with the night biting at her naked legs, and fashion cladding most of her body. A tight red skirt rests under her bright pink coat, the low neckline of her white shirt showing a sensual side of her that only the cameras had seen, back when she went out partying in her hometown. Lowering her sunglasses from her head to her eyes, she takes a bite of the pizza in between her fingers when her friend closes the taxi’s door behind them.
“This is the best lounge in the entirety of the city, trust me.” Dasom’s pink hair swishes with the wind in inexplicable ways, but the smile on her mischievous features only highlights when she wraps her arm around hers. Dasom had been having dinner with her just a few minutes ago, over some bottles of beer, when she decided a lounge would be much better for them. Music. Dance. Perhaps some people to talk for the night. “Besides, there’s a lot of high-end people here.”
She met Dasom while in high school, where the woman peaked thanks to a viral video on the internet. To this day, she is remembered for it, but her fame hasn’t gone much further. Education aside, she seems to just enjoy the moment. “Wait, can’t I finish my pizza?”
Taking the slice of pizza from her hands, the cheese and sauce concoction ends up on the sidewalk, thrown there by Dasom. “Stop eating. We’re going to have fun and help you forget about your image for once.”
Upon entering the lounge, clouds of red and blue merge together, music boosting the bass through the walls, people cheering with their glasses up in the sky, bodies clinging to one another in a dance. Somehow, it feels like a party, and Dasom never misses one of those. This night doesn’t seem to be the exception, her heels clicking against the black flooring with white speckles as Dasom moves her through the masses of people.
“You didn’t tell me it was going to be a party.”
“Never trust a Gemini.” Dasom instructs about herself before smiling softly. “We’re going to be fine,” She instructs, wrapping one arm around her shoulder before extending her hands to one of the tables. “My friends are over there. We’re going to grab some drinks. And we’re going to have a good time, isn’t that right?”
“…Well, I guess.” Finally, the hazed nature of her happiness comes through, following after the steps of someone more knowledgeable about nights like this. She needs to let go, feel as though she doesn’t care for one night, and if a few shots and shared laughter aims to do that, so be it.
Motions blur one with the other, alcohol passing by her throat, numbing it with each taste. She winces most of the time, but the smile after the hiss is worth it. Pictures come from the night, though she doesn’t know who she is posing with, loving the pineapple in cocktails and the way her body swings as though the denim never restricted her legs. The night casts its light on her, the starring role of a movie that she doesn’t quite remember—but damn, it’s a good time. For once, she doesn’t have to think.
The bad thing about sudden, palpitating happiness is that it dissipates in the matter of seconds. Shots of alcohol are a distraction, not a source of dopamine.
“Dasom!” She shouts her friend’s name, stomach hunching as she steps away from the groups of people. There are a bunch of people with rosy hair in here, or maybe, she is too drunk to tell who her friend is. Her hands wrap around a handle, apologizing when coming in contact with the steady and strong body of the body guard before stepping on the sidewalk, hurling forward until she empties the contents of her stomach.
Yeah…alcohol is not her thing.
One of her earrings falls down, a wince following the action before she spits on the floor. She doesn’t feel any better, and she imagines she’s going to be here for another second. Her hands rest on her thighs, letting the world see her and the cars passing by on her worst of states. Worst of ideas, it was, but she can’t quite regret it when she’s beyond tipsy.
Someone rests their hand on the sleeve of her coat, pulling it up her shoulder before patting her back. Sobs rip from her mouth, lungs contracting and breaths suffocating with the sickness that revolves her stomach. A soft, yet somewhat confused, voice talks to her, rubbing circles on her back in the process.
“Hey, everything is going to be alright. Just breathe.”
Tears mix with her mascara, touching down to her worn-out lipstick as she breathes out: “I—I can’t…I feel so sick.”
This is a man that is talking to her, she can tell that much, but when he fixes her tangled hair from her earrings and continues to speak words of comfort to her, she can’t figure out anything else. A lisp is there, that’s all she can tell. “Oh no. You’ve drank too much.” Unsure of what to say or do, from her peripheral vision, she can see the man looking around the streets. Brown hair, glasses, and a black cardigan, but she doesn’t remember anything else. “I’m here with you. Calm down.”
Before she could say anything else, her stomach lifts its contents and she brings her weight forward once again.
From the faint distance, she can hear a small ‘ew’ from the man.
“Shit. Are any of your friends here?” With the smallest of nods, the man complies with another question. “W—What’s her name?”
“Kang Dasom.”
“Kang Dasom. Kang Dasom. Okay. Okay, I can do this.” More-so talking to himself, the man retreats from his spot beside her. Gone, like everyone, leaving the drunken, sobbing mess that is herself at this moment, it’s not a surprise that he left her to go find her friend. However, his actions say otherwise. “Hey, guard! Can you go look for Kang Dasom inside? I can’t leave her alone.”
Once again by her side, she wraps her fingers around his taut forearm, lifting her gaze for one second, but unable to make out a figure of his blurred features. “I’m sorry.”
“No, no. Don’t be.” The man in question instructs, slipping his backpack off one shoulder before taking out a bottle of water, flimsily giving it to her. “Take a few sips, please.”
She does as he says, letting the cold liquid go down her abused throat, the man’s warm fingertips rubbing the tears away from her cheeks before she sighs. “…Thank you. I must look so…wacky.”
At the adjective she uses, the stranger chuckles. “It’s a new fashion trend, don’t worry.”
Smiling lazily, she hears the sound of the door opening, her name breathed out by a worried tone. “Oh my God, sweetie! I couldn’t find you anywhere!”
Dasom’s arms wrap around her body, not caring that she is smelly, just vomited, and that she’s head over heels drunk. “It’s okay…” She breathes out, feeling her stomach calm down at the touch of the lulling water, but Dasom pulls away to look at her.
“It’s not okay! God, anything could’ve happened to you…”
The stranger speaks in a low tone, playing with whatever is hanging from his neck. A necklace? A camera? A bag? She can’t tell. “I have to go back to work. Is everything going to be alright?”
Dasom looks at the man for one fraction of a second before humming. “We’ll be fine, thank you.” Though, she doesn’t get enough time to say anything to the stranger with the familiar voice, instead sucking in a breath when Dasom takes her by the waist and drags her towards the edge of the sidewalk, eyes already trained on her phone. “I’m going to call our taxi. We need to take you back home.”
The night wasn’t so bad, at least, for she realized there are still good people in this world.
###
All her life she has lived in the backseat, now she realizes.
Shadows of mistakes, people in other cars able to see her, but with the motion, she never captured a glance of them. People judged her, but they never stopped to see the real image, the driver and where it was taking her, how the road was and how the breeze could change the trees, the weather, and the time when everything happened. It’s not what she signed up for, but it’s the only thing she has known.
She knew the media before she even knew what a friend was. Learned how to look at the camera even before she learned how to speak to someone while staring at them face-to-face. Her name was said by other people, strangers at that, before she even knew how to spell it or write it. It’s not what she desired, but she keeps going. Her hands extend to continue with her dance routine, stepping forward just for one second, knowing that this is the only moment to shine. One of the few moments she is not the little girl everyone expected the worst from.
Look at what you’ve become, she wants to tell herself. You’re halfway through being an artist.
One day until her first performance in front of the crowd, and she’s ready to take it like a champion. Good or bad reviews, whatever happens is the source of her hard work—rather, it’s outcome. Her sneakers dig into the stage. Her stage that she shares with amazing people, and if twenty seconds of singing is all she gets, it’s what she is going to hold onto.
Upon reaching her mark, she feels a log—a leaf in her road to autumn. Her body proceeds to fall upon losing her balance, knees digging into the wood, creating dents in the skin, burning at the touch when her hands expand to stand her weight. Her chin hits the floor, but the masked laughter that comes from the person by her side shows the culprit. Baby blue sneakers, toned legs, and that malice that conceptualizes.
Kaleigh stops the music, fixing her glasses before sighing deeply. “Are you trying to kiss the floor?”
She sits up at that moment, her fingers pointing at Hyun by her side. Supposed to be her companion in this scene and yet, destroying everything that drives her to her dreams. “Ask the one that jutted her leg forward so I could trip.”
“I didn’t do such thing.”
Kaleigh, as always, backs her up. “I didn’t see her putting her leg forward.” Before she could defend herself any further, let the fire of the stress burn through Kaleigh’s serious expression, the woman is already looking behind her, speaking to the dot of a man that she can’t perceive at the last row of the practice place. “Are the pictures coming out fine? I don’t want people to see our cast on the floor.”
The more she proceeds in life, the more she realizes she is the only one that can bring herself up, dust her knees before anyone could even put a finger over her. It’s better this way. The photographer gets away from the shadows, lowering the Canon from his face before nodding slowly. “I’m getting good shots. Thank you for worrying.”
That lisp. If she moved her head any faster, she would have gotten whiplash. Upon watching the man’s face, she feels as though the Earth swallows her whole. Rounded face, toned body, his ears hidden by his beanie, glasses propped on the bridge of his nose, thin lips and that melodious smile. A bit silly at times, but yet, so enchanting on him.
“Ah,” Mingyu gets closer to the stage, standing by the edge before extending his camera towards her. Yes. Her. Why in the hell can’t she move? Men shouldn’t have this kind of effect on her. Anyone, really. “I want you to check your pictures with me, just in case you don’t like…the way you look or something. The expressions! Yes, that’s what I’m trying to say.”
Good, because she almost thought for a moment that he was trying to say: ‘Hey, your pictures are looking ugly. Can you check and tell me if you’re alright with them?’.
Finally, she steps forward, her legs dangling when she rests her bottom on the stage. “Sure.” Mingyu stands by her side, looking at her profile for a second before returning his gaze to his thick Canon camera, flickering through the pictures he had taken. Bright, with good poses, the angles fitting for every subject of his camera. “I like them.”
“This is the one from when you fell,” Mingyu instructs, making a circle around Hyun’s stuck-out leg. “And she did stick her leg out.”
“Well, I’m not crazy.” She says, rolling her eyes in the process before linking her hands over her lap. Mingyu looks at her, and for some reason, she feels like she knows him. After all, she saw a portion of him not a lot of people got to see—more mature, he seems to be, void of a glistening band around his finger. Perhaps, he just doesn’t like rings at all.
Mingyu looks up and down her features, long eyelashes fluttering against the underside of his eyes before smiling briefly. “Not crazy, but very drunk at times.”
Huh?
Drunk?!
“Excuse me?” She asks, because there is no way in hell Mingyu has seen her or gotten to know her, much less be aware of her when drunken—
Mingyu leans his weight against the stage, elbows propped back as he talks to her. “You don’t remember me?”
From the CD’s? Yeah. From a drunk night? Hell no. “…What do you mean?” She won’t quite in fact confess that she does remember him.
Roses grow on his cheeks, shaking his head when looking down at his camera. “Well, we were at the Urban Lounge. I was taking pictures, and just as I was about to head inside once again with my new film, I saw someone throwing up in the sidewalk. Crying, too.” Oh no. Oh please, don’t let this be the truth— “I decided to help you find your friend Kang Dasom, and then, I returned to the party.”
“Oh no.”
“Oh, yes.”
What are the odds that the sweet man that had rubbed her back when vomiting, was also the same man that helped her with her anxiousness each day when getting home from practice? There can’t be that many good people in this world, but Mingyu couldn’t be two of the nice people she had gotten to know in this city.
Or, rather, he was.
“Nothing to be ashamed of. We have all been there.” Mingyu stops for a moment, pressing his lips together, rubbing them, before releasing his words. “Me more than others, but it’s nice to be the one helping for a change.”
More souls like his should exist in this world. “Ugh, I can’t believe you saw me like that.” She groans, lowering her head until her neck hangs it. Mingyu chuckles from his spot, only to build the tension inside of her. The man in the recordings had seen her like a whole mess, and found it funny at that. Wow. “…You know, not a lot of people can say that they have seen me like that.”
“Not a lot of people see someone throw up before they actually know their names, but alas, here we are.”
“What a way to make a lady feel better.”
Mingyu’s smile falters the slightest bit at that, extending his hand before saying. “Hello, I’m Mingyu, but in this occasion, you can call me a dumbass.”
Funny, he is, enough for a smile to rake over her features even when her elbows and knees hurt. She speaks her name out, letting his professional and soft fingers caress against her own in a shake. Long digits, perfect for photo-taking, but horrible to think about when she remembers he is possibly married.
“I was joking. Don’t worry about it.” Instead, she hears her name being called, Kaleigh with her hands on her hips, waiting for her to return to the stage. “…Uh, I kind of have to get back to work.”
Now, she realizes the thing that dangled from the man at the lounge’s neck was his camera, the strip giving him more leverage when he nods at her. “I do, too.”
“Nice to meet you, Mingyu.”
Nice to meet you, again, maybe.
“Likewise.”
Though, she feels someone stare behind her when she turns around and gets back on her spot, she tries not to think much of it. He may be trying to get a good picture of the one figure in the shadows that is her.
###
Fourteen hours for the first performance of When The Kids Go To Sleep.
Fourteen hours and in the solitude of that stage, with only one light on, everyone from the staff gone to their homes, she feels the most like a star. In this stage, right at this moment, it feels like a star will be born.
The lyrics to the final song repeat themselves from her lips. She knows them by heart, the reason as to why she moved here on the first place, and with her hands gathering all the emotions in the air only to press them to her chest, she feels like she is five percent more ready for the night after. Or, actually, tonight—midnight, it is, and she still hasn’t left the practice room.
Everyone is gone, what is the worse that could happen?
Just as she moves to another spot, keeping the tempo and the rhythm of her feet, a thud interrupts her. Loud, clear, as if someone had opened the door and jumped on the floor. She halters her step, watching the locked doors with a frown on her features. If that door wasn’t open, then how had the sound appeared on the first place?
Her vocal cords close, swallowing thickly as she looks around the stage. If this is a robber, she needs to find something to defend herself with. An umbrella rests at the edge of the stairs, the one she had brought with herself on the rainy morning, cladded in Winnie The Pooh logos on a baby blue background. One step down the stairs and she hears it again, that thud, followed by the incomprehensible set of words the robber says.
Fuck. Someone’s here.
Someone is here and she had not even noticed.
Precision in her walk, she goes over to the hallway to the left of the entrance door, where the noises get louder as she gets closer to the storage rooms and bathrooms. One step forward, followed by her next leg, keeps moving her towards the culprit of the noise, both hands grabbing onto the body of the umbrella with a plan inside her head. She’ll knock this motherfucker down for scaring her that way.
The robber has some sense of humor, however. When she stands in front of one of the storage rooms, the door half-opened, the sound of one Eminem song escaping his lips becomes the main source of speech in this room. Who the hell sings an Eminem song when stealing?
The world is made out of colors and opinions. Maybe, this robber found it fitting.
She opens the door with one swing, lifting her umbrella well up in the air before knocking it against the robber’s head, the smack welcomed by a groan and a whine from the stealer.
“I’m going to call the police—” The robber turns around, both hands cladding his head, his brown hair sticking out at certain spots, a confused glance in his eyes. Well, so that is why the robber was singing Eminem…because it wasn’t a robber at all. “Mingyu?”
Blame it on her sleep deprivation. Yes. That’s it.
“Ouch?” Mingyu utters out, separating the word in syllables just as she reaches forward, rubbing the portion of his head that she just hit.
“I’m sorry. I thought it was someone trying to steal from me and kill me—”
“Who sings while stealing?” Mingyu questions, finally lifting his gaze and straightening his body. His eyes connect to hers, and she finally realizes just how much of a bitch paranoia is.
“I don’t know. I’m sure they enjoy music, as well.”
Mingyu looks at her for a second, blinking, silenced, until laughter escapes his lips. Shortened, at that. “You should consider changing your career path. That arm?” The man flings his arm back and forth, as if pretending to receive the ball from a pitcher in a baseball game. “Perfect for a baseball player.”
Crossing her arms over her chest, she grins. “What were you even doing here, oh-so-funny-man?”
The man in question waves his camera in the air, clearing his throat soon after. “Checking the pictures and the videos to see which ones I should take tomorrow.” Right, he probably was preparing for the big night as well. “You’re doing great, by the way. I could hear you from here.”
It’s been a while since she has believed she has done great. Her umbrella becomes her axis, resting it on the floor as she leans on it, a sigh leaving her lips. “I still have a long way before I get to Hyun’s level.”
A bright star under a roof, that’s how Hyun was going to be perceived, while she was going to be one twinkling firelight passing by. Mingyu bites the inside of his cheek, moving towards her with careful steps. “Hey, it’s not a competition…” He tries to make her feel better, as per usual with Kim Mingyu for what she has realized from his videos, but she shakes her head, chuckling in the process.
“God, I’m making it too serious.” She rolls her eyes. After all, Mingyu is a complete stranger. It’s not like he knows that she has seen one of the most private portions of his life in video. “But yes, you’re right. It isn’t supposed to be a competition, but it’s what Hyun has made it so…”
“Then, win.” Mingyu concludes, his lips lifting to the left in a smirk.
She quirks one eyebrow, tilting her head to the side. “Easier said than done.”
“Like everything, but just wait, people will see the same thing I did today.” His eyes trail down her features, chuckling a bit to himself out of awkwardness before clearing his throat. One step back, and the electricity is cut short. “Your pictures came out fine, too. I’ll make sure to do a great job tomorrow.”
“You’re going to be the photographer for the rest of the play?”
“From time to time. As long as I’m not gigged, I’ll be here.” Mingyu replies, placing the strap of his camera’s bag on his shoulder before sighing. “I’ll go catch up on some sleep now. You’re staying here until the morning or do you want me to call you a taxi?”
Tiredness lingers on her body, but she can’t bring herself to sleep. Not when she is one step closer to either fulfilling or destroying her dream. Opening the door for him, she shakes her head. “I’ll stay here until the morning.”
“You sure?”
“I have to practice.”
“If you say so…” He trails, stepping out of the door and walking alongside her before speaking up again. “You know everything is going to be fine, right?”
One look at his profile and suddenly, the warmth that makes place inside her body lets her feel so. Being alright is something she hasn’t considered in the past month of pushing herself to utter perfection, but maybe, it isn’t so far away.
“I think so, too.”
Sprinkles of rain patter against the sidewalk when Mingyu opens the entrance door, swirls of air moving his hair before he places his beanie on top of it once again. Before he could step outside, his hand grabs the handle of the door, sharing a glance with her when saying:
“I hope to see you again.”
With that, just like a leaf through the wind, he flies away.
###
Success tastes like honey.
The magic of being on stage in a musical is that she doesn’t see anybody, but she feels them. The silence that merges into cheers, the faint gasp from someone on row three, or the flash of a camera from someone who wants to capture this moment for when they feel like going back down the stage of nostalgia. Critics scatter around the place, but she can’t vision them, maybe for the better. With shred clothing, bruises and tiredness painted on her skin, she is her character, and whatever her past said about her no longer exists here.
The only thing that lacks are her loved ones, somewhere else in the country, living their lives while she constructs her own. Jaehyo does an imminent job in catching people’s attention with his dance, though not in the center, and Sue does not fall behind with her immaculate acting skills. Hyun, the star of the night, receives attention as deserved. Sure, she is not the most beautiful of people on the inside, but her talent is outraging.
When her bare feet come in contact with the center of the stage, sharing it with Hyun, she spares one look towards the groups of people. First row, with his dark hair absentmindedly pushed away from his face, a black, oversized t-shirt cladding his body and matching his ripped jeans, Mingyu is squatting down to get the perfect shot. The dimmed lights do not let her see the beauty of him, but the camera is pointing towards her, and she relishes on it.
Mingyu’s camera does her justice, after all.
By the time the musical is over, a smile takes over her features, backstage and hearing the standing ovation, blood pumping, hands jittery, and heart on her sleeve when she goes over to Jaehyo and wraps her arms around him with emotions bubbling up on her bloodshot eyes. She really needs to sleep.
The older man’s arms end around her waist. “We did it, Jaehyo! It was a success!” Jumping up and down on his hold, Jaehyo chuckles at her antics.
“Calm down, calm down, it’s only the first night.” Jaehyo whispers, pulling away with a lazy smile on his face. “…But it was one hell of a good first night. Pizza for celebration?”
“You know it!”
The next fifteen minutes consist of taking pictures, trying her best not to concentrate on the photographer or on the hunger that creeps up her body, unable to smile as brightly if it wasn’t for Mingyu. Lacking sleep, needing a nice, fulfilling meal, it’s no wonder that she had not slept a single minute in the past forty-eight hours. Maybe, that’s why she is a bit bummed when Mingyu doesn’t say a thing to her, continuing with his job with utmost professionalism.
Some children gather to take pictures with the cast, unknowingly filling her heart with pride. In one point of her life, she was like them, eager and excited to get the attention of her favorite characters. The magic of theater is that characters, and actors alike, are not unreachable to the watcher. It’s a live source of magic.
Jaehyo is off to greet the deliveryman outside by the time thirty minutes have passed. Her makeup wipes run across her skin, ready to take off the excessive amount of makeup on her skin and exchange it for breathing pores and comfort. She stops looking at her reflection to hunt for someone with the mirror, scanning the room unbeknownst to the rest of the people there. Mingyu’s thighs extend when seated at the edge of one of the vanities backstage, clicking through the pictures as one of the children talks to him. Mingyu seems to be intently listening to the child, but when he looks for something from the corner of his eyes, she feels his gaze on hers.
Her eyes trail down his toned arms, the expansion of his thighs, seeking for the art in him as if she is DaVinci and he is the Mona Lisa. A smile appears on her features, straightening her back and leaning her weight forward to continue to rub her makeup off, not forgetting to make herself look the best as possible. At least, he’s looking.
Yet, she shakes that thought away—he shouldn’t be looking. As far as she knows, he could still be with Yoona.
A hand extends on top of her shoulder seconds after, rubbing at the skin softly, as if giving her a massage, before breathing out her name in that somewhat deep, harmonious tone of his. “…Wasn’t so difficult to steal the show, wasn’t it?”
For someone who is not a good talker in most occasions, the line has her beam widening. “You’re joking.”
“No,” Mingyu says, dragging one seat to her side, the plastic chair making him look smaller next to her, for her artist’s chair is much taller. His legs expand, interlocked hands settled in between his thighs, and she really should stop looking at those—
Her eyes go up.
“Want to look at your pictures?”
She puts the makeup wipe down, running her fingertips on top of her eyelashes to check if there is any leftover mascara there. Clean. All the makeup is off. “Is that the only conversation we are ever going to have? My pictures?”
“We should.” Mingyu mumbles out, frowning his features in confusion before his eyebrows shoot up, realization falling upon him. “Not that I don’t want to talk to you about anything else! Shit, that sounded like such—. Yes, we can talk about something else.”
The smell of thick sauce, melted cheese and corn has her turning towards the red curtains, watching Jaehyo slip inside before giving her the box of pizza that belongs to her. Thanking him softly, she opens it on top of the vanity, pointing at it as she talks to Mingyu. “Help yourself. I haven’t had one of these since the night at the bar.”
Mingyu stands up, hovering over her to be able to get a piece, and she tries her hardest not to bite her lip at the vision of his profile. Definitely crafted by an artist, he is a sculpture made person. “And yet, here you are, eating it again.”
“It may be our thing now.” She replies, leaning back on her seat to watch Hyun downing yet another energy drink, hands contracting against each other, her expression turned somber. “Hey, Hyun!” She calls out, only to have the woman frowning at the sound of her voice and turning her head to the side.
“What do you want?”
“I asked Jaehyo to bring you some pizza. Tell him to—”
“I won’t have it.” Hyun finishes, picking up her purse and throwing it over her shoulder. “…Thank you.” She utters, though she doesn’t stay for long, opening the red curtains and getting away from the actors’ spot.
She doesn’t know why she tries. Maybe, because she thinks the tension between Hyun and herself could be the downfall of the musical, but Hyun is just too thick mentally. “How did this whole rivalry start?” Mingyu says, taking the first bite of his slice before he huffs slightly, trying to cool down the piece that is inside his mouth. Even with his lips half-parted, eyes widened, there is some cuteness to him.
Pressing the pizza up to her lips and biting on it, she shakes her head. “I have no idea.” She replies. “…Are we playing questions now?”
Mingyu shrugs. “Only if you have some.”
“About you? Endless.” She says, leaning forward until she is face to face with Mingyu, taking all in her not to look down at his lips. “When did you start taking pictures?”
“When I was seventeen,” Mingyu says, not backing down the slightest, yet chewing on his meal with expertise. He must have been hungry, as well. “One of my best friends needed some money, so he was trying for modelling gigs. Needed a portfolio and all…so I took pictures of him.”
“Did modelling work for him?”
“Almost.” Mingyu says, finalizing his pizza with one big bite, taking a napkin and pressing it to his lips before continuing after swallowing his food. “Soonyoung is good, my friend. Just…he’s shy, I guess? He didn’t see his potential then, doesn’t do it now. That’s just what happened.”
“Something good came out of it, though. You’re a great photographer.”
“Thank you.” With heated cheeks, he answers. “What about music for you? Or acting…or dancing? Like, musical stuff is just too much. I don’t know how you do it. I can barely walk and talk at the same time.”
Chuckling, she sighs, taking another slice of pizza. A string of cheese follows her first bite. “Uh,” She starts, pondering on exactly what to say. “My family has always been…well, famous. For the longest while, I thought I was going to be anything but famous, like…I don’t know, a teacher or something.” She may like children, but patience is not her biggest of virtues. “But I had no option than to be in the spotlight. Got my first acting gig in a doctor’s show, and I started to like it since then.”
“You were in TV?”
“I was patient number three. That was my character.”
Mingyu laughs joyfully, like he doesn’t care the slightest bit about what the world thinks of him—every particle of this world belongs to him and gives their attention to the beauty of his existence. “Oh, look at that, that’s my favorite character of all time.”
“Want me to give you an autograph?”
Pretending to take off his shirt, Mingyu replies: “On my boobies, please.”
“You did not.” She counterparts, doubling over in laughter at his behavior. “You better have a good set.”
“A good set of what?”
Curling her fingers in the air, she replies: “Boobies, as you called them. I call them titties.”
“Look at me ruining my own joke.”
“Lost the comedic timing, but don’t worry, that happens.” For one second, she inspects the glisten of the cheese on top of pizza, licking her lips with curiousness guiding her actions. “…Your girlfriend must like your jokes, Mingyu.”
Now, let’s see exactly what happened with Yoona. Or Kim Yoona. They should be married at this point. Mingyu runs his free hand through his hair, leaning back on his seat and crossing one leg over the other. “My friends do, but I don’t have a girlfriend to tell my jokes to.”
“…Huh?”
“Surprising?” Mingyu questions, though there is not an ounce of cockiness in his words.
“Very.”
“Why’s that?”
Pointing at the mirror, she says: “Take a look there and then, you’ll know why I wonder you don’t have someone with you.” Also, because he was one day from getting married in the last recording of the box. What had happened? Perhaps, he had been stood up, or they cut the wedding short. Or, even worse, Yoona had been the one left at the altar—
Mingyu chuckles at that moment, grease glistening on his lips, licking them to press them together. “Thank you.”
Sue comes around at that moment, sporting much more simplistic clothes and holding her box of pizza in between her hands. “We’re going to grab dessert and drinks, want to join us?” Jaehyo stands by her side, munching on his meal, and they are two angels at that moment. Kim Mingyu is single, wanting to get to know her, and maybe, hiding the fact that she knew about his relationship a little bit longer won’t do her any wrong.
She looks over at him, shrugging. “I wouldn’t mind. Want to come with us?”
“I have to take care of you if you drink, don’t I?”
“Oh, don’t be too confident.” She says, standing up and picking up her coat, closing the box of pizza in the process. “I may be the one taking care of you.”
Imitating her tone of voice, Mingyu says: “I wouldn’t mind.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.” Mingyu repeats, looking down at her lips before returning his gaze towards Jaehyo and Sue. “Let me grab my camera.”
###
Exquisiteness is divine. Pearls in the bracelets around her wrists, a nice dress cladding her body, and the taste of the most delicious of meals, washed away by the concoctions of a chef. The summer nights passed long ago, but the newest era of success has come to her now. Third night, not in a row, of her introduction to the musical world, and each time she sees Mingyu, they end up hanging out after. At first, it was with Jaehyo and Sue, then, it was backstage…and now, she has brought him to a four-star-restaurant, one of the most expensive in the city.
The white ceramic of the plate she is eating from leaves imprints of Ratatouille on its wake, interrupting her speech about one of her childhood memories in order to catch a glimpse of the source of the flash hitting her face. This is familiar—whenever she held hands with one of her family members as a child, someone would take the opportunity to bring a camera up her face, judge her for how she was going to turn out to be without really knowing her. Basking in money, she thought she’d never care—but she did. Having people comment on her from the moment she was born played with her mind far more than she comments.
Beauty of the soul is never enough for them. In a world like this, people can’t be pure.
But with Mingyu, she feels the purest. His eye squints as he takes a picture of her, barely touching his food, as he’d say…embarrassed that she is paying for such an expensive meal. Yet, he deserves it. Sent from heaven, bathed in the golden speckles of destiny, bringing light to the most mundane of activities. He petrifies memories, and what an irony it is, that what she ran away from the most as she was growing up is his biggest passion.
She licks her lips, half-laughing at his antics. “Did you just take a picture of me?”
“You get a very pensive look on your face when you think about the past.” Perhaps, because it hurts her. Racing cars, lovers that didn’t last more than a week, memories of self-love that plaster on what other people thought of her. Young, rich and pretty doesn’t cut it in this world. “S—Sorry, I interrupted you, didn’t I? You were talking about the last time you went to Los Angeles—”
“It doesn’t matter.” She whispers, rubbing her fingers together to take the perspiration away from her skin. “Life is monotone when you’re somewhat famous. You do the same thing over and over again, pretending like it makes you happy.”
“Is that why you moved here?”
In reality, it was the addition of a few things. Her break-up. Her dream. Her opportunity. And running away. “What’s funny is that I didn’t even know what I would do once I moved here,” She replies, shrugging her shoulders after. “My best friend, Miyoung, I talked about her with you…she’s a figure skater, and she was supposed to attend the Olympics this year, but she broke her foot two days before I left. I thought that was the big sign for me not leaving.” Thoughtfully, she thinks back to the phone call she received in the middle of the night above a month ago. Miyoung had not rested the slightest, leading to an injury and sooner than later, a broken foot. Turns out that she would not be able to perform the same way she did before. “…But Miyoung told me it was quite the contrary, that it worked as a push-over for me to get here. According to her, it was my only chance to get a name for myself.”
“You’re on your way there.” Mingyu says, though her rests his camera on his lap, tasting the meal in front of him. “…I didn’t know about your family history or about you before, but I think people will start to recognize you as your own person soon.”
Hopefully, she can only think. “You know what?” She questions. Throughout the entirety of her time there, through the videos she had seen with Mingyu starring in them, an idea had crossed her head— “I think I’d be my happiest if I was just another person into this world. Like you.”
Mingyu shakes his head. “You’re crazy.” He tells her. “Exchanging money, power and success for…being like me?”
“I happen to think you’re a very good person.”
“Kind of.” Mingyu confesses, covering his mouth when he laughs: “But the day I’m gone from this world, no one will remember me. You can leave a mark on people’s lives.”
“So can you!”
“Probably to my children in the future, but not—”
“Listen, Mingyu—” Her words cut short then. How can she say this without outing what will inherently make him mad? “You’ve left your mark on people, I am sure.”
“It’s not the same.” His eyes shine under the golden chandeliers. Young ambition takes over him. “You’ll be legendary. I’ll be remembered by my neighborhood.”
“Maybe, we could exchange.”
“Or we could meet in the middle.” Mingyu conquers, and she likes that even more. Two souls that are clearly different but dance in the middle. Her leg extends forward, brushing against his skin, because she has seen this scene a few times in her life—romance in the form of getting to know each other, but for now, she doesn’t want to care about the outcome. Fuck the introduction or the conclusion, the development is always the best part.
“You know what I want to do?” She asks, the music in the background changing into some typical jazz tune, just as she hovers over the table, face to face with him.
You, she wants to tell him, instead, she looks into his eyes, Mingyu’s expression turning serious, cutting the tension with one of his smiles. “I don’t read minds.” He says. “Tell me?”
“I want to take pictures of you.” She replies, hang reaching for the camera on his lap, trying to understand the garment when she goes back to her seat. Pulling it up to her face, she squints one eye just like he does. She only needs to focus on him, right? “And keep them.”
“Why?” Mingyu asks, though, she can see him softly changing his pose, as to look more relaxed and camera-ready. Well, he does like a bit of attention.
“I want to remember the person that makes me believe there are still good people in this world.” The camera flashes when she takes a first picture, leaning back on her seat to capture more of his body in that black turtleneck and the necklace that wraps around his body. Tanned skin, brown hair, and a beautiful smile when she says those words.
“You haven’t known me for long enough to judge that, you know?”
“Then, give me the benefit of getting to know you more.”
A glimpse of his eyes connecting with hers on the camera has her smiling. “I’ll gladly give it to you.”
At the mention of those words, she lifts her eyebrows, another picture and her mind wander towards to possibilities. “What will you give me? The benefit of getting to know you? Just that?”
“You want more?”
“…It’s enough.”
Mingyu leans forward, his face coming in full view in the camera when he snatches it away from her hold, before whispering. “I was going to say I could give you everything you want, but seeing that just knowing me it’s enough…I’ll accept it.”
God. This man will be the death of her.
###
Two weeks in and not seeing Mingyu feels like it’s almost impossible. They gravitate towards each other—polar opposites that meet in the middle. His steps are heard as she keeps her hand to his, dragging him along over the lineal rug of the hotel they visited—for the pool, which Dasom said was the best—, baby blue doors compared to white walls, the faint swish of the pool nearby making music for the two of them to hear.
“Mingyu, hurry up!”
The fabric of her yellow dress caresses her legs, needing nothing more than to feel like she is living in summer, while the wind clashes with its coldness. Hopefully, the pool warms her body. Mingyu pulls her backwards by the white cardigan draped over her body, connecting his chest to her back. With each breath he takes, her own lungs shake, his voice lowering to speak against her ear.
“What’s the rush?” He asks, the few buttons opened of his floral shirt meeting her contracted muscles. “If I really went as fast as I can go, you wouldn’t be able to keep up.”
That’s the thing with Mingyu—he says the worst of things, in the situations that have her skin heating up, her mind going to places it shouldn’t. Not when he makes her feel like nobody else has done, as if scalding her fingertips to touch him would be worth it. Just before he could apologize, like he always does, because Mingyu just can’t say one thing without fucking up, she looks at him from over her shoulder. “Try me.”
A huff escapes his lips, wrapping both arms around her waist when picking her up and starting to rush through the hallway to get to the swimming pool.
“Mingyu—” Cackles leave her lips, legs flaring because he is just not looking forward. At least, not properly. “We could fall!”
“I’ll catch you if that happens—”
“You don’t know that!”
Floating in the clouds, somewhere beyond the universe, she lets her laughter speak for her. Never would she trust someone with this, but this is Mingyu she is talking about. The man that opens his heart without much thinking. “I promise I won’t let you fall. Just tell me when the swimming pool is close.”
Patting his arm, the toned skin coming in contact with her hand, she says: “Now, now! We’re close—”
Mingyu lets go of her after releasing her on the floor with a thud, turning around to watch the smile on his face when he puffs out his chest and adds: “See? I would never let you fall.”
“Not scientifically proven, so I’m not sure if I can believe you.”
“…You’re so annoying.” Laughing, she places her hands on each side of Mingyu’s body. She needs to get back to him, steal chuckles from his lips, so with one step back, she prepares for the biggest surprise of all. “Do you want me to turn around so you can take off your dress or—?”
Another step back and they are both falling inside the pool, dragged by her own weight.
Warm water bubbles around her, unable to open her eyes until her lungs receive air when getting to the surface. There, the droplets of water cling to her eyelashes, watching Mingyu merging up about at the same time that she did. His shirt clings to his body, thankfully wearing his bathing suit, strands of brown hair pressed to his gorgeous skin when he splashes water her way, though she’s already laughing.
“Don’t do that!”
“Sorry, sorry!” Yet, Mingyu keeps splashing water at her, getting closer and closer until he is just mere centimeters away.
“You think it’s funny, don’t you?”
“I’m a musical actress, not a comedian. Sorry.” Taking the damp cardigan in between her hands, she tosses it to the side, landing at the edge of the pool with a clanking noise from its buttons before jutting her chin forwards towards him. “I’m sorry about your shirt.”
“You just wanted me to take it off.”
“You would’ve even if I hadn’t thrown you into the pool.”
“So, you brought me to this pool for that on the first place.” Mingyu says, brown irises darkening when her fingers reach for the edge of her dress, pulling it up until she is left in a one-piece. That’s the magic of him—making her feel like there is not a competition, as if she’s the most gorgeous woman he has seen in a while. Her assumptions about herself are not seen by him.
“So,” She says, letting the dress fall to the side and trying not to cling to her own body, shrinking in order to hide away from him. Mingyu’s fingers hook around every button of his shirt, taking it off little by little to showcase his slim, yet toned body. “Swimming competition and whoever gets to end of the pool buys dinner?”
“I’ll buy dinner either way, but sure—” She needs to look away. The least she needs is that lingering voice inside her head that tells her that she’d do absolutely anything to get a taste of Kim Mingyu. It feels wrong, how he doesn’t know where she lives, what she found out when being there, how the lines of their stories always seemed to connect…but maybe, he’d feel taken off guard if only he knew the truth. That, in retrospect, she had seen the beauty of him before he even knew about her.
Her phone rings from the bag that she had left at the edge of the pool when Mingyu dropped her on the flooring. Incessantly. Even when she starts swimming with him, laughing along and splashing him on the face at the same time he does, it continues ringing.
Mingyu spares one look at her, pointing at her phone when saying: “Want me to get it for you?”
“No,” Worry rises up inside of her, swimming quickly until she got to the edge of the pool, the third call appearing on her screen once again. Mingyu’s presence is felt right behind her, but she can’t concentrate on him when she reads the contact.
Miyoung.
Something happened to Miyoung.
“Hello?” Fear clings to her chest. Miyoung, her best friend, the apple to her eye, could not have her life any worse than what it is right now. She doesn’t deserve it and as her best friend, she won’t let it happen. “Miyoung, are you okay?”
“Of course, babe. I’m fine.” Miyoung speaks in her typical purred out tone. A breath trapped inside her lungs lets go at that moment, leaning her weight forward just when Mingyu presses his hand to her back, rubbing those soothing circles that she knows so much.
“How is your foot?”
“Healed, thankfully. You already know that.”
“Goddamn it, Miyoung, I thought something had happened to you—”
“Haven’t you checked YouTube? I’m not the one you should be worrying about. Worry about yourself.”
YouTube? One or two videos about her musical had appeared, but she hasn’t been in the headlines for a bad reason. “Why should I worry? What are you talking about?”
Mingyu moves over to her side, and she can feel his eyes penetrating into her side profile when Miyoung utters out: “Haseul released his newest comedy special, and the motherfucker mentioned you. People are going crazy with the memes, you need to check it out.”
“What?” Her ex-boyfriend hadn’t crossed her head in a while. After all, remembering what hurt her the most—the obsession of always being right, the lies, the friends that he said he had nothing to do with and the way he passed her every opinion over his ass as if it didn’t matter…is not what she plans on doing. Not when she’s moving on. Yet, it seems like he doesn’t want her to do just that.
“Check it out. I’m—I’m talking to my PR team man to make a statement. I’m tired of his bullshit.”
“Don’t, don’t!” She says quickly. Miyoung’s career has already fallen down, she doesn’t need unnecessary drama. “I’ll fix it. I—I just need to look at it, okay?”
“Babe, promise me you’re not going to feel bad.”
“Is it that bad?”
“Horrible.”
“Then, I can’t promise anything.” With a sigh, she looks down. “I’ll call you later, okay? Let me see what all of this is about.”
When putting her phone down, it takes less than a second for Mingyu to speak, worry dripping from his every tone. “Wh—What happened?”
Well, time for a fraction of the truth. “Before I came here…I was dating some guy. Well, we had been dating for three months at a maximum. Cheated on me. Went out partying. The typical stuff someone of power does in most occasions.” Turning to her side, she takes the phone in between her hands, looking up the comedian’s name. “He’s a comedian. Eo Haseul. I don’t know if you know him but—”
“Yeah, I know about his comedy.” Mingyu’s frown deepens, extending one hand when leaning on the edge of the pool. “Isn’t he the guy who can only make sex jokes?”
“The one and only.” There it is, the video that Miyoung had been talking about, with over six hundred thousand views in four hours. Well, there goes her reputation. The title of his comedy set is shown there, but nothing else is added. “…We broke up before I left. He broke up with me, basically. Miyoung just called me to tell me he made a comedy set about me.”
“No way.” Mingyu whispers, leaning over her shoulder to be able to look at the loading screen.
“I mean, it shouldn’t be that bad, let’s see what he says.”
It was even worse than she had imagined.
Haseul, in what she had once thought was perfection, stares at the laughing crowd as his lips rest against the mic. His hair is sleeked back, thick eyebrows pursed together when he says: “And yeah, man, I learned last summer that you shouldn’t date a famous bitch. Or a semi-famous one. Normal, average women are fine but give someone some money and they think they can do whatever the fuck they please.” A few sets of laughter follow his statement, and he scoffs a bit for dramatics, trying to make himself sound more interesting. “I’m sure you guys know who I’m talking about, but…now that I’m out of that relationship, I can say that she was crazy. Eyes rolled to the back of her head, greedy as all shit, type of crazy.” He says, as if she is not human—as if she had not done everything in her power to make that toxic relationship work. “I would show you all the videos we had of each other fucking, but man, it’s just too crazy. I’d have to be filling all holes, even the bellybutton. When women are given power? They don’t get pleased by anything. I’d have to contort my body and shit, just to be able to make her moan for one second.”
Tears well up in her vision. The intimacy they had, exaggerated and highlighted for the world to see, torn to shreds because she is a woman with apparent power. Why is it that she can never have some source of happiness before it gets taken away from her?
“And the issues, man. God, I would have to hear her sigh on and on about her issues after sex. Just had my dick and she still had the time to think about how her rich, immaculate life was just not enough for her. See what I mean?”
Laughter, even though it’s not funny, people seem to enjoy it. Trying to turn the tables around, Haseul shrugs.
“I can’t even show you the videos because…I have to be honest, I’m not the biggest of men when it comes to that but—” For once, he targets himself, but the smirk on his face says he is not over with it. “It doesn’t matter. I have to cover my back. The bitch blocked me with the same hand she used to jerk me with.”
The subject changes, but her ears are ringing. Burning anger, impotence, and the tears that escape her eyes as she puts her phone down and rests her forehead against the tiles of the pool.
What was she thinking when she got with him?
“None of those things are true…” She whispers, covering her mouth as if to stop herself from talking. Mingyu, however, maneuvers his body to be able to wrap his arms around her. Her face rests against his chest, the cold skin touching hers, too afraid to look him in the eye. What will he think of her after watching that—?
“I know it’s not true.” Mingyu’s voice has turned serious, pulling away only to have her further pushing her face to his chest. “Do you have his number?”
Mind whirling, overheated, she hums. “I do, but I have it blocked.”
“Give it to me.”
“Mingyu—” Finally, she pulls away, bloodshot eyes staring up at him. “I’m tired of the problems around me. I’m absolutely done with people caring about my whereabouts and what I do. I don’t want more drama—”
“I just want to put him in his place.” Mingyu whispers, pushing her wet hair away from her face before breathing out a small: “Please?”
In the light of the pain caused, her lips are paralyzed, unable to connect her tongue to her mind in order to let some words out. Instead, she reaches for her phone, going through the contact list before seeing it:
Eo Hanseul (Do Not Respond).
Mingyu takes his own phone from her purse—he asked to have it there—, jotting down the numbers before bringing the device up to his ear. He gets out of the water, droplets following after his steps to be able to talk in private. Standing by the clear doors of the hallway, Hanseul seems to pick up his call, because his eyebrows furrow and he opens his mouth to speak.
Kim Mingyu doesn’t seem like the type of man to get angry, but he does that night.
Much of what he says is not understood, unable to disconnect her eyes from mixing the water of the pool with the waterfalls of her feelings, but Mingyu’s voice raises, speaks into the void when he says: “…I don’t care, man, you either grow some balls and start respecting her or you’ll have to have a talk with me.” Now, he seems much taller, buffer, as if his words may be able to deflate the softness of him. Rolling his tongue through his teeth, he hears to what the other man has to say, just as she’s getting out of the pool, only her calves pushed inside. “You think I’m some fool you can play with?”
Well, in comparison, Mingyu is much better than Hanseul. Less of a fighter, more of an empath. However, his Adam’s apple bobs up and down when he swallows, a frown taking over his features.
“You either take all the bullshit you’ve said back or I’ll make sure you pay for it, okay?!” Before Hanseul could retort, the man shakes his head. “I don’t know, release some statement, get your tongue up your ass, but you’ll never talk to her or about her ever again, understood?”
Then, the call comes to an end. Radio silence.
Mingyu puts his phone down, extending his arms just to say: “Come here.”
And she does cling to him, feeling his heartbeat against her eardrums as she cries someone else’s ignorance away.
Though, for Mingyu, the picture is different. “You’re more than whatever people judge you for. Don’t forget that.”
###
Act twenty-four. Twenty-fourth time performing the same character. The critics are getting worse.
Perhaps, it’s her fault. Seated on the wooden floor backstage, while wrapping her legs in bandages to be able to stand the aches, ignore the blossoming memories of the falls she has done while practicing, she sees the most destroyed person in the room staring at herself back in the mirror. Hyun looks way more tired than she did when they were practicing, curling her hand against her stomach—perhaps, suffering by the number of products she puts in her body to be able to keep herself energized—, eyes void of the glint of pertinence that had once coated them, bathed in shadows.
Once again, she takes another energy drink, and it’s about this time that she speaks out the certainty in the room. The one spoken secret that she whispers to herself at night. “I’m worried about you.”
Hyun stops at that moment, not even sparing her a glance, and the shutter of Mingyu’s camera comes to a halt when she finally outs the obvious. Hyun may not like her, but she was a fan of her before she even got here. Talented, she is, and her stomach must not be doing good by the number of energy drinks, caffeine and whatever else she has. Her stress is getting to her, cohabiting inside of her body.
The woman lifts her eyebrows, sucking her cheeks in when she says: “You don’t have to. I’ll be fine.”
“Even I’m not fine.” She confesses, standing up from the floor with wobbling legs. Too overworked. “Hyun, stop drinking this. If you aren’t sleeping or you can’t keep up, it’s okay. We’re here to help each other—”
When her hand comes forward to take the energy drink from her, Hyun pushes her body backwards, the anger in her features dissipating. “You don’t get it.”
“Of course, I do.” She says, only to have Hyun bitterly scoffing.
“Yeah, right.” She concludes, putting the can down before resting her slim hands on her hips. “If this musical keep going like it is, on its downfall, I won’t get any other chance to shine. I won’t get a starring role, and I will definitely see my dream die. You don’t go through that. You have a home to go to, and money to spend—”
An inexplicable feeling embargoes her. While Hyun had gained this position with hard work, a part of her existence there was just for publicity—and her mere presence is what is bringing the musical to its conclusion. “Hyun, I promise…you’re too talented to ever do shit wrong. You’ll get a chance when needed.”
“You don’t know that!” Hyun shouts, running her fingers through her hair before sighing. “Mind your business, okay? Stay out of my way, and stop playing the victim here. I’m fine. I just need to practice more.”
“Go home, Hyun.” She tries to reason, taking the woman by the forearms. “I know you hate my guts, and I would, too, if I were you…but please, just…rest for tonight. The show’s over. We can go home.”
“You do this because you don’t want me to practice so you can be better than me, huh?”
Shaking her head, she tries to reason with her. “I would never. Really. I’m over that.”
“Who are you kidding? Yourself or me?” Hyun questions, taking the filled energy-drink can before tossing it in the nearby trashcan. “Happy now?”
“Hyun—”
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go home.”
Her body brushes against hers when passing by her, the clicking of her shoes a sound that she doesn’t want to ignore. Hyun, in that moment, becomes a heroine to her. Image of hardships and hard work, someone who would rather tire herself out than disappointing her vision of herself. Perhaps, she had judged everything wrongly, imagined herself to be this immaculate being that did not deserve to be hurt.
No one does. Hyun didn’t either.
Mingyu accompanies her outside, like he always does, ready to go out with her after another show. However, as the wind bites her arms under her dark denim jacket and the taxis pass by them, ready to be called by her, she feels his hand resting over her shoulder, turning around to look at him. Peaceful, yet worried.
Tugging at the sleeves of his pink sweater, the strands of his hair swirling against his forehead with the movement of the breezy night, Mingyu admits: “I think you need to drop out of this musical. Kaleigh does not care about any of you.”
That much she knows. The leader, the director, only cares about the image she wants to portray of the character, not about the actors that play them. Still, letting go would mean going back home…and back home, she’d go back to the same routine. “What if I don’t find another chance to be on the stage?”
Mingyu sighs. “You and Hyun aren’t so different after all.” The more she sees herself projected in that vanity backstage, the more she sees herself turning into Hyun. Though talented, a portion of herself will get lost down this path. The one that hopes for a happy ending. “Sometimes, we have to realize that what we dream of is not always going to be our reality. And this is not to tell you your dream is not valid, because it is, but the more you stay here…the more it will hurt you to leave. You deserve better than what Kaleigh is giving you, and even if you end up with a small role in some show, or get back on stage again…you’re still you.”
“Well, maybe I’m tired of being me.” She replies, letting her weight lean against the side of his body, his arm cradling her shoulders, eyes looking down at her while she connects her gaze with his, down to his lips.
“I like you.” Mingyu rasps out, though, if he knew where she lived…what she saw…what she knew about his past, would he still be open about those words? “Please, never stop being you.”
She thinks, at this moment in her life, she’ll never stop being his. Yours, she wants to tell him, even if this doesn’t work out, my soul will always be yours.
Though, she fears. What if he isn’t hers? Though he wasn’t hers at the beginning of it all, she kept seeking—
And now, mere centimeters away, with his lips parted, she has him. Breaths mingling when she softens her lips against his, drapes a silent confession that she can’t quite get out without feeling guilty. If he knew more about her, perhaps, he wouldn’t like her. The issues of not knowing how to differentiate what people perceive of her and what she perceives herself, but right now, as she’s with him, she likes who she is. Her truest version, delicate, not aching to feel more, to have more of him, just letting their lips meet softly, knowingly, as if she knows every portion of him and yet, to him, she’s only a shadow.
Her arm hooks around his neck, tilting her body to the side to taste more of him, relishing on his perfume, his hands, the way he always seems to make her feel unique, and not to outcast her, but to blend her into the groups of people that fall for each other. The romanticism that falls into monotony, but it’s oh-so-perfect in its own way.
“That’s my answer for you.” She replies when pulling away, awestruck brown eyes blinking back at her when she smiles.
I like you too, Mingyu.
###
When looking at Mingyu, she would have never believed their first official date would come in the shape of a rock concert. Much less would she have imagined that, upon entering Mingyu’s apartment, much smaller than the house he once shared with Yoona, he’d have collectables of memories that he doesn’t have the time to explain, rushing to get out the door and get to the concert. A local band that she has no idea about, but try their hardest to leave their imprint in this world.
Kissing in cars is how the date ends. In some taxi, with sneaky touches and stolen kisses that promise for a better night. Hazed in his smile, in the tight black shirt that clads his body and the way his big hand splays across her thigh, claiming a portion of her body as his. After a month, even more, of seeing each other, Mingyu feels closer than ever, seated on a portion of her heart as if it is his throne, and it may be. A King of Hearts, as she likes to call him.
The band t-shirt he had bought when getting out of the venue rests over her body, halfway pushed inside his jeans as she twists her head to the side and rests fleeting kisses on the side of his neck. His Adam’s apple bobs, a sharp intake of his breath coming with the tightening hold on her tight.
“Something you should know…” He starts, only to have her humming, teeth digging into the skin of his neck as she hums. “I—I’m not really patient, you know?” His voice wavers, enough to have her chuckling when she pulls away from him and rests a kiss on his shoulder.
“I’ve noticed. Quite childish if you ask me.”
“It’s hard to be patient when you’re around.” She looks at him from the corner of her eye, smiling.
“I’ll have to teach you how to wait, huh?”
Though, when Mingyu had gotten on that taxi, she had not thought about the address she gave. The taxi driver parks outside, thanked by Mingyu as he gives him counted bills and gets out of the yellow car. Much to her distaste, however, when she gets off as well, Mingyu is staring ahead at the white house that had once been shared with the love of his life—
Yoona.
The woman who almost married him.
The one person he had never talked about.
Mingyu opened up about a lot of portions of his live. Childhood. Cousins. Parents. Music. Photography. Collections. Love from teenage years, but Yoona was never touched. Never talked about. She never pushed it, knowing better than getting that information out of him, but when she stands by his side, watching his face turn somber, he softly asks:
“You live here?”
Warning signs appear inside her head, blaring red lights leaving her with no emergency exits. The line has cut short, no longer letting her lie to him in order to keep her secret intact. She knew him before he actually knew her, and she had thought of him as charming then. “Mingyu, yes. I didn’t want to tell you because—”
“Wait, why wouldn’t you want to tell me?” His face turns towards her, and she knows at that moment that she had fucked up. He had not assumed that she knew anything, only asked absentmindedly as memories flashed before his eyes. “Do you know something I don’t?”
She swallows thickly. She could lie to him, come up with lines and improvise, but Mingyu is one of those people that doesn’t deserve that. Instead, she tugs at the collar of the t-shirt on her body, sighing deeply. “Listen,” She starts. “When I got here, I found a box that said ‘throw away’ and it had a bunch of CD’s inside…”
Mingyu pulls back at that moment, shaking his head. “No—”
“And I watched them. You were in all of them with your ex…Yoona.” She whispers, looking over to the side, watching the house that had both introduced her to the person she feels like she is falling for, and that may take him away at that moment. “I didn’t want to pry, I swear. I just…I just did and I kept on watching because of you, and destiny did its thing and it brought us together at the bar, and with you as my musical’s photographer.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Mingyu asks, and she comes up with nothing. Because she didn’t want for him to close up with her, of course. “You knew more about him than I knew about you, and you didn’t even think about giving those CD’s to me…or just…or just tell me that she had kept them there!”
“Well, I just didn’t want you to think I was stalking you or something. It was all a coincidence!” She replies, only to have Mingyu running his hands through his hair, chuckling at the sky before groaning deeply.
“That’s my privacy!”
“Well, it’s not like I knew it was private before!” She argues back, frowning at him. “Besides, why is it so deep for you? You know about Haseul, why does it matter if I know that you almost married Yoona? It’s not like I’m jealous of a woman of your past—”
“Because you have no idea how long it took me to get over her!” Mingyu replies, voice rising, chest heaving. Then, a pout takes over his features as he explains himself, retreating the tone of voice he had just taken up on.
“If you’d let me know what happened, maybe I could understand—”
“Turns out I had a toxic relationship. She wanted me to be her little puppet, make her fantasy come true of a perfect man, and a perfect family, and possibly a…I don’t know…a social media presence where we showed how perfect we are but…I’m not perfect.” He breathes out, biting his bottom lip as he looks at her. “Can you blame me for not wanting to remember all the turmoil I went through because of her?”
“You can just not talk about it if that’s the case. I don’t mind. But you can tell me about these things—” She entices. “I’m not going to judge you, Mingyu. Our pasts are there for a reason—”
“Don’t give me that.” Mingyu answers, smile lines intensified by the purse of his lips. “You always say you want to change your past, to start again, to not remember—”
“But my past and my mistakes made me meet you!” She exclaims. “I can’t turn back time and change things because, maybe, I wouldn’t have met you if that was the case. I like you, Mingyu, almost married or not. I like you for who you are and who you were.”
“If you liked me so much, you could’ve just told me.” Mingyu mumbles, blinking softly.
“…I was afraid, okay? I get to be afraid, too. Just as you were.”
Mingyu falls silent for a second, deep in thought, walking backwards as he says: “I—I just need some time, okay? I get you, but I need…I need to process this.”
She tries to go after him, shaking her head. “Mingyu, don’t do that. We have to talk about this. I didn’t mean to remind you of a bad time—”
“Just…burn that fucking box and…and I’ll talk to you about it later, okay?” Mingyu whispers out, goosebumps going up her arms when she watches him go. Never had she seen him so shattered, hands shaking as he remembers that one portion of his life he never wanted back.
He had seemed so in love.
And now, he can’t fall in love as easily.
Yet, a new beginning is necessary, so when she retreats to her home, she picks up a lighter, walking far down the street with the box in hand to light it up.
The past makes who they are, but it doesn’t define them. From now on, she is the only one that can decide her future, and so can Mingyu for his own life.
###
“Care to tell me why you ruined every single one of my pictures?”
Last show, but Kaleigh doesn’t know it. Just as she’s applying another layer of purple onto her eye, as if to indicate the bruises from her character, Mingyu speaks to her. Over one week of not talking to each other, texts going ignored, time asked whenever they meet, and she has met more than the middle of the situation. Now she wants to go forward, know more of him than of herself, movement more eccentric in order to fuck up his work.
If that’s what it takes to get his attention…
She shrugs her shoulders, patting the makeup sponge against her eye. If he doesn’t want to talk, she won’t talk either. “Just some new dance moves. I added some popping because the character felt like it needed it.” It’s utter bullshit, and the way Jaehyo snorts from his spot tells her that no one believes her. Even Hyun seems to chuckle at her antics, Mingyu’s lost expression mirrored in the vanity.
“Bullshit.”
“Excuse me, Mr. Kim, I don’t think you can talk to the cast like that.” She answers, mischief painted on her face when she connects her gaze with his through the mirror.
Scoffing, he says: “You didn’t think that when you ruined all my shots from yesterday’s night.”
The makeup sponge now rests against the table, her fingers interlocked as she talks to him through the mirror. Today, Mingyu props some pink sunglasses on his head, a leather jacket placed on top of a white t-shirt. “I’m sure they look fine, Mr. Kim. They always do.”
“They’re all blurry.”
“My apologies. You may have to take some pictures tonight, then.”
“…If you even let me. You’re moving around like you have pinworms.”
“Oh my God!” Sue says from her spot, elbows pressing to the back of her chair to be able to look at the scenery. “Is this a pre-marital issue?”
“I think so.” Jaehyo conquers, but she only throws a look at them.
“He’s the one that doesn’t want to talk to me.” She says, standing up from her spot to be in front of Mingyu, in all his glory, staring back at her with a stoic expression. “So…in order to get his attention, I had to find other ways to do it.”
Mingyu breathes out softly, staring around the room before wrapping his hand around her arm. “You want to talk? Let’s do it in private.”
The storage room in which they had met initially, memory of the umbrella that she hit against his head, now becomes the spot for them to meet in. Far more cramped than she remembers it for, with a tiny chair that Mingyu used to take up on to check his pictures. The man in question locks the reddened door behind him, giving one step forward and hence, ending up pressed to her body, hands placed on his own hips when he asks:
“You have something to say? Speak.”
Maybe, she had tried the worst of ways to get his attention. Annoyance, for once, is not something that pairs up with Mingyu’s face in most occasions. Yet, she finally gets to hear his voice. Angered. Cut short. Yet, unknowing of the reality that breathes through her pores.
“I’m sorry…for not telling you I had seen those videos. It was your privacy and I shouldn’t have looked, but after I did, I should’ve told you and given them to you to get rid of them. I did, but yeah…” Her voice falls into a softened tone, looking into his brown irises, down to his straight nose, a few speckles of facial hair on top of his lip, barely noticeable and those rose-colored lips that she has been missing for the past week. All of him, really, from his voice to his thoughts, to the impatience that takes over him. “Mingyu, I would never judge you for your past. Not when you weren’t the one at fault. We all make mistakes and I don’t think any less of you for being naïve enough to involve yourself in that situation. I like you with or without Yoona in your life. If you want to talk about it, I’ll accept it…if you don’t—”
“I want to talk about it.” Mingyu says, breathing out in a way that has the warmth of him touching her lips. His chest expands, flush against her breasts, when he explains his truth. “I met Yoona when I was seventeen. She was friends with Seungkwan, a friend of mine, and he got us in this blind date thingy because…I don’t know, I was bored, I wanted a date.” He shrugs, though his eyes show that he really cares. “So, we started a relationship…and we started living together soon enough. I didn’t care. I worked two jobs, all to be able to move from our apartment to a bigger house, and then she got other jobs…and we made it. She said she wanted to have a family soon, that she’d start recording us…whatever. You know that part.” His life seemed so much easier than what he described, but that’s just what the video-camera showed. “Turns out that she got out of all her jobs, expected me to pay for everything, and lived the most exotic of lifestyles. If I ever told her we couldn’t buy something, she’d take it out on me…” Mingyu sighs, shaking his head in the process. “We’d fight all the time, but I loved her, so I proposed. Turns out that it didn’t work, and I cut off the engagement the morning of our wedding.”
“As you should have…” She elongates, only to have Mingyu chuckling darkly.
“Yeah. I was reassured that it was a good decision when three days later she started dating a famous YouTube guy and she started vlogging for real.”
“I’m so sorry, Mingyu.” With all the sincerity she can muster, locked away in the depths of her heart only for him to see, she sighs. “…You deserve better.”
“I know I do.” He finalizes. Looking down at her lips before smiling softly. “Glad we sorted that out.”
“Sorted that out? I acted like a spoiled brat just to get your attention. I’m sorry for that, too—”
“Ah, don’t worry.” Mingyu replies, wrapping his arms around her waist before pressing her back to the wall. The dry paint clings to her clothing, rubs against it when his fingers rub against her skin over the fabric. “You always have my attention, even if you ruin my pictures in purpose just to get me to talk to you. I needed some time, that’s all.”
“Yeah…I’m so sorry.”
Mingyu doesn’t utter another word, lips conjoining in a smile before they rest over her own. Much of the like of the type of kisses they had shared in that taxi ride, hands folding the fabric of her clothing when he brings her clothing, breathing against her skin as he slowly takes over the kiss. His lips part, his left hand going down to his hips, towards her thigh before lifting it over, pulling their bodies closer when he settles himself between her legs, head turned to the side just as her fingers rake through his hair.
He doesn’t care. Doesn’t mind having his hair messy, his camera pushed away from his neck and put carefully to the side as she continues kissing him. Though, he does care about her, only pulling away to ask: “How many minutes you have until you go up the stage?”
Staring at the clock on the wall, she breathes against his lips. “Like thirty minutes.”
“May I…?” Mingyu asks, eyes joining desire with worry, pressing his hips forward, abdomen contracting when her hand caresses his jaw, touches his neck and lets her thumb rub over the column of his throat.
“…Of course, Mingyu.”
It’s not the most romantic of places, but it happens with a soul she doesn’t want to exchange. For once, his name becomes a poem, and she will never find a rhyme better than him.
###
Two set of judgmental eyes watch her as she slides the folded piece of paper in her hands towards Kaleigh. Always sporting an all-black outfit, those glasses that hide the malice in her gaze, and before her lips could part to utter one of her simplistic sentences, she bathes on the glow of getting out of her last show. Of trying her best, and yet, not having the best outcome.
“It’s over.” She says, sighing deeply with joined lips as she rests her hands in the depths of her jeans’ pockets. “I don’t want to be part of this musical anymore. Thank you for the opportunity, but I feel as though I don’t fit this team…or your vision of me, whatsoever.”
There, while the rest of the team are taking off their makeups, getting rid of their clothing, children bustling around, overexcited from the sceneries, Kaleigh is speechless. Hyun, on one hand, steps forward, eyes widened.
“She can’t leave.” Turning to her, she shakes her head. “You can’t leave, you’re one of the main characters.”
“I don’t think I will continue down a path of happiness if I stay here. My mental health comes first, and Kaleigh can’t bring me that as a director.” She adds, pointing at the paper in between Kaleigh’s hands, still unopened. “Right there, you can see my resignation letter. I don’t want to be part of this team anymore, and Kaleigh can choose to talk badly about me as an actress if she so pleases.”
Kaleigh scoffs from her spot, nodding at what she says. “Of course, I will. How unprofessional do you have to be to leave the musical like this?”
What hurts her the most is leaving her cast. Leaving her character, ever, that wants to give out such an important message about the reality people live. Instead, she has to let go. Better opportunities will come for a dream that is not yet set in stone. “Very. But I think it’s the best decision.” Pushing herself away from the situation, she starts walking away from the stage. Her home, really, but one that will fall to shambles if she doesn’t leave now.
She doesn’t expect to hear someone’s voice then. “We need you.” Mixed with her name, Hyun speaks. The woman that hates her the most, yet, when turning around, seems to look at her with a plea in her brown eyes. She smiles, because Hyun deserves it. The woman is given, that much she can say.
“You don’t.” She answers, sighing deeply. “The stage needs you, but it doesn’t need me. As long as you keep this story alive, I can be replaced. That, you don’t have to worry about—”
“But you won the audition—”
“No, it was given to me.” Truthfully, the more she thought about it, the more she realized Kaleigh never wanted her there for her talent. “And I don’t want to be there for publicity. I don’t need that pressure on me. So, the real talent should stay.”
With that, she turns around, giving the last few steps until the coldness of the night bites at her skin.
Seated on the sidewalk, Mingyu rummages through his phone, unaware of her presence as he listens to music with his earphones plugged in. The cars pass by, gray concrete matching his dark outfit. Just a few hours earlier, she had seen him without him, but not sedated yet, she kneels until she is hugging him from behind, pressing a kiss to his cheek and humming in delight at the heat of his body.
Not hers. A person can’t be hers. And though he isn’t hers, she doesn’t mind it.
Mingyu takes off one of his earphones, turning around to look at her and asking a silent question with his eyes.
“What?” She puzzles, only to have Mingyu widening his eyes.
“How did it go?”
“Badly. It hurts.” Her heart aches at the idea of not getting another chance, giving all her might into acting tonight…and perhaps, the only night that she will get to act again. “But it’s what I had to do. I’m going to find a better opportunity later on.”
His smile widens, leaning forward to steal a kiss from her lips before joining his free hand with the ones conjoined over his stomach. “I’m so proud of you.”
“If you’re so proud, let me invite you to dinner.” Standing up, she watches as he follows after her steps.
“Let me pay for once!” He whines, only to see her shaking her head.
“Nope. I’m your designated sugar mommy.”
“You’re totally not.” Mingyu denies, wrapping his arm around her shoulder.
“Come on, let me live the dream.”
Though, hers will remain paused for now…until a better chance comes about. A real one, perhaps.
###
Bad news always come like a train-wreck. Life is silent for a second, too eerily silent, and the moment she opens her eyes, everything is shattered. This time around, it wasn’t any different. Seated on the counter, Mingyu working on making a set of pancakes, taking his precious time on heating them to utter perfection, she doesn’t think anything when turning on her phone. If anything, she is staring forward, at the way Mingyu’s back muscles contract with the movements of his arms.
Kim Mingyu has this magic of appearing in someone’s life and never giving the person the benefit of asking themselves if they want him to leave. She doesn’t, and that’s factual. A little above a month after she left her job at the musical, she has tried to avoid all contact with everyone from her cast—from Jaehyo to Sue, obviously with Hyun, trying her hardest to show to her family and friends back at home that she can stay here and fulfill a dream. So far, nothing has worked.
But Mingyu has.
Not spoken into the night but fallen into place, Mingyu spends more time at her place than he does on his, giving a piece of his heart to her, while he has all of hers. With each passing day, the comfort of him becomes the sunlight of her days, though the clouds seem to gather in her personal life. Mingyu finds gigs, but the tabloids have forgotten about her after the viral video of her past relationship.
This time around, the headlines in her phone—from the notifications of her favorite magazine—inform her something more.
Han Hyun dies while practicing for new musical. Doctors confirm gastrointestinal bleeding.
When standing up, the chair falls behind her. Fear. Petrification. Perhaps, regret. Hyun had so much life within her—a pulsating need to be the best, and she was. Then, stress took up all of her life. So young, yet now not existing in the same world as them.
The room seems to rotate by the time Mingyu speaks her name into the dense air. “Hey, what happened?” He moves towards her, but she gives a few steps back, uttering the words that hurt her just by hearing them.
“Hyun died.”
One never really thinks about an enemy dying. A rival, really. The fear starts to become palpable when people think of their loved ones dying, but when it comes to someone that they can’t stand…it almost seems favorable. To have them away from this world. Yet, she can’t even utter another word, entering her room and throwing herself into the bed. The sheets are crumpled between her palms, tears blinding her vision as she thinks of all the times, she bumped hands with Hyun.
She was so talented.
It almost felt like she had to take care of her. Each and every single time she told her to mind her own business, she never did.
The door opens softly, her name called once again, though she doesn’t want to listen. Never has she liked Mingyu seeing her crying, but at this point, when he rests his weight next to her on the bed, his elbow resting adjacent to her body as he horizontally leans his weight on her back, she can’t help but let out a little weep.
“Hey…” His fingers trail down her spine, speaking softly. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not.” She turns around, hair done a mess as she stares into his eyes, trying to stop the hiccups that shake her frame. “She had so much to give, and look at what happened to her. I couldn’t even—I don’t know, say goodbye to her?”
“You don’t have to think about what you didn’t do.” Mingyu replies after a few seconds of silence, bringing his body forward until he is hovering over her, kissing the tears away before pressing a soft kiss to her lips. “…You can only think about what you’re going to do now. Not take people for granted. Get to know people better. Avoid rivalries. That’s all you can do.”
Staring up at him, she realizes one thing. One day, we’re here, the other, we’re not. We don’t belong to anyone—not even ourselves—, but to the world instead. Life plays with us like marionettes, puts us in places that we think we can never get out of, but the road ahead is so much more surprising. Living in a labyrinth, looking for people who understood her, new beginnings and thrilling stories, she found someone. A person that she doesn’t want to lose, and someone whom hasn’t heard the truth. The full and heart-wrenching truth.
Because Mingyu is there. Belongs to the universe, and never to her. One day, anything could happen. He could get tired, bored, could simply move on and call it quits. He could come home one day and say that he doesn’t want to be with her anymore. But now, as his sleepy gaze stares at her with worry, she realizes that she doesn’t want him to belong to her. She wants to be with him. Aches and desires to spill her truth out and enjoy him for the time that life plants him there for her to enjoy.
May the flowers bloom of the seeds her words leave. They could die, but they will get to grow first.
“…I have to tell you something. Before it’s too late to actually say it…” She mumbles, rubbing her eyes and her nose, sniffling softly before looking into his eyes. There has always been this understanding in him, even when he doesn’t always say the proper thing—as if he knows, deep within him, that they understand each other. That no matter how many times mistakes settle on their hearts, they know their deepest intentions. “It may be too soon for you and I know I said I’d wait until you’re ready but—”
“I love you.” He says it first, aware, not shying away, savoring the taste on the roof of his mouth before stealing another kiss away from her lips. “I don’t want to wait. Good things can’t wait.”
He always said he wasn’t the most patient, but perhaps, she was the one that would wait a thousand years just to have him.
There is not an exact reason that she can think of as to why he would love her. Why, out of all things, Mingyu would open up his heart again—and why she does, too. They have been broken, but they grew two new, stronger hearts. Not fixing the old ones, but helping each other craft a new organ. One where he made a home for her, and she has made a throne for him.
“I love you and I want you to know that I’m here for you. For anything. Whatever you need me for.” He breathes out, rubbing his fingers on her cheek before looking down at her. “…If it wasn’t that what you were going to tell me, I’m sorry. Again, my second name is dumbass so—”
“I love you, too, Mingyu.” She tries to chuckle through the tears, though her bottom lip pouts out and Mingyu sighs deeply, wrapping his arms around her and relishing her with a kiss.
Though love is not perfect, it’s much better to meet in the middle. Two people who will either end up together forever, or for whatever long ever decides to stay. Never can be an option, too, but she knows that whatever the outcome is, Mingyu is the one portion of her past that she would never want to forget.
And it’s time for her to learn that the hours of the life clock are ticking, and she wants to spend all of them with him.
#mingyu scenarios#mingyu#seventeen scenarios#seventeen#kpop scenarios#writing#seventeen au#seventeen fluff#seventeen angst#mingyu au#mingyu fluff#mingyu angst#photographer!au#musical actress!Au#this is such a slowburn fic like lord help me#also i've had this idea since last year and didn't know who to write it for but#mingyu seemed fitting so#here goes
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A Wife For Thor Pt.01
10/12/2020
Arrivals and Departures
Pairing: King!Thor x Reader Word Count: 6,990
Warnings: language, talks of death, angst, talks of sex,
A/N: This is seriously...I mean, I don’t even know where this came from. Credits to @darkficsyouneveraskedfor because Roo gave me the idea and I kinda ran with it. Like omg, y’all. Blame Roo. If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo Dialogue from Thor Ragnarok has been used in the beginning of this story.
Please do not REPOST my stories anywhere. Reblogs are most welcome!
He stands with his arms crossed in what appears to be a small sitting room with a large window that opens to the sublime sight of the black space beyond. Sterling silver, radiant red, and brilliant blue stars twinkle into infinity.
This is a sight that Thor had seen many times before and yet, for the first time in an age, he felt hopeful for the future.
His fight had ended. With Ragnarok, his journey had reached an end. Not the end, but certainly that of a chapter I which his battles might rest.
He imagines that this might be how his father felt when he had taken charge of the nine realms.
However violent that takeover might have been, his father had lied about many things—his sister for one—it had been the beginning of a quieter reign. A new formative time for his father. He may not have been a perfect man, but he’d grown wiser in many ways. Still not the best father, but his father, nonetheless.
Thor can almost picture his life on Earth, a time of peace. A time to rebuild. He will be able to give his people a good life there and he’s certain that his friends will appreciate having him closer. Friends from work they may be, but friends.
“Do you really think it’s a good idea to go back to Earth?” Loki asks, standing beside him with his hands held gently at his front.
Thor looks at him, waiting a moment to allow him to finish speaking.
“Yes, of course.” Thor assures him. “The people of Earth love me. I’m very popular.”
Loki takes a breath, looking out the window as he quickly accepts his brother’s reasoning while simultaneously realizing he must word this differently to get his point across.
“Let me rephrase that.” Loki begins, “Do you really think it’s a good idea to bring me back to Earth?”
Thor knows that Loki has a point. His history with Earth is…not perfect. To say the least.
“Probably not, to be honest.” He admits, noting Loki’s apprehension.
Loki smiles, a little knowing.
“I wouldn’t worry, brother.” Thor tells him, both turning back to the void outside. “I feel like everything’s going to work out fine.”
The moment seems endless, the two of them waiting as if the something should or might happen after Thor’s optimistic sentiments.
Then the moment passes and Loki sighs.
“Right, well, I’ll start rounding up the people who will be of the most use once we arrive.”
Thor gives his brother one parting smile but doesn’t watch him leave.
Thor doesn’t know exactly what has changed in him, what makes him so confident in this decision, but he knows it’s the best decision he could have made. And if he’s honest, though he’d never admit it out loud, the possibility of finally being on the same planet as Jane…well, he’d be a fool not to consider the possibilities.
~~~~~~~~~~
Something feels different today.
As you wake, turning onto your side to stare across the small room at the blinking line on the blank word document on your computer screen, you can’t quite put your finger on what is making you nervous.
Your stomach is rolling, making you queasy, despite the fact that you have no reason to be anxious.
Yesterday was like the day before and today will be just like yesterday. Nothing in your life ever changes, and that’s become so much of who you are that whenever you have even a doctor’s appointment your heart begins to race in dreaded anticipation.
With trembling hands you clutch your blanket, trying to find a reason behind this mood. Your breath quickens as your heart panics, your mind scrambling to make sense of these emotions but nothing comes to mind.
So, you get out of bed. You get dressed choosing a simple knee length black dress that fits loose enough to keep you comfortable throughout the day. Then you head into the kitchen and start the coffee pot.
Halfway through the brew you shut the machine off and rush to dump out its contents into the sink.
“Fuck.”
You sigh, realizing you should really invest in decaf coffee for morning just like this.
“Tea. Tea is better.” You rationalize and pull your kettle off the warmer and fill it in the sink.
You replace it in its dock then turn your back to it, hands gripping the edge of the counter as you lean against it.
Your fingers stroke the smooth and unvarnished wooden countertop, suddenly going rigid around the lip as your heart goes frantic again.
The island counter directly in front of you is made of the same unvarnished wood, a slightly mismatched chair on the other side, tucked in beside the open shelving that holds your pots and pans. Along the center of the island sits a small vase with nearly completely withered flowers.
You’re filled with relief as your hands are given new task and you hurry forward and take the clear glass vase, toss the flowers—which crumble as they hit yesterday’s empty cereal box—dump the water in the sink and quickly refill it.
Setting the vase aside, you pull open a drawer and pluck from an array of contents a small packet of flower food, a pair of small pruners, a long piece of twine, and head out the back door to your modest backyard.
There isn’t much in it, and it’s unfenced. A large tree at the back-left corner provides shade and pecans. In the center of the yard sits a set of antique iron work garden furniture. Twisted and shaped into what reminds you of lace. Two smaller chairs and one long bench with curved backs.
You’ve been of a mind to buy cushions for them, but you haven’t found an excuse to justify the expense.
In between the garden set sits an outdoor coffee table made of wood and painted white. It’s fading and will need a new coat soon but again the expense can wait. At least until you sell another story.
Apart from this set and a small wooden shed beside the pecan tree, your yard is mostly overgrown grass and carefully cultivated flowers lining the length of your narrow back porch.
You smile, noticing the length of your grass, grateful for another something to keep you busy today. Something to keep your mind off this mysterious and anxious premonition of something to come.
Quickly you move to a large blooming bush at the end of your porch and cut from it several bunches of pink and blue garden phlox.
You admire the shade of the blue flowers. The color reminds you a pair of blue eyes you’d once seen on a woman who’d come to your school as a child.
She’d been beautiful and kind, but she hadn’t picked you. Still, you’d never forgotten the color of her eyes.
The pink is pastel at the edges of its petals and vibrant magenta at the center.
As you head back in, the kettle only barely beginning to steam, you quickly arrange the bunches you’ve picked and wrap them up with the twine. You set the bushel aside and with the vase pulled close, you tear the packet of flower food with your teeth and pour it in.
Replacing the flowers, you give the kettle one more look before you race back into your bedroom to pick out a more appropriate outfit for cutting the grass.
You decide on a pair of jeans and a plain yellow t-shirt. Pulling them on, you pause with your shirt hooked around your arms as your eyes find your laptop screen, annoyingly black still.
With a groan you pull your shirt on and from the kitchen you hear the whistle.
Breakfast is simple. A store-bought muffin and a cup of breakfast tea do the trick and while you’re still chewing your last bite you head out to cut your grass.
It doesn’t take you too long and you lament the last bit as you cut it, the machine vibrating violently in your nervous grip.
No matter how much you try to distract yourself, this feeling of something terrible coming will not go away and you’re about to go out of your mind when a shout from your back door pulls your mind from it.
Standing there is an older man with an unconventionally handsome face. His lips are thin, cheekbones prominent, brown eyes sunken, and his nose long and defined. His dark hair slicked and parted, neatly kept to match his crisp navy suit.
“Aren’t you a little overdressed?” You shout at him as the whirr of the machine dies into silence.
The man moves towards you, a smile brightening his face.
“I was just at a meeting.” He explains.
“Do you ever stop working?” You wonder, pushing the lawn mower towards the shed as he follows.
“Only when I’m on vacation.” He tells you, amusement in his voice but subdued and you only hear it because you’ve known him for years.
“You don’t take vacations.” You sputter, almost laughing.
“Precisely.” He agrees.
He waits for you to shut the door and when you turn, he greets you with open arms.
“How have you been?” He asks, holding the hug for longer than you’re used to which only adds to the anxiety you’ve been feeling all morning.
What’s going on?!
“Hey, you okay?” You ask him, ignoring his question in favor of satisfying your curiosity.
He doesn’t answer but holds the hug a moment longer before pulling back to look at you.
“We have to talk.” He tells you, making your heart pound.
“Okay. You want some breakfast?” You offer, and swallow hard as your fear mounts.
“Sure.” He says and follows you inside.
You make him a full breakfast. Eggs, bacon, breakfast sausage, and buttered toast with a cup of coffee. Just because you can’t stand the idea of being hyped up on caffeine today doesn’t mean David won’t.
He digs right in while you stand on the other side of the island, sipping on your second cup of tea in hopes that it will ease your frayed nerves.
For a few minutes he gobbles down your food but when you shift on your feet for the fourth time, he clears his throat, takes a drink of his coffee, then puts his fork down.
“It’s not exactly bad news.” He assures you, easing you a little but something tells you that you still won’t like it.
“Just tell me, David.”
“As your lawyer,” He begins, sitting back in your old wobbly chair. “It’s my duty to inform you when there are developments with your family’s estate.”
“Right.” You agree, remembering the day he’d found you when you’d turned eighteen to tell you that you weren’t exactly as poor as you’d thought.
You’re not really rich either. You have a little money that your parents set aside for you. Old money that you hadn’t really touched. You use it mostly for bills when you can’t sell a story fast enough and most of your wealth is in this cottage. A family home that you’d had no idea was yours until David brought you here.
Finally, a home, after living in that school all those years.
“Well, I think it might be time to reveal a little more of that estate’s history.”
“Why?” You put down the floral porcelain cup and wrap your arms around yourself, afraid of what he’ll say.
How did you know that something was coming? What kind of sixth sense do you have?!
“After all this time, why would it matter?” You sigh, moving to pull out the second chair to his right on the shorter end of the island.
“Don’t panic.” He tells you, reaching over to place his hand over yours. “Let’s keep our heads. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
“You say that, but why do I feel like that’s not exactly true?” You sigh.
He blinks, gathering his thoughts before he nods.
“I think I’ll tell you all at once. Like ripping a band-aid. Might be the easiest for you.” He realizes.
You don’t disagree.
“Your family comes from a very small people in Europe. Their origins are hard to trace but we know that they travelled between France, Norway, Denmark, Romania, Belgium, Sweden, Austria, Greece, and even spent a large amount of time in hiding in the United Kingdom.”
“I get it, they were nomads.” You sigh, your mood taking a turn from the anticipation of clarity.
“Yes. Nomads.” David agrees, patting your hand in an attempt to calm you. “I only mention it because there are many questions as to where they had originated from. No one seems to know. Unfortunately, I don’t think that question will ever be answered as all records before their stint in France have been lost.
“What we do know is that your ancestors, your bloodline are royalty.” David says, as easily as if he were telling you your age. “Even though the titles have long since been lost, you are technically—though you have no country to rule over—a princess.”
Slowly his words sink in and your face begins to relax. You look down at his hand over yours and without warning you laugh once. Then again, and again, until you’re leaning on your chair, head thrown back as your whole body shakes with it.
“What is so funny?” David asks, unamused but he goes back to eating.
“This is a joke, right? You’re pulling my leg.” You gasp, breath shallow.
“Not one little bit.” He shakes his head. “If we knew what country your ancestors came from, you would very much be in some palace or castle, reigning over your people. Your parents, were they alive, would have been King and Queen.
“You may not think it possible, but that is your legacy, Y/N. You are of royal blood.” David insists which sobers you a little, but you think it’s so silly that this is what you’d been so scared of.
This is what you’d been dreading?
“Okay. Fine. I believe you. But what does it matter? You said that if I still had a country then I would be princess, but clearly, I don’t. So, I’m not. What’s the point of telling me this when it makes absolutely no difference to my life?
“I don’t feel any different and it’s not like that makes me any richer? I’m still sitting on a decently sized fortune to assure that I don’t want for anything at least until my forties. What could this possibly change that you felt it necessary to tell me?”
David wipes his mouth with his napkin, finishing up the last bit of his coffee before he gets up and with his dirty plates moves towards the sink.
“Leave it, David. I’ll clean up later.” You watch him, sitting up a little straighter as that anxious feeling begins to grow again with his extended silence.
He washes the plate and as he does, your nerves begin to fray again. You anxiously pick at a small splinter in your island, waiting for him to speak.
He turns towards you as he finished washing his plate, then meets your eyes.
“You weren’t just revealing my heritage, were you?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “I felt I needed to reveal your heritage because someone has reached out with the hopes of setting up a meeting with you.”
“Why would anyone wanna meet with me simply because they know of my lineage?” You wonder, slouched, hands moved to your lap to rest limply as you stare at David, fear increasing with every moment that passes.
“May I ask you a personal question?” He says, moving to stand closer as he dries his hand on your dishtowel.
“David, you know everything about me.” You sigh.
“Why haven’t you ever had a boyfriend? Or girlfriend? I’m not sure I’ve ever asked if you-?”
“To be honest, I don’t know either.” You shrug. “I’ve never really thought about it.”
“Not even as a child?” He wonders.
“I was too busy wishing for parents as a kid.” You clarify. “I didn’t have time for crushes or any of that stuff.”
“Are you opposed to a relationship?” David asks, dropping the towel then moving around to sit back down in his seat.
“Opposed?” You ask, shaking your head. “Not exactly opposed. I’ve just never known anyone worth caring about like that. I’m mainly here at home. I do go into town when I need to get my packages but there isn’t anyone there that…I don’t draw attention like that.”
“You’re a pretty girl.��� David tells you, reaching over to tug on your sleeve. “When you aren’t sweaty and covered in grass clippings.”
You scoff, shaking your head.
“It’s not something I really worry about.” You admit.
“Would you ever want to get married?” David asks, and your heart is suddenly pounding.
The idea of being someone’s wife had crossed your mind once or twice. Mostly when you’d been jotting down ideas or plotlines for your books. In the end, because you didn’t think you had enough insight, you’d opted to remove all romance. You write mysteries.
“I don’t know that I’d be any good at it.” You confess. “I’m not…I can’t exactly picture myself being someone’s wife.”
“Why not?”
“Because I…I don’t even know what I’d be like in a relationship, sharing space and time, much less sharing an entire life?” You shake your head. “I’m not saying that I haven’t thought about it but it’s only ever been in passing.”
David goes silent, tapping his index finger against the island.
“David, please. You know I can’t take the suspense.” You plead.
“Yes. I’m sorry.” He nods then reminds himself, “Band-aid.”
You take a deep breath and turn to face him a little more in your seat.
“Well, you are aware of our planet’s newest inhabitants?”
“Th-The Asgardians in Norway?”
“Yes.” David nods. “Well, as a sign of good faith, to ensure that they will abide by Earth’s laws and to assuage any ideas from panicked world leaders that they might try and overtake the planet and make it their own, they have decided that marriage to someone from Earth might be the best way to do that.
“The Asgardian known as Brunnhilde has reached out to all families of royal blood and asked to meet with any eligible women, preferably—as she so tactfully put it—maidens.” He explains. “Which I take it you are?”
You swallow hard, your lungs rubbed of oxygen and yet you somehow manage to quietly acknowledge, “Yes. I’m a virgin.”
How can you not be after spending your whole life unconcerned with romance?
“You don’t have to do it, Y/N.” David suddenly says; however, you can see the ‘but’ in his eyes. “But if you don’t and the Asgardian king cannot choose from the women he does meet, you will probably be hunted down and forced to meet with him anyway.
“All world leaders are in agreement that this is the correct and only way to ensure the safety of the planet. They will not give up until every woman meeting the Asgardian’s requirements have been given the chance to meet with Thor.”
“Thor?!” You gasp, rising to your feet as hundreds if not thousands of images flash through your mind of the Thunder God and the Avengers fighting side by side.
“Yes.” David affirms, rising to his feet with you. “With the death of his father, he is now King of Asgard.”
Of course, Thor is going to be King. You already knew this. It’s common sense.
For some reason though, the confirmation made out loud, vocally…how the fuck are you supposed to marry Thor? An Avenger? That’s not…this cannot be real life!
“David,” You begin, apprehensive.
“I know. I know it is a lot to ask but as I said, I don’t believe we have much of a choice. He might very well not pick you.” David adds, rushing to comfort you and point out how unlikely you’d be the one Thor chooses to wed. “There are plenty of other women that he’s already met with. Women that are more suited to life in a palace than you are. The Hungarian princess is so eager to be Queen of Asgard that she’s been sending the other women bribes to try and convince them to refuse.
“It won’t make a difference, since they cannot refuse should Thor choose them.” David admits.
“A-all I have to do is meet with him?” You stutter, heart in your throat.
“Just a quick one-hour meeting. He’ll ask you questions. Get to know a bit about you. See if you are suited for life as Asgardian queen and then it’s over.” David assures you.
“I’m…There are lots of other women better for it, right?”
“Loads of them.” David promises.
New fears begin to take hold in your heart and mind.
It conjures up the last time you’d seen Thor, strutting from a massive spaceship docked over the ocean by New Asgard. He’d risen from its depths all wide shoulders and biceps. Heavy steps thudding as he’d stopped at the end of the massive ramp, waving at the cameras as his people had filed out behind him.
His hair cropped short as opposed to the long tresses he’d had when he’d last been on Earth, one eye missing with a sleek black and gold metal patch over it the absence.
You’ve never been threatened by him before. He’s a hero. But the prospect of being his wife and having wifely duties...
Your mind flies into panic as it shifts that large body over you, crawling towards you with his hands prying your legs open. The years of sexual experience radiating off of this fantasy Thor and all of his bulging muscles.
You almost want to throw up at the prospect of having to consummate a marriage. You haven’t exactly been eager to be with anyone since you haven’t met anyone special, but you’d at least imagined something more intimate. More personal.
“David I-they won’t choose me though, right?” You reach out for him because your legs are suddenly weak.
He takes hold of your arms and helps you stand still.
“They won’t.” He tells you, sounding convinced. “There are better candidates. Women with actual titles.”
He’s right. Of course, he’s right. He has to be right.
“It’s just a quick meeting.” He promises. “Then it’ll all be over, and you can come back to your cottage and live just as you have been, with no one to bother you.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Leaving your little place is difficult. After spending years without a home to call your own, now that you have your cottage, tearing yourself away from it is like pulling splinters.
You like your little yard. You like your flowers. You love your bed and its white sheets, little pink and yellow flowers printed on the soft fabric.
You’d made it more feminine. You’d brought flowers back and frills and lace. You’d made it everything you thought a cottage at the edge of a wood should look like and as time had gone by you’d brought in more personal touches.
After several years, your home is finally completely you.
This place, this massive Asgardian structure is less gold and more wood, stone, and iron. Silver steel polished so bright it gleams even in moonlight. This place is not you. It’s him. It’s Thor. His home.
Right now, with the day almost over, the palace takes on a warmer tone. The wooden structures and gray stone pillars are bathed in orange light, giving the place a pleasant glow and despite yourself, you can almost picture Thor meandering through these Nordic halls, a long crimson robe around his thick form.
It isn’t an unpleasant image now that you’ve given yourself some time to get used to the idea of him.
When you arrived you were greeted and seated in a large round room, the lower quarter of the sturdy walls made of ornate stone brick, the rest of the wall beautiful dark oak. The floor is also stone, massive carpets underneath several pieces of obviously Norse inspired furniture.
Well actually, the Norse was probably derived from Asgardian styles. There’s a difference in them that you can see but don’t understand. The coffee table in front of you has ornately carved legs, golden embellishments, and a black coat of paint.
The sofa you’re sitting on is mostly wood, painted gold, with plush and soft satin covered cushions in wine red.
There are two other tables around the room, a collection of books on one and an array of fruits, foods, and drinks on the other. There are several different statues and stands. Lamps that look as if they should have flames instead of the electric bulbs they now hold.
Small touches of modern design filter through the room complimenting the more traditional décor.
“Hello there.” Says a lilting voice.
You recognize it and turn to find Loki, slipping through a narrow opening in the large set of doors you’d been escorted through almost half an hour ago.
He’s dressed in a black suit with a plain white t-shirt underneath dressing the look down.
“H-Hi.” You stammer, surprised by his appearance.
You stand, knowing well that he may not be King but for Asgard, Loki is still a prince.
“No, please. Do not get up on my account.” He gestures at your seat and you settle back in as he crosses to the table with all the books. “I forgot some papers in here, I only came to retrieve them. Do not mind me.”
You avert your eyes, afraid to see something you shouldn’t and sit just as stiffly as before, hands fisting the royal purple dress you’d chosen to wear. It’s simple, quarter sleeves, high neckline with a small V at the center. Just above your knees in length, it rises as you grip it.
“Nervous to meet my brother?” Loki asks, stopping by the doors as he eyes your tight grip.
“This whole situation is a little stressful.” You admit. “I’m…I live in a small house in the middle of nowhere. I don’t even know why I’m here.”
“Ah, you’re the one with the lost lineage.” Loki realizes, moving closer with interest. “A hidden princess. You could have refused to come, you know?”
“I would have been forced eventually.” You point out. “There are a lot of people who want this marriage thing to happen.”
“True.” Loki agrees, “My fault, I’m afraid. I make them nervous.”
“You did very nearly destroy New York.” You point out, remembering the carnage reported that day. The aftermath had taken forever to clean up.
“I did.” Loki agrees. “Do you fear me?”
“No.” You admit. “If you weren’t safe, Thor wouldn’t have brought you back here.”
“He could just be too trusting.”
“Maybe.” You agree. “But with the fate of his entire people tied to the successful acclimation of Asgard and Earth, if you were really a threat, I think he’d have cut you out before coming back.”
Loki’s lips slowly curl up into a smile before breaking apart into a toothy grin.
“What is your name again?” He asks, a sparkle of something in his eyes.
“Y/N.” You tell him. “Why?”
“No reason. This has been very illuminating, Y/N. It was lovely to meet you.” Loki says then with a quick bow of his head, he leaves you to your solitude.
Confused, you sit there completely at a loss for what just happened.
Had you taken too many liberties with Loki? What had that smile meant? You’d been made aware that Loki was also involved in recruiting women of royal blood into marriage meetings for Thor, but you hadn’t expected him to know you by the description of where you live.
Maybe because it’s so unlike anyone else’s?
You sit there stewing for another twenty minutes, wondering if maybe you’re being stood up when the large doors open once again.
You shoot up onto your feet, so damn nervous your body reacts without your permission. Through the door this time comes the man of the hour. The massive Thunder God dressed in a pair of dark blue jeans and a plain gray t-shirt crosses over to the table with food and pours himself a stein of what looks like beer from a sloshing brown pitcher.
“Estrid, is this from the new batch of ale?” He booms loud enough that he can be heard even outside of the room as he takes a quick sniff of the liquid.
His voice is so deep.
Licking your lips, you watch him drink the entire stein without taking a breath or waiting for an answer, and then refill it before grabbing it and taking an apple with his other hand.
He turns, holding the fruit up to his mouth and freezes with it pressed to his lips as he meets your eyes, realizing he isn’t alone.
You’re not exactly sure what to say or what to do, completely taken aback by this strange and sudden exposure to candid Thor. Both of you unprepared to see each other despite the fact that you’ve literally been waiting nearly an hour for him.
His confusion mounts as he lowers the apple, looking around as if expecting an explanation or to see if he’s in the correct room.
“What time is it?” He suddenly asks, meeting your gaze again.
“N-Nearly six.” You tell him, and his one good eye goes slightly wide.
“Oh!” His lips curl up into an easy smile. “I did not think it was that late.”
His smile makes you feel a little more at ease, but you’re still on edge.
“You’re my meeting.” He tells you, as if you don’t already know that. “Y/N? Y/L/N, right?”
“Yes.” You nod, then before you can stop yourself… “You’re late.”
Thor blinks. Startled it seems or maybe just surprised, but then he smiles again. “Oh. I’m sorry.”
“I mean, you can be as late as you’d like. This is your meeting. Sorry. I didn’t…I don’t know why I said that.” You rush to say.
“No, no.” Thor turns to put down his stein of beer and the apple replaced in its bowl. “You’re right. I am late. We were supposed to meet at five, weren’t we?”
When he turns back to you, you nod.
“I’m sorry. I’m sure you have much you could be doing.” Thor says, moving towards you and gesturing at the spot you’d been in before sitting down at the other end of the sofa.
“No.” You confess. “Not really. I’m actually one of the only people that probably doesn’t have much to do. Well, I mean, I could be writing. Or cleaning house.”
“They tell me that you had no knowledge about your lineage before Brunnhilde reached out to your lawyer?”
You nod. “It’s not really important. Or…no. That’s not the right-what I mean to say is that it isn’t significant to my life.”
“Don’t you want to know who your family is?” Thor wonders.
“I know who my family is. I had a mom. And a dad. Both died just after I was born. That’s my family.” You explain. “Apart from getting to meet you, the news that my family was once royalty doesn’t change it in any way. I’m still just as insignificant today as I was before.”
Thor narrows his brow, watching you for a long torturous moment as he considers what you’d just said.
“Tell me about yourself.” He suddenly says, turning to lean back against the arm, his own thrown over the back, right leg bent up onto the sofa.
“There isn’t much to tell.” You admit. “I was born, my parents died in an accident. I was taken to a school for orphans where I grew up and aged out. On the day I had to leave, Mr. Valis found me and gave me my inheritance which is a good amount of money and a small house. I’ve been living there ever since.”
“You didn’t take any additional schooling?” Thor asks, relaxing. “All the other young women I’ve met have made it a point to tell me about the universities and colleges they’ve attended.”
“I took a few correspondence classes.” You tell him, “But I’ve only ever wanted to write, and I didn’t feel that I needed a higher education to do it. I mean, it would probably look better on my resume, but my writing should speak for itself.”
You can’t really tell what he’s thinking with the way he’s watching you, his hand playing with a thread on the back of the sofa.
You take it as a good sign that many of the other women have a degree of some sort. They must want someone respectable with a good education, right?
“How do you feel about political marriages?” He asks, and you’re stunned for a moment.
“Um…”
“Be honest, please.”
“I guess I don’t like the idea?” You admit. “Being forced to marry someone you don’t love because duty demands it? Feels archaic. If you love someone, whether they fit into whatever political standards are being demanded or not should not be a reason to get married.”
Thor sits up, shifting a little closer as he leans towards you.
“If you were asked to go along with a political marriage in every way but the heart, could you?” He wonders, much more interested than before.
“What do you mean?” You ask, confused.
“Well, let’s say for example, you and I were to marry. We’d be expected to have children. You’d be bound to do your duties as Queen of Asgard, but you would not be required to love me. Would you be able to fulfill these requirements?”
“You don’t want to do this, do you?” You realize, seeing the eagerness in his eyes. His shoulders slump. “If you don’t want to get married, why don’t you just say something?”
“I must do what I can to ensure the future of my people.” Thor says, sighing deeply.
“I’m guessing there’s someone else you do love that you can’t marry?”
“Not that I can’t but won’t. She isn’t ready for marriage and I don’t feel right making that kind of demand from her when she clearly has other things she’d like to be doing with her life. And…yes, maybe a little bit can’t. A royal marriage would make the most sense. I need a Queen.” Thor says.
You can’t find the words to tell him how fucked up this all is so instead you sit in silence.
“I know this is not ideal. I’ve tried to find other ways of assuring Earth of my commitment to this planet but nothing I’ve suggested is good enough.”
He needs a Queen. This gives you solace. No one is less of a queen than you are.
“I’m sorry.” You finally tell him. “It’s not fair. But I’m sure you’ll be able to find someone who checks all those boxes for you. I hear the Hungarian princess is pretty eager.”
Thor ignores you, stroking his beard as he watches you. “What do you want from a marriage? Let us say it’s many years from now and you have found someone you love beyond all reason. You two decide to get married. What does that look like?”
You’re a little surprised by the question but you humor him and take a moment to really think about it.
The man you picture has no face. There is no one you care enough about to imagine. So…because he’s the only option, you take Thor’s face and give your imaginary husband a face.
“We’d be partners.” You tell him. “Open about everything important. We would respect each other’s individualities. If something is troubling me, I would like to know that I could turn to him and if he had something on his mind, I’d hope that he could turn to me too.
“We’d be honest about even the unpleasant aspects of our life together. If we disagreed, we would talk about it openly. We wouldn’t hide from each other. We’d spend as much time as we could together and always make time for each other.”
You picture Thor sitting at your island in your comfy cottage. He’s so massive that he’d take up so much space. You’d have to squeeze past him, and he’d turn to wrap his arms around your waist as you pass.
He’d trap you there, not letting you move.
“We’d make breakfast together. Cramped up in my little kitchen, it would turn into play.” You smile. “We’d lounge around the house, reading and listening to music. In the evenings we’d move out to the backyard and watch the sun set then watch the stars until I’d fall asleep on his shoulder.”
As if you’re caught doing something you shouldn’t be, you startle yourself out of your daydream and feel your neck heat up.
You’d crossed from rational marriage into sentimental and you’re a little shocked at the detail in which your mind has gone.
You’re also a little startled by the pleasant feeling that picturing Thor in those situations has given you.
For someone who has never had a crush, you’re startled by the butterflies it gives you.
“But I’ve never been into anyone like that before.” You tell him, looking away from his intense gaze. “So, even if that’s what I picture, it’s not like it’s ever gonna happen.”
“It might.” Thor says, sounding as if he might be trying to comfort you.
“It won’t.” You assure him. “I hope your girl changes her mind.”
There’s a bitter ache in your chest as you say it, and you’re certain it’s only there because of the little fantasy you just allowed yourself to have. You should have picture someone else.
“I hope they relax on the royal blood thing and let you marry someone you love instead.” You hope.
“You say that as if you already know that I won’t pick you.” Thor observes.
You smile wide, laughing even as you bite your lip. “Well, I’m nothing like the girls you’ve met with. I don’t have endless amounts of money. I don’t have a prestigious education or extensive family. I don’t know anything about being royalty. The others have been doing it their entire lives. I’m the least likely candidate. I don’t fit the requirements, except for the bloodline thing.
“I only agreed to meet with you because I knew that the likelihood of you picking me was almost non-existent.”
“Ouch.” Thor says.
“No!” You rush to say. “You’re very…I mean, you’re kind from what I can tell and honorable. You’ve saved Earth a couple times and you’re a little self-centered but only in a superficial way that doesn’t change the fact that you’re a good man.
“I honestly don’t know why your girl won’t marry you but I’m not right for this.” You nod. “I wouldn’t make a good Queen for you.”
Thor nods slowly, thinking for a minute before he straightens up and turns to rise, slapping his hands on his knees before he moves back towards the table of fruit and beer.
“You’re probably right.” He agrees, and for some reason, you’re disappointed.
Not so much that he isn’t picking you, but rather that he sees you aren’t enough. You’re lacking in some way. Which you already knew but…knowing he thinks that makes you feel a little lousy despite that being something you wanted.
“I suppose I’ll just have to pick someone more suitable. Someone who knows better about ruling a people. All the same, thank you for coming.” Thor says, dismissing you.
He picks up his stein again and turns to look at you as you rise.
“It was a pleasure to meet you.”
You nod, “Likewise.”
After a moment of hesitation, you give him a wave and move for the doors, trembling hands reaching out to yank the doors open and make your escape.
~~~~~~~~~~
It’s been weeks since you met with Thor and you’ve completely forgotten the whole thing. Life has gone back to normal and even though you now know that you’re from royal stock, nothing, as you expected, has changed.
The only plus that has risen from this whole situation is that you can now picture marriage a little better, however inexperienced and cliché it might be, you can make something up now.
Your little fling with the idea of Thor had given you fuel to slip a little romance into your writing and your fingers are flying across the keyboard of your laptop as you type up a new and promising mystery about a set of lovers and the body they discover in the attic of their new home.
You hate to be interrupted during a writing session, but you must have forgotten that about yourself because your phone starts to ring.
Normally you mute it before you even sit down to write.
With a growl you reach over and take a quick look at the number.
David flashes on your screen and quickly you swipe to answer.
“Hey, can I call you back in like an hour? I’m in the middle of a chapter and I’m on a roll.” You plead, fingers still flying across the keys.
“Y/N, Thor chose you.” David’s voice says and your fingers freeze.
There’s a pounding in your chest and your head is full of white fuzz. Your legs are numb, and your stomach is swirling with both flutters and nausea.
You can’t have heard that right.
“What?” You ask, voice shaky.
“Thor. He chose you. I just got off the phone with Brunnhilde and she wanted to let me know so that I could call you and let you know that she’ll be by tomorrow to pick you up.”
This can’t be happening.
“She said to pack only what you absolutely need. Everything else will be provided for you.”
“David…I…I can refuse, right? I don’t have to marry him.” You plead desperately.
“Y/N…” David sighs. “You agreed to this before you went to see him. I’m afraid the time to back out has come and gone.”
“But I can just not do it.” You argue. “They can’t force me to do it.”
“The government will seize your assets if you refuse.” David explains. “They want this done. I’m sorry, Y/N. There’s no backing out of this now.”
“But…But he loves someone else.” You tell him and even though your mind knows that this should be the last thing to concern you, it should not be the first reason you can think of why marrying Thor is a bad idea, it is.
As your eyes focus on the little blinking line of your word doc, your heart gives a painful ache knowing that your husband will be loving someone else.
#thor x reader#king!thor x reader#royal au#arranged marriage au#thor odinson x reader#thor x reader fanfiction#thor x reader fanfic#thor x reader fic#marvel au#marvel fanfiction#king!thor x reader fanfiction#a wife for thor#a wife for thor pt01
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you’re someone i just want around: I
“And I can't wait another minute
I can't take the look she's giving
Your body rocking, keep me up all night
One in a million, my lucky strike.”
— Lucky Strike, Maroon 5
A/N: this idea started as just random concept drabbling between leyla @sunflowervolvimp3 and i and we never really thought it would amount to anything tbh!! but as we started putting more and more into the plot and characters, we made the spontaneous decision to make it a full on, multi-chaptered collab fic! we have so many ideas planned and so much to elaborate on and we’re just so mfing excited to share it with you guys :’) any and all feedback is greatly appreciated 💌 we hope you enjoy the first part and that you fall in love with this stupid emotionally unavailable moron the way we did! happy reading!!
andrea’s askbox : leyla’s askbox : ysijwa masterlist : andrea’s masterlist : leyla’s masterlist :
word count: 17.2k
content/warnings: vampire!harry being a lowkey asshole while downing straight tequila like a psycho, getting to know The Crew, Mitch being the iconic legend he is, mentions of smut, and Harry working his immortal charm on an unsuspecting human girl with a peculiar scent and intriguing personality
///
Harry hates clubs.
In his two hundred years of life, through many trials and tribulations, through tricky scenarios and annoying encounters, through thousands of unappealing circumstances and patience-testing events, he doesn’t think anything quite compares to the crowded, nerve-wracking experience that is a Los Angeles club on a Friday night during peak hours.
According to his wise, humble opinion, it’s absolutely fucking petrifiying. He’d rather swallow a stake than have to spend hours in a dimly lit room with synthetic smoke choking his lungs, half-conscious humans stumbling around into him, and the stench of sweaty bodies mixed with liquor fumes, alongside the faint yet unmistakable waft of vomit.
Yeah, Harry would definitely rather eat a red oak spear than have to shoulder that.
Despite his intense hatred for this Californian city during its after-hours, he can’t deny that he fits right into the scene perfectly. Decades of grooming and practice have made him a prime candidate for the fast-paced characteristics that come with the party nightlife.
Fitting into these aspects aren’t something he had learned willingly; he didn’t really have a choice on the matter, considering his entire existence depends on mortals immature tendencies to get properly shit-faced and make stupid decisions in tightly-packed glorified bars. Harry never understood that— how a fog machine, strobe lights, and an undergrad amateur DJ could ever seem more appealing than the quiet, stable ambiance of a semi-formal bar. How deranged do people have to be to actually enjoy strangers spilling alcohol on them while attempting to shag someone else two feet away on the dance floor?
Whenever he dwells too much on that thought, he gets a spiking migraine. After this long, Harry’s just come to terms with the fact that humans are regressing as a species. His conclusion is a bit cynical, perhaps, but hardly difficult to accept. One look at a news outlet provides enough proof to launch an Ivy League research project on the matter.
He really shouldn’t be complaining, however, because the combination of overflowed close quarters and dampened inhibitions makes it the ideal hunting ground. Picking up a living blood bag at a club is basically as easy as walking through a vineyard and plucking grapes right off the stems. It’s practical, it’s fool-proof, and if he plays his cards right, he gets to feed and gets his more intimate needs tailored (a combo that he and his friends refer to as Laid and Drained).
So regardless of his distaste towards clubs and their eager inhabitants, Harry had learned to mold his persona to fit the bill, making himself as approachable and desirable as possible. His life literally hangs in the balance; he’d put up with throngs of drunk sorority girls and their affinity for shitty perfumed drinks if it means avoiding desiccation.
It’s not like it’s hard. All Harry has to do is make himself look more appealing than the other hundred men milling around the establishment, which— if he’s being brutally honest— isn’t that challenging. The moral, physical, and ethical standards of men have dropped frighteningly low since his time. Most of the ones that creep around clubs are overconfident, overzealous, boundary-lacking douchebags who think they’re entitled to a woman’s attention, and therefore make complete, utter fools of themselves in the process of trying to court one into their pants. Buying a girl one Sex On The Beach and dry-humping to Daft Punk isn’t the way to convince her to come home with you.
Harry has developed his own guidelines and tactics for securing a nightly bedroom companion, and his ideas have been working wonders for him for decades now.
The first and foremost rule is to clean up nicely. Personal appearance is everything. Humans are visual creatures; they build first impressions solely based on outward attraction. That trait is enhanced the higher their blood alcohol content rises. The drunker someone gets, the shallower they become, and it’s Harry’s job to work that to his advantage. And at the risk of sounding shallow himself, he thinks he does pretty alright in that department.
Especially tonight, present in all the elements of his physique. He’s clad in a pair of high-waisted tan trousers that have been ironed to a crisp, his fitted graphic tee tucked neatly along his waistband beneath his black leather belt. His t-shirt is probably his favorite part of the entire look. It’s a baby blue sturdy cotton number with pastel yellow detailing along the cuffs and collar and a giant cartoon puppy in a striped bowtie taking up its center, smiling cheekily at the onlooker. Arranged around the doodle in faded Times New Roman bubble letters are the words WE’RE IN THE SHIT.
Harry loves the irony of the article— the innocence of the drawing juxtaposed by the crude message. The piece is a conversation-starter— people almost always comment on it— and that’s exactly what he needs. Something to draw attention to himself and shadow all the other men. Something that shows he has a personality; that he has taste and a good sense of humor and isn’t just another walking genital. Plus, what person doesn’t enjoy a funny little contradiction, especially when it’s this cute?
On top of his graphic top, he’s wearing a tartan cropped blazer (open, of course) with a creme background and royal blue lines. The hem ends at the bottom of his ribs, exactly where his pants begin, and the jacket's hand-sewn buttons and strap detailings show that it's an expensive garment. It shows that he puts money and effort into how he looks, which is something anyone would appreciate when scoping for a possible hookup.
Harry’s shoes are the most casual factor of his fit. They’re a pair of light yellow Vans that match the collar of his tee. They’re plain, but he keeps them clean and they tie the whole look together without a hitch.
Accessories are everything, as well. Aside from the pearls arranged around his prominent collarbones, the gold-dipped cross hanging from a delicate chain around his neck, and the matching dangling cross earring on his right earlobe (again, he adores irony), he’s sporting a plethora of chunky rings on his hands, each unique and effortlessly complimenting his appearance. On his left hand, his index finger dots a ruby jewel embedded into a thick rusted band, another large metal one with dancing bears on his middle, and two clunky golden letters on his last two digits— his initials, HS. On his opposite hand, he has a medium-width plated ring on his middle finger with peace engraved along its rounded edge, an elegant lionhead number with an amethyst stone snug in its mouth, and along his pinky is a decently-sized opal set into a delicate polished frame.
His two last rings are the most important of all. The lionhead is his daylight ring, which he hasn’t taken off since he transitioned. It keeps him from bursting into flames everytime the sun hits his skin. The opal was his mother’s, and it was her favorite.
Harry’s attire is something he’s immensely proud of, even though a good amount of people deem him eccentric in the eyes of modern masculinity. He couldn’t give less of a shit. With his lightly tanned skin, alluring cologne and lacquered nails, his shirt stretching across the defined muscles of his chest and stomach, his broad shoulders and tapering waist, his thick thighs, sharp jaw, jade eyes, loosely tousled chestnut curls, and the vast array of dark ink littering his arms...
He looks good and he knows it. And all the people whose gazes glue to him as he passes by know it, too. Especially a random group of young women in line, who ogle at him shamelessly as he casually strolls past. He treats them to a sly wink, an irresistible dimpled smile, and a soft, cheeky greeting of, “Ladies.”
He gets off on the way they swoon at his refined English accent, giggling and waving.
The only other component Harry has for succeeding in the club environment is simple, but it’s important: Don’t seduce, romanticize.
Anyone— even inebriated idiots— can try and seduce a woman. And if she’s had enough tequila shots to cloud her thoughts, they just might succeed. But only a real man can romanticize a girl, and it yields way better results.
Females are an emotional sect (Harry says that with zero misogyny; it’s just a scientific fact and he actually praises it), which means that if you entertain their interests and fluff their egos, they are bound to fall right into the palm of your hand. It changes the game completely because then they don’t feel that they have to pleasure you, they want to. They pursue the guy who flirts without being too vulgar, who appreciates and acknowledges their efforts, and who can go head-to-head with their wit by carrying unforced banter. They chase after him because he’s showing genuine kindness rather than just sexual interests and if he’s that attentive on the getting-to-know-you front, one can only imagine how skilled he could be in other bases. Chatting up a girl the right way, with patience and courtesy, builds credibility and prowess. And as a thank you, they’re usually more than willing to pay special attention to your needs, as well.
Thus, romanticizing is always the expert move. So, yes, Harry detests clubs and the disaster that is adult recreation. But he’s fucking amazing at playing it to his favor. He’s great at calculating everything down to the smallest detail and he’s going to piggy-back on those skills for the rest of eternity. He’s so good at what he hates that his closest friends have anointed him the title of Walking Paradox. He’s more than happy to keep it.
All of these thoughts are circulating around his skull, hyping him up for the game ahead as Harry and his friend group walk up to the bouncer at the entrance of the club they had chosen for the night, faint stars twinkling in the dark sky as the sounds and lights of the city fall away into background static.
They cruise by the long line of people, hearing sounds of disagreement and grumbling coming from the other patrons waiting to get in. Harry casually tucks his large hands into the pockets of his light brown slacks as he pulls up in front of the burly bald man, who is wearing a black shirt with the club’s name printed in neon letters. The security guard is at least five inches taller than him, overswollen biceps and pectoral muscles rippling under the flimsy material of his work outfit as he crosses his arms over his barreled chest, cocking a single thick eyebrow at the seemingly young vampire.
Harry delivers a good-natured smile up at the employee, despite the man’s obvious begrudging disbelief at what he is about to try and do. His friends chat quietly behind him, uninterested in what is happening; after years of being acquainted, they know that Harry is going to get exactly what he wants. He always does.
He’s the best of them, that much is obvious. Not only when it comes to his experience with persuading sexual partners and getting himself a decent dinner, but he’s the best at convincing just about anyone to do anything, neutral of gender. He’s the second oldest of the crew, yet he seems to have the most knowledge and practice under his belt; his easygoing charisma, undeniable good looks, and dazzling smile could sway even the most stubborn of souls. Frankly, he’s so successful in getting his way that no one cares to try and argue for the leader position. Not when they can just sit back and let Harry do all the work.
“Good evening.” Harry’s deep voice chimes giddily in the direction of the bouncer, his accent particularly heavy for no real reason. “How you doing tonight, mate?”
The guard— whose name tag reads Brock and Harry has to actively stop himself from snorting at how fitting the name is for such a brick of a human— looks down at him with a stony expression, voice flat. “I’m good.”
“Well, that’s great to hear!” The curly-haired boy’s simper widens, dimples popping into place as he skates into his next question with dramatic friendliness. “Haven’t had anyone cause you any trouble tonight, have you?”
Brock blinks once, attitude remaining coldly indifferent even in the face of Harry’s cheeriness. His words, however, are snipped and pointed. “Not yet.”
“I’m guessing you’d like to keep it that way.” The young man comments sympathetically, nodding his head along with the worker. “Totally understandable.”
“Good.” The employee remarks in the same detached tone, shifting on his feet, obviously growing uncomfortable and irritated with the conversation. “So I’m guessing that means you know you have to get in line.”
Harry glances over his shoulder at the lengthy expanse of people gathered along the side of the building, a light wind filtering through his freshly-shampooed ringlets as he studies the way the bright sign on top of the club casts alternating rainbow colors across the crowd.
He makes a disapproving sound by sucking at his teeth, lulling his sight back onto the guard. “I don’t know, man. At this rate, I feel like by the time we get to the front of the line, it’ll be last call.”
“Maybe.” Brock shrugs offhandedly. “It is what it is, right? Fair’s fair.”
“Yeah, you’re right.” Harry returns his gesture, but his posture shows no intention of moving, the corners of his rose lip set in a knowing smirk. “But since you’ve been having a good night, do you think you could find it in yourself to just let us through? We’d greatly appreciate it.”
The bouncer’s face hardens, any shred of professional amiability washing out of his defined features. “I don’t think so.”
The vampire’s shoulders sag in exaggerated disappointment. “Are you sure? It’s just five of us. Don’t think we’ll do much damage. Right, guys?”
Harry glimpses over his back to his friends, who let their conversation falter for a moment to throw out a chorus of half-assed agreements, trying to keep themselves from snickering.
“We promise we won’t cause any problems.” Xander speaks up, jutting his chin encouragingly at the man as his lips twitch slyly. He lifts one of his hands, the smallest finger sticking out stiffly and wiggling around. “Pinky swear.”
The rest of the group bursts into a round of light laughter, causing Harry to release a few airy giggles of his own.
Xander looks over at Niall, raising his eyebrows and quipping in an innocent manner. “Right, Ni? No funny business tonight. That means no climbing onto the bar again and stripping down to your socks.”
“That happened one time!” Niall exclaims incredulously, socking the taller boy in the shoulder as the others laugh harder than before, his blue eyes narrowed and face pinched. “Once! And it was only ‘cause Harry challenged me to a tequila shot contest.”
The Irish vampire’s accented voice drops darkly as he reminisces. “Fuckin’ hate tequila. Makes me act like a moron.”
“As if you’re not one already.” Mitch pipes up in his usual soft dialect, chuckling as he ducks away from Niall’s vengeful fist.
Harry cranes back to face Brock, thumb playing with his daylight ring as his hands stay relaxed inside his trousers. He shrugs one shoulder easily for emphasis. “See? You can let us through. We pinky swore.”
The entire charade seems to have only infuriated the security guard more than before, his brows now fully furrowed and a deep, unamused frown etched across his previously pursed lips. His voice is on edge with barely controlled anger. “I’m not putting up with any shit. If you want in, go to the back of the line. If not, leave.”
Harry sighs grandly in defeat, head shaking slightly. “Guess I’ll just have to go the other route, then.”
The creature takes a step forward towards the employee, close enough that their chests almost press together. The bulky man stands his ground, though there’s a flicker of surprise in his eyes at seeing the smaller boy make such a bold move.
“What the f—?”
Harry locks gazes with Brock, pupils dilating to twice their size, the usual emerald shade of his irises flickering a haunting red and looking sinister in the buttery light of the street lamps. Horror breaks across the worker’s face, the ability to form coherent sentences disappearing from his demeanor. Harry’s heightened senses can hear the way his heartbeat spikes, blood instinctively rushing into his chest as a response to the adrenaline materializing in his veins. The activation of human’s fight-or-flight modes is always so oddly pleasurable. Just feeling how they react so drastically makes Harry’s fangs tingle with longing. Fear is a good condiment, he’s learned; it gives blood’s usual metallic flavor a certain twang.
But at the moment, a beverage from this specific tap isn’t the one Harry has in mind. He has his interests set on something much tangier and full-bodied; maybe Casamigos golden tequila, or Don Julio's Blanco. Preferably mixed with a young office secretary or a Bath and Body Works employee instead of lemon and salt.
All in all, Brock is just collateral for a much bigger prize, which lies behind the roped off area he holds dominion over. It’s Harry’s job to break that dam.
Before the large man can fully react, the vampire begins working his compulsion strategy, tone coming out level and soothing, thick with persuasion and teetering along a sleepy undercurrent. “You’re going to let us through, and you’re going to forget we ever met.”
The guard’s pupils enlarge to match Harry’s, the look of utter terror on his face melting right off. His features go slack as the monster’s magical influence works its way through his brain, coating every neuron and bending him to the deliverer’s will. The man reaches over and removes the velvet rope blocking the group’s path, stepping off to the side obediently with an empty expression present across his appearance.
The leader of the group smiles just as brightly as he had the second he’d walked up to the door. He passes by the worker, giving him a hard pat on the shoulder and feeling the muscular man strain under his supernatural strength. “Thank you very much. You have a nice night, Brock.”
Harry’s friends follow behind him, echoing his parting message and sharing a collective chortle.
The second the group dives past the frame of the club entrance, the whole ambiance of the atmosphere changes. Harry walks across the top ledge of the establishment, coming to a halt at the railing that overlooks the main level of the club, his inhumanly sharp eyes bouncing around all the corners of the building to construct some type of familiar layout in his head. Amidst the blinking lights, thick artificial smoke, and swaying bodies, his keen instincts sketch a mental image for tonight’s hunting ground.
The bar is at the far left corner of the club, squared off and taking up a large chunk of the colorful tiled dance floor. The music station extends across the entire wall at the opposite end of the tavern, stocked with massive speakers and a professional turntable. Harry’s brows jump in mild surprise— it’s not every day that a club puts so much effort into their mixer.
The animated dancing area is packed with people, the crowd all jumping and grinding to the beat of the bass, moving as one large mass while the rotating strobe lights hang from the cavernous ceiling, bathing their moving silhouettes in neon reds, drunken blues, groggy purples, and electric yellows. The dim surroundings and heavy fog make all the hues more intense, giving the endless party that timeless quality which people tend to enjoy about nightlife. It’s the night to remember effect that movies and shows always hyperbolize; he thinks this way because he’s well aware that not even a third of these people are sober enough to know what the fuck they’re doing, let alone recall it the following day. It’s comically ironic, really.
But Harry profits off that liquor amnesia, so he brushes away his sardonic skepticism for the time being, settling his lean forearms onto the metal railing that lines the second story of the venue, which is meant to keep shit-faced customers from creating a messy lawsuit. He carefully absorbs the grandeur of it all, leaning his weight forward with a detached sigh, already flickering through the mental menu of his favorite drinks that he has expertly memorized.
He’s in the process of choosing between a Manhattan— it isn’t a very complicated drink, which is exactly what he’s looking for; something simple and strong— or just straight tequila in a glass when he suddenly feels a familiar presence arrange itself beside him, bumping his shoulder playfully with their own.
Harry snaps out of his recipe retrieval, eyes casting to the side to land on his best friend of almost a century. He cocks an eyebrow expectantly, waiting for the thin, bearded man to make the first move towards conversation.
“You’re a real dick, y’know that?”
The green-eyed vampire sputters into spontaneous laughter, the edges of his eyes crinkling as the small pits in his cheeks jolt awake. His tone is humorous and full of fake insult for the hell of the joke. “Wow, alright. So I get us into the club that you chose and that makes me a prick? Good to know. You can handle the muscle next time, then, if you’re gonna talk shit.”
Mitch cracks a gentle jesting grin, which is very on brand for him. He doesn’t seem like much, with his skinny, lanky frame, delicate features, shoulder-length hair, and somewhat scraggly stubble. He’s quiet, reserved, and hardly engages with anyone outside of their immediate group. He’s always been that way for as long as Harry could remember.
When they had met back in 1924 at a speakeasy in New York, Mitch had given off a mysterious vibe that Harry had found amusing and intriguing. His slightly sickly appearance and distant persona made the younger vampire want to get to know him better; it was just so peculiar that this seemingly impassive man was working at an illegal bar as a live musician. One would think that a performer would have to display an engaging character to keep a loyal audience, but Mitch had been all the talk of the underground despite his unemotional coolness. It was startlingly unorthodox and Harry just had to know more.
Therefore, with a bit of help from his convincing supernatural abilities, he’d secured a spot as the black market club’s leading vocalist. He wasn’t anything worth a Grammy, but he could keep his singing in tune and follow Mitch’s guitar rhythms easily enough, all thanks to his limited experience with piano. He fit right in.
From the first show they had put on together, it was like they had known one another in a different lifetime. They clicked so flawlessly it was almost fictional.
Harry was lively and charming on stage, working the crowd to his favor as easily as he could knock back a shot, wrapping every single patron around his jeweled pinky without breaking a sweat. His witty temperament countered Mitch’s timid disposition perfectly and that uncommon dynamic had been the foundation to their friendship. Their humorous shenanigans on stage (which included Harry pinching at Mitch’s ass and making vague vulgar motions at each other while harmonizing) was a hit within the drunken community, and it bled into their personal lives. They went from only interacting on stage to sharing drinks together afterwards, to hanging out outside of work, to deep late night conversations about the world and their experiences.
Soon enough, they were closer than either had expected to become. And once they found out each other’s true identities (Mitch had transitioned during the American Revolution, when a vampire in his battalion had given him blood to heal from a wound, unaware that the next day, Mitch would suffer a fatal gunshot to the stomach that would trigger his transformation) they grew inseparable. They had remained that way ever since.
Despite his friend’s withdrawn tendencies, the older vampire never hesitates to make his opinions heard, obvious in how he’d just full-bodied Harry with that snarky comment. Even when it’s at his expense, Harry appreciates and respects the rawness of it. He loves the way Mitch is honest and straight-forward with everything that crosses his path— it’s one of his favorite traits about him and definitely one of the characteristics that had led Harry to deem him his best friend. He’s probably the most fulfilling person Harry has ever met and their friendship brings him a type of comfort that he doesn’t receive from anyone else.
Vampires can be so detached and cold not only towards humans, but towards one another, and it gets old at times. It’s unsettling not having someone to truly confide in, and Harry is grateful that Mitch had been so willing to fill that position.
Due to this, Harry rarely takes genuine offense in Mitch’s digs. They’re normally expressed as a joke and they’ve both been alive for so long that thick skin is a default.
“How was I dick?” Harry inquires, slinking his head to the side with entertained curiosity. “If anything, he was the one being an asshole. I asked him to let us in nicely and he practically spit in my face!”
Mitch snorts in amusement, shaking his head lightly as his eyes streak across the humongous room in the same cunning manner Harry’s had. “You and Xander didn’t have to mock him that way.”
That’s another thing that makes Mitch the better half of their power duo— he still has a decent shred of humanity in his unbeating heart. Pessimistic conclusions aside, Harry does have a bit, as well...but his is more like a paper-thin pencil shaving than a shred. Barely there, but there, at least.
The young man returns his companion’s snort, rolling his eyes up to the hanging lights over their heads. “Was just some harmless teasing. Nothing bad came of it.”
Mitch scowls scoldingly. “It was unnecessary and mean.”
Harry mimics his expression with his nose scrunched sarcastically. “We were just taking the piss, and it’s not like he’s gonna remember it anyways. Stop being such a kill-joy.”
“Stop being such an arrogant little shit.”
“Or what?” Harry tilts his chin up challengingly, the amber specks around his pupils glinting tauntingly, faint black veins momentarily webbing across the whites of his eyes. He sweetens his voice into a honeyed drawl. “Are you gonna spank me, daddy? Have I been a bad boy?”
Mitch belts out a feathery chuckle, shoving his friend with enough strength to send a regular human flying across the deck. But since the taller vampire matches his force, he hardly moves an inch. “Fuck off.”
“I’m being serious!” Harry cackles, turning his hips and sticking out his ass towards his visibly disgusted acquaintance. “Go fucking in, if you want.”
He lowers his voice into a sultry hum, wagging his backside jestingly. “I like it rough, baby. Why don’t you bend me over this railing and show me who’s boss?”
It’s Mitch’s turn to roll his eyes to the ceiling, voice deadpan. “I think I’ll pass.”
Harry juts his lower lip into a theatrical pout, sniffling faux tears. “You’re rejecting me that quick? Who’s the asshole now, huh?”
His best friend doesn’t even blink. “Still you.”
“I can live with that. And it’s probably a good call on your end to give up all this,” he signals vaguely up and down his tight torso with a ringed hand, grinning as he watches the veteran vampire pretend to gag, “because I don’t think Sarah wouldn’t be too happy about it.”
Mitch’s humorous face immediately drops, eyes narrowing at the change in topic. “Very funny.”
“I know, right? I’m a proper comedian.” Harry quips proudly, batting his lashes mockingly. “Where is Sarah, anyways? Have you heard from her lately?”
Sarah and Mitch...They’re a complex couple, if they can even be called a couple. The two are more like occasional friends with benefits, “occasional” meaning “once every couple of months, if Sarah happens to be passing by.”
Their relationship is open and very loose, mostly due to the fact that Sarah is fairly new to the world of blood-driven immortality and has decided to take full advantage of it. She’s been using compulsion to travel the world for the last three years since she changed, which had been the result of an unfortunate car accident.
Mitch had been seeing her casually beforehand, keeping her around for the purpose of having a conventional feeding arrangement. Every time vampires feed, they heal the wounds they inflict with a bit of their blood, proceeding to then wipe the person’s memory with compulsion in order to eradicate any chances of getting caught. The caveat is that if a human dies with vampire blood in their system, they become one.
Sarah’s death happened the day after she’d spent a night with Mitch, and one can imagine how distressed she had been when she'd awoken atop a metal table in a morgue within the basement of a hospital. Mitch had been there from the very first second she’d opened her eyes to her new life. Or rather, her dead life. He had helped her get accustomed to the next stage (meaning having to cut family ties in order to avoid a catastrophe— the less people that know the truth about the supernatural, the better) coaxing her through transition and teaching her the way to go about the rest of eternity without putting herself and others in danger.
Vampires rarely have any compassion for life (usually out of spite, which stems from how their own lives were taken from them), so it’s not uncommon that bodies are found drained of blood in back alleys, abandoned warehouses, and washed up on banks of oceans and rivers. It could be either of two reasons, or even both: the monster doesn’t care about the consequences of their actions, or they never learned to control their urges.
Harry’s crew isn't that careless. Through Mitch, they had learned restraint, taking up his practice of feeding enough to satisfy themselves without killing the host, healing them, and then erasing the occurrence from their memories. Mitch had come up with the tactic to cling to his humanity— to be as kind and nondestructive as possible— but if Harry’s being honest, most of their friends only play along because it’s convenient. No bodies means no police involvement, and no police involvement means being able to settle down in one place for an extended period, not having to stress about the annoying process of bouncing around the world for the rest of their lives to avoid detection.
Keeping low was for the best, and when things get rough— whether it be a mistake on their part or a disastrous bender caused by another vampire passing through— they resort to drinking from blood bags until things tide over. Mitch has a contact at the nearest hospital, which is how he gets access to the stock, as well as how he managed to clean up Sarah’s passing so quickly.
All in all, Harry had only mentioned Sarah to tease his friend, knowing the slight sensitivity that comes with the subject. Vampires rarely form emotional bonds, typically because it can get really messy, really fast, whether that connection be to a mortal or to another creature of their species. All of them have baggage of some sort— you can’t die, resurrect, be forced to abandon your family, and be a slave to drinking blood for the rest of eternity and just...be normal. That type of extreme emotional turmoil is corrosive towards love. It’s always better to just avoid it all together.
That’s why this is so habitual to joke about; it’s a way to deflect.
Mitch sighs grandly, Harry’s question echoing in his skull. “I don’t know where she is, to be honest. Last we talked was, like, four weeks ago, I think. She was in Japan, said she was drumming for a new upcoming band. Haven’t heard from her since.”
Harry nods his head once in understanding, itching to steer the theme of their conversation elsewhere now that he knows the topic is in a more sensitive state than he’d imagined. He doesn’t want to push Mitch into a depressive episode when they’re supposed to be having a good time. Spending the night consoling his sulky friend in the bathroom of a club is the last thing he wants right now.
“I guess that makes Sarah the asshole, then.” He pokes jokingly, bumping the older vampire’s hip with his own. “She’s ghosting you. Get it? It’s funny ‘cause she’s actually dead.”
Mitch’s sad expression shatters like glass, replaced by one of unamused secondhand embarrassment at the shitty pun. “I fucking hate you.”
“All the people who were ahead of their time were hated.” Harry sing-songs, turning up his nose haughtily. “Copernicus, Socrates, Einstein— all of them were hated for being geniuses. I’m willing to carry that same burden.”
Mitch blinks at him three times. “No one hated Einstein.”
The curly-haired boy’s lips twitch darkly. “I’m pretty sure Japan did.”
“You’re going to hell.”
“I’m already there, mate.”
Mitch shakes his head, but even through the black lights, Harry can see him trying to ward off a laugh. After a moment’s pause, he speaks up again softly. “It’s not that hard to refrain from humiliating innocent people who are just doing their job, H.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, you’re still on that?” The broad monster groans in exasperation, palms slapping down on the metal rungs below him. “We were just having some fun! But fine. If it helps you fake sleep at night, I’ll try and keep my condescending flare to a minimum.”
“That’s all I’m asking.” Mitch responds peacefully, tapping his nimble fingers casually along the railing, his action much less violent than his companion’s. “S’not too difficult.”
“Whatever.” Harry scoffs, returning his intent gaze to the dance floor, scoping out the scene once again in hopes of finding a proper meal for the night.
He zones in on a group of young women gathered along one side of the bar, their messy giggling and lack of balance giving away that they’re obviously sloshed off their faces. Seems promising enough.
When he talks once more, his tone holds an attitude that plays on a grumble, but it’s somewhat distracted. “The least you could do is let me have some fun, considering I didn’t even want to come.”
Mitch huffs, making an entertained noise in the back of his throat. “You say that every single time we go out, and yet you always end up taking someone home. Don’t know why you’re complaining.”
Harry side-eyes him from his peripheral vision, the corners of his pretty cherry mouth dipping down grudgingly, mood defensive. “You drag me to these things so I’m not going to apologize for making the best of it. I put a lot of effort into my pick-ups! I deserve to get my dick wet.”
“God, please don’t say that again.” His best mate physically makes a vomiting sound. “You’re acting like a spoiled fraternity douche.”
Harry’s gaze ignites into flames, his back straightening out as he fully turns to face the shorter man. He’s never been insulted so low before. “Take that back!”
“Take that back!” Mitch mocks in an exaggerated, high-pitched British accent, attempting to stifle giggles.
“Take it back! You know how much I hate Gen Z.”
“Okay, boomer.”
“You’re older than I am!”
“I know. Your lack of maturity is a constant reminder.”
Harry opens his mouth, prepared to make a sharp comeback about how Mitch should have left the shaggy-haired stoner aesthetic back in the eighties, but then a heavy Irish accent interrupts his rebuttal.
“What’s all this about getting your dick wet?”
Both of the vampires turn towards Niall, finding Xander and Adam accompanying him in a loose semi-circle.
Xander isn’t paying any attention, too busy tapping away at the screen of his smartphone, apparently engaged in a very riveting conversation with whoever is on the other side. Adam has his hands tucked into the pockets of his plum purple wind-breaker, looking over Harry’s shoulder, seeming to be adamantly searching for someone in particular amidst the mob on the level beneath them. Niall is the only one interested in their dying conversation, probably only because he heard something crude being mentioned.
“It’s nothing.” Harry dismisses, but he can’t help but stick Mitch with a glare. “What’s the plan for tonight, then?”
Adam speaks up for the first time. “Charlotte and Ny texted saying they got here about ten minutes ago. Mentioned they were dancing near the DJ station, so I think I’ll go find them.”
“Sounds good.” Harry bobs his head in accordance. “We’ll see you out there, yeah?”
Adam returns his action, turning on his heel and heading for the stairs that lead to the bottom floor. The leader of the group watches him trot onto the large spiral staircase, disappearing into the thick throng of people scattered across its wide steps.
Harry shifts his attention to Xander, snapping his fingers a few times in his direction and giving a two-toned whistle. “What about you? What’s got your head?”
“Not what, who.” Niall teases, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively and making kissy faces at their friend.
Xander ignores him, glancing up at the green-eyed brunette to let him know he’ll be with him in a second, returning his focus back to his iPhone. After a few more elongated moments of typing, the older man finally locks his device.
“I have a date.” He throws out casually, almost as if it should be obvious.
“A date?” Harry reiterates slowly, not quite buying it. Xander doesn’t date. He couch-surfs just as much as Harry does.
“Mmhm.” Xander glimpses behind his fellow vampire, eyes carrying intention. “It’s just a random dude from Tinder. I thought it’d be easier to set something up beforehand, just so I don’t have to spend the whole night trying to figure out if a guy is making eyes at me or trying to keep his whiskey down.”
“Smart.” Harry shrugs his sculpted brows, impressed. A cocky grin toys with the corners of his mouth. “But we both know no one will ever compare to me.”
“Right.” Xander scoffs in a deadpan manner, gifting him a tight, aggravated smile. “If only you weren’t such an emotionally unavailable prick.”
“Oh, like you’re mentally stable enough for a relationship?” Harry bites back, but it holds no true malice, just some petty rivalry. “Piss off.”
“Happily!” The other vampire exclaims, clasping his hands together for dramatics. “Have fun finding someone out there. I’m just gonna grab a to-go box for my already prepped meal.”
Harry doesn’t bother watching him leave. Instead, he turns to Niall, pointing at him to symbolize it's his turn to share his plans for the night. “What have you got, Lucky Charms?”
His friend breaks into a jolly cackle at the nickname, arms falling crossed over his chest, hands absentmindedly squeezing his elbows in thought. “Well, I dunno, Tea and Crumpets. What’s your game plan?”
Before Harry can answer, Mitch butts in, feeling left out of the banter and somewhat hurt that no one had assigned him an alter ego. “What’s my country-derived nickname?”
Niall gives the American a slow once-over, shifting in his dark brown Clarks boots, fitted navy slack riding up his thighs and allowing his rainbow polka-dot socks to peek out. He hums lowly in the back of his throat, a grin spreading across his rosy cheeks. “Biscuits and Gravy.”
Harry chimes in, his own arms casually folding over his strong chest, index finger tapping on his bottom lip as if mulling something over. “I quite like We The People, actually.”
The Irish lad snaps his fingers as if having a sudden epiphany. “Uncle Sam!”
Harry’s emerald eyes twinkle with glee at seeing the way Mitch’s go half-lidded, no longer entertained. “Four Score And Seven Years Ago.”
“Okay, I think that’s enou—”
Niall wags a finger at Harry, lifting one shoulder in question, seeking approval on his next idea. “Star Spangled Banner?”
Harry copies the boy’s motion from before, snapping his fingers and making jazz hands. “I Pledge Allegiance.”
“Ok, I get it!” Mitch whines with annoyed finality, pushing off the metal railing with a curt grimace on his scraggly face.
“You asked!” Niall rationalizes between hiccups of evilly delighted joy, cupping his stomach as if to keep it from splitting open.
“Won’t make that mistake again.” The older creature grumbles, leaning his back against the rungs and looking off towards the distance, communicating that he’s done being a part of the conversation.
Once Harry manages to reign in his giggles, he rubs at his nose with the side of his finger, releasing a wistful sigh. He refers to the question Niall had stated before their little bullying fest. “I think I’m just gonna do what I always do— sway a nice, pretty girl into doing some not-so-nice but very pretty things.”
“Solid.” The Irish bloke remarks, toying with the plastic buttons on his silk beige top. “Not much to do other than that, to be fair. Adam’s usually my wingman, but I guess he abandoned me for a girl’s night.”
“Mitch is mine, and he knows better than to dip on me.” Harry roughly nudges his best friend with his elbow, dodging to the side when Mitch tries to hit him in return.
Niall hums softly in amusement. “Maybe I should make Adam sign whatever contract you drafted for that poor bugger.”
The curly brunette snorts. “Good luck. Adam’s as stubborn as they come. But, hey, if you can’t find anyone, just come to me.” Harry’s irises flit crimson for a millisecond, an ominous smirk buckling his features. “You know I’m always happy to share.”
“Thanks,” his friend exhales flatly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“If you’re taking tips,” Mitch pipes up, vaguely signaling at Niall’s shirt with his chin, “maybe don’t wear that stupid shirt next time. The elephant doodles look ridiculous.”
“It’s a good thing I’m not taking fashion tips from anyone who actually enjoyed living in Ohio, then.” Niall snaps in an exaggerated American accent, middle finger jutting towards the other man. “The only thing you know how to dress is a cornfield scarecrow. Must be why you look like one.”
Harry forces down more laughter, clearing his throat softly. “You’ll be fine. Just don’t get hammered— girls hate that.”
“Note taken.” The pale boy runs his fingers through his hair, fixing it up and adding texture to appear more laid-back and rugged. “I’ll see you later, then.”
“Later.” The younger vampire recites, giving a big thumbs-up.
“Good luck out there. You, too, Boston Tea Party.”
With that, Niall saunters away, leaving a fully laughing Harry and a grouchy Mitch in his wake.
The two acquaintances decide to follow in everyone else’s example, descending down the looped staircase and chatting about Mitch’s latest gig at a new bar downtown.
Harry praises Mitch's talent with his guitar, specifically the fact that he found a hobby which he enjoys so much that he’s willing to keep it as a permanent part of his life. It’s easy to get bored of things when you have hundreds of years ahead of you; everything can seem pointless, in the end. But Harry doesn’t think Mitch has ever let himself fall into those types of dark headspaces and he finds that extremely admirable.
Harry wishes he could say the same. He’s no musical prodigy, that much is obvious, but he is an expert at playing a few specific French songs on the piano by memory. He rarely does it, though; only when he’s in a low state of mind, which— given the origin of how he learned said classical pieces— isn’t something he’s proud of. They’re tied to a very gruesome part of his past that he’d rather bury deep inside, but he can only push back his troubles for so long before they begin to leak out, staining the clean sheet of recovery he had sewn into place. Those arrangements just bring him a warped sense of comfort he can’t explain.
Even though he’s aware of the destructive aspects of the songs, he finds himself humming one now out of instinct as he elbows through squished bodies and flailing limbs. The second he notices he’s doing it, he cuts it off, focusing all his intention on making it to the other side of the room to the bar. It’s a hard trip when it feels like the walls of the building are closing in on him.
When Harry finally breaks free from the Human Centipede re-enactment that is the club dance floor, he practically collapses onto the sleek glass counter. Death was less painful than that walk.
He cranes his neck to the side wildly, suddenly remembering that his much smaller, much skinnier, much more crushable friend had been in tow behind him. To his utter shock, he watches as Mitch calmly weeds around grinding drunk couples with the poise and grace of a swan, filling the empty spot besides him without a single ailment in the world.
Harry blinks at him blankly in silence, almost as if he’d grown an extra set of fangs.
Mitch flags the bartender from all the way down the counter, not bothering to meet the green eyes peering at him in disbelief. “You’re so fucking dramatic, H.”
“How did you not die? Again?” Harry sputters, sight jutting all around the older vampire’s body, looking for any battle wounds or missing appendages. “I almost lost an arm in there!”
“It’s a good thing it wasn’t your favorite one, right?” Mitch smirks at his own lewd joke, the simper molding into one of genuine kindness when the mixologist slides up in front of them. “Hi, how are you? I’m good, as well, thank you for asking! Yeah, I’ve got something in mind. Don’t worry, I’m not one of the ‘just make me something sweet’ type of assholes.”
Harry zones out the rest of the friendly chat Mitch entertains with the employee, letting his gaze wander around the large auditorium-like room. He dances his vision over the DJ remixing music on top of the stage, head beginning to bop along to the beat that is currently shaking the seven foot tall speakers. He’s pleasantly surprised at how good this specific producer is.
He continues scoping out the rest of the venue, taking notes of the different clusters of people that seem to hold promise for the plans he has in store later tonight. A small group of hippie friends here, a two-party duo of tipsy stoners there, and a clump of college students at the edge of the ruckus, stumbling around loudly. Things are looking somewhat decent, in his opinion. The hippies seem to be catching his attention more than the others— specifically, the one that looks similar to Stevie Nicks. That’s a fantasy that’s been waiting to be fulfill for decades now.
Harry lulls his head forward again when he feels Mitch give a squeeze at his elbow, telling him that the bartender is waiting to take his order. He decides to go for the gold tequila, asking for it straight in a highball glass without any garnishes. The worker’s eyebrows jump up slightly at the unorthodox request, but he drops a polite, “Coming right up.” either way.
“You truly have no flavor.” Mitch tuts once their waiter has stepped away to prepare their drinks. “No taste buds whatsoever.”��
“Yeah? Well, you can suck my flavorless dick.” Harry chimes brightly, eyes crinkling shut as a result of a theatrical smile.
The younger vampire goes to turn back around, legitimately interested in the girl he’d seen that looked like one of his seventies celebrity crushes, already running through scenarios in his head on how he’d get her into his bed for tonight. Weed and ABBA are probably good conversation starters for that, if Harry’s undisputed people skills have anything to say about it.
As he’s rotating his torso, a blurred image catches his eyes. He does a double-take, honing in on a group of girls that look faintly familiar. He scans them carefully as they huddle around the corner of the bar area, laughing and toasting along to the multiple conversations they all have going at once. They look like the typical posse that would be a backdrop clique in a mainstream movie.
He knows where he recognizes them from— it had been the same girls he’d spotted earlier up on the second deck.
Harry expertly surveillances each woman, picking out potential candidates as easily as he’d pinch petals off a flower. The one in the center of the group is obviously the leader, present in how she’s the prettiest and is somehow managing to juggle all of these interactions at once. It means she’s used to being the center of attention— probably strives under it. He throws her out as a potential; the last thing he needs is someone who everyone knows and seeks out. He wouldn’t be able to sneak away with her quietly.
The rest of the girl crew all seem to be the same status-wise, appearing as supporting characters to the main one in the middle. He could choose any one of them blindly and it wouldn’t make a difference. They all seem so tight-knit, they probably share personalities, at this point. It’s like dipping his hand into a jar of jelly beans and they’re all the same flavor. That notion makes him laugh to himself a bit; maybe Mitch was right about his lack of taste.
Then, Harry spots her, and all the other women immediately go up in smoke.
It’s hard not to spot her. She sticks out like a sore thumb, but not in a good way.
The prospective contender is off to the side, sitting atop a barstool with her feet tucked along the footrest, tapping them against the metal rung awkwardly. She’s talking to one of the other people in the group, but the interaction seems forced and not very satisfying, obvious in both of their faces. She’s tracing her middle finger around the edge of her glass cup distractedly, the contents inside barely touched, the ice in her drink long-melted. She seems disinterested in the chaos her friends are causing, her expression bored and borderline regretful, as if she doesn’t want to be here.
The further he sizes the girl up, the more appropriate she looks for the role he needs filled. Since barely anyone is paying attention to her, that means he can lead her astray without too much resistance from her acquaintances, if any at all. She appears somewhat unimportant to the narrative— merely a background extra— and it makes him wonder what she’s doing with this clique of women that can’t seem to be bothered by her presence. It’s sad, really. Sad, but beneficial, because that means he can succeed in making her the supporting protagonist of his narrative, at least for tonight.
The girl is attractive, but not anything astronomical. She’s unconventionally pretty in a way that makes her relevant, but not particularly distinct in the eyes of regular men with presumptuous standards. She’s easy to pass up, and if Harry hadn’t been actively pursuing someone of her bashful persona to card into his plans, he wouldn’t have noticed her. At the risk of once again sounding shallow, Harry’s aware that— physically speaking— he’s very much out of her league. His above-average appearance gives off the vibe that he’d fit better with the leader of the group instead of with her, but he doesn’t want someone that would raise suspicions as a result of their absence. This girl, sitting along the edge of the party with barely any purpose and no one to really question her whereabouts, is exactly what he’s looking for. She’s perfectly imperfect for the cause.
Harry continues to examine her meticulously, analyzing other traits that can give him a better feel for her character. She’s clad in a pair of high-waisted pastel pink silk pants that stop right at her ankles, accompanied by a flouncy creme lace blouse tucked into her waist. Tan wedges, no accessories, delicate rosey nail polish, and minimalist makeup. The boldest thing about her is the brick red shade of her lipstick, which is easily shadowed by the sparkly sequin dresses, five inch heels, and layered tops her friends are wearing.
Harry likes her outfit, though. It’s concise and safe, which he can appreciate. Yes, perhaps she looks like she belongs in a dentist’s office rather than a Los Angeles nightclub, but he thinks there’s beauty in simplicity. She looks cute, and that’s good enough for him.
“She seems interesting.” Mitch’s soft voice snaps him out of his detail-hungry haze, drawing him back into the reality that is the black lighting of the club and the deep booming of the music’s bass.
His friend slides his tall drink across the glass counter, the amber liquid inside warping his reflection.
“I suppose so.” Harry answers passively, shrugging one shoulder in indifference while accepting the cup, ringed fingers clinking against the crystalline surface.
He takes a leisurely sip from the straight tequila, its tangy kick sending a warm surge up through his ears and down his throat, spreading into his chest and along the trench of his tummy. Alcohol really is the cure to everything.
Mitch gives him a deadpan look, the strobe lights alternating across the glossy surface of his hazel irises, highlighting smugness. “You’ve been gawking for five minutes. Put your pride back in your pants and go talk to her.”
The curly-haired vampire flashes him a light smirk over the rim of his drink, absentmindedly tapping his two initial rings along the bottom of the highball cup. “Ever so blunt, aren’t you?”
Mitch scuffs, taking a swig from his trusty beer bottle. Out of everything, that’s the one aspect Harry despises about his best mate— that he goes to a club and orders the same drink every time. Where was the fun in that? Where was the excitement of trying something new? When you have an eternity, the least you could do is utilize it to your advantage. Cycling through every cocktail in human history is a prime example of making the best out of immortality.
But Mitch is a creature of habit— as are most of their kind— and Harry knows he won’t shake easily. Not when it comes to surrendering his preferred beverage, and definitely not when it comes to sticking his nose in Harry’s intimate business. Meddling and being irritating are what best friends are for.
“What can I say? Pep talks are my forte.” The older monster remarks sarcastically, bumping his bottle against Harry’s glass in encouragement, using the spout of his container to point in the general direction of the mysterious girl. “Now go make dinner.”
“But, darlinggggg,” Harry whines playfully, a smirk still tugging at the corners of his slightly liquor-swollen lips. “I made dinner last night. Isn’t it your turn?”
Mitch rolls his eyes and shoves Harry’s shoulder harshly, with just enough force that it actually has some type of impact this time around. “Just go, before she gets creeped out by your staring.”
Harry’s own irises copy his friend’s actions as he pushes himself up from the bar, rubbing at the new sore spot on his shoulder with an exaggerated pout present. “Ow.”
Mitch blinks at him flatly, fighting off a grin. “You’ve had worse. Go.”
Harry swivels on his heel, once again facing the group of tipsy girls at the other end of the counter. It appears that most of them have dispersed into the dance floor, having found partners to entertain them for the time being, moving to the music as if there are no other people in the room. They had left behind three of their companions, one of which is Harry’s aspiring hookup; he gets the feeling that the two girls had stayed behind out of the kindness of their hearts, feeling too guilty to leave the runt of the litter all on her own. He hopes that’s the case because if so, the second Harry inserts himself into the situation, they’ll take that chance and split, leaving him to tend his meal in peace.
He tucks one large hand into the front pocket of his trousers, the grip on his glass tightening a smidge, rings biting into his skin as the condensation of the chilled tequila cools the small spike of pain. He spins his lionhead ring around his finger within his slacks, gradually drifting closer as he goes through a checklist of prized pick-up lines he could use to garner her attention. He ducks and dodges inebriated club-goers with ease now that he’s had something to take the edge off, finally reaching the end of the bar, slowly coming to a halt right behind his target for the night.
Harry nearly passes out as soon as her scent hits him.
It’s faint and tender and nothing quite like anything he’s encountered before, a mixture of honey and lavender that permeates through her normal perfume. He feels like his head’s been put through a wringer, his whole body clenching for a moment as raging sparks erupt across the pit of his belly. He indulges a deep breath, willing the blazing current away in order to keep his cool, but all he can see flashing before his eyes are images of her leaving traces of that smell smeared all over his face as he bobs his head between her quivering thighs.
He takes another penetrating inhale, centering his mind back into the present. He needs to behave.
Her friends spot him immediately, their side of the conversation faltering to ash. They give Harry a wide-eyed once-over, mouths parting in slight shock as they drink up his attractive appearance, gazes lingering along his thick chest as it strains the baby blue material of his tee. Their sights drag across his broad shoulders, dainty collarbones, and strong neck, faces gawking without remorse, blinking emptily at the slope of his sharp jaw and the peaks of his prominent cheekbones. They seem to be at a loss for words the second his dimples indent into place, his brows shrugging in a half-assed greeting before he cocks his head to side a tad, voice velvet as it directs towards the girl they had forgotten existed.
“I’m guessing you’re the designated driver?”
Y/N jumps slightly in response at the new addition to the painfully dying conversation, not recognizing the heavy English accent and deep baritone that booms behind her. She had been wondering why Melissa and Isabel had stopped talking so abruptly, and she now has her answer.
Y/N slowly goes to cast a curious glance over her shoulder and Harry can hear the pulse flaring in her neck from the sudden intrusion to her surroundings. His fangs prick along the inside of his bottom lip due to carnal instincts; he has to will them back into receding.
When her eyes land on the owner of the random words, her finger immediately halts its swirling motions along the hem of her glass.
‘Fuck.’ is the only thought that registers through her short-circuiting mind.
The lanky, curly-haired brunette that stands before her gives a gentle yet confident smile, the gesture dazzling even in the low lighting of the atmosphere. He’s absolutely gorgeous, with deep pits carving into his cheeks, perfect teeth complimenting full cherry red lips, eyes the color of a rainforest canopy, and a broad frame that is somehow not overwhelming. He’s sporting neatly ironed tan slacks, a fitted cotton shirt with a cute yet crude graphic at its center, a fancy plaid coat, and crisp yellow Vans without a single smudge in sight.
Y/N can’t help but take notice of all the little details of his fit, especially the accessories. A beautiful pearl necklace laid along his delicate clavicle, a cross resting between his defined pectorals, and a matching earring dangling from his earlobe. Not to mention the array of clunky rings arranged along nimble fingers, hugging a tall glass carrying caramel liquor and somehow managing to dwarf the cup’s size. The extra decoration is sensual in such an unexpectedly delicious manner.
The hand he has tucked in his pants ducks out to comb through his dark auburn ringlets and Y/N can feel her mouth water at the new round of elegant rings. The action activates the cologne Harry had thoughtfully spritz in specific pressure points along his body, the scent of tobacco and vanilla traveling through the fog-heavy air and causing Y/N’s stomach to summersault.
The young man is as close to flawless as anyone could ever come.
Y/N feels an unmistakable sharp pain shoot through her ankle, and she comes to the realization that it had been the tip of one of her friend’s heels. The reality check jars her out of the embarrassing daze he’d spelled onto her, open mouth snapping shut and her lashes fluttering over her previously unblinking eyes.
“Oh! Uhm—uh—” She clumsily twists sideways to fully face him, swallowing thickly and tasting the remnants of the alcohol she’d barely been nursing. “N-No. I’m not— well, I don’t think…? We Ubered here so that wouldn’t make any sense ‘cause I have no car to drive...so...”
The boy chuckles softly at her choppy monologue, his laughter warm and inviting, similar to the look reflecting off his shiney irises, the golden flecks around his pupils seeming to swell and shrink from the rainbow lights cascading across them. Despite being caught off guard and utterly embarrassed, she can’t seem to break eye contact with him. The longer she gazes into his eyes, the more relaxed she begins to feel, a fuzzy heat stemming from the center of her belly and spreading up her neck and ears.
Y/N gulps heavily like before, willing her tongue to produce a less embarrassing comment. “Sorry. Let me...Let me start over…Hi.”
“Hello.” He quips back playfully, lopsided grin widening in fond amusement. He lifts his drink up a bit in greeting. “M’Harry.”
“Y/N.” The girl squeaks out, copying his gesture because it’s easier than forcing her disoriented brain to try and come up with its own.
Harry flirts his intent up and down Y/N’s body slowly, checking her out without any subtlety. He wants her to know he’s interested.
When his sight locks with hers again, he bats his lashes sultrily and pours as much passion as he can into his tone, accent weighing in just right. “S’nice to meet you, Y/N.”
Her entire face prickles at how her name sounds dripping from those faultless raspberry lips. She’d pay anything to hear him say it again. “You, too.”
This is not what Y/N intended. This is most definitely not what she’d intended to happen when she’d reluctantly agreed to go out with some coworkers on a Friday night, giving in simply because she had promised herself she’d be more social within her new job.
She had moved to California roughly two months ago, wanting to get away from her old life in the small, boring town she hated to call home. Buying the flight had been a drastic decision made when she had been under the influence of something she’d rather not admit, but the following day— after she had sobered up from a wicked hangover— she found herself not wanting to cancel the trip. Found herself craving the excitement and adventure of beginning anew somewhere far away from everything she had ever known.
All of Y/N’s friends back home had supported her without hesitation, egging her preposterous idea and congratulating her on “getting the fuck out of here.” Her family had been a little less supportive, but after a few heartfelt chats about following your ambitions and a budgeting lesson from her cousin, they had gingerly gotten on board. They understood that keeping her trapped in that lame town where nothing really happened wasn’t the way to ensure her success in life. Therefore, the people closest to her had swallowed their opinions and respected her choice to dive off the deep end, in search of something better beyond the borders of their tiny city.
Within a week, Y/N had secured a decent job at a semi-popular cafe, courtesy of a connection from a family friend. Within two weeks, after many sleepless nights full of Rocky Road ice cream and the bright white pages of ApartmentFinder.com, she had managed to book a nice flat close to her place of work. It was a miracle, if she’d ever seen one. Especially within the crowded, expensive community that is Los Angeles. Within three weeks, she had been walking out of the giant glass building that was LAX with only two suitcases in tow, boarding an Uber to her new life.
Things had never seemed more picturesque, she’d thought. Everything was falling into place in a way that seemed almost blessed by the universe.
Then, the culture shock hit.
California was different. It’s was so fucking different than anything she’d ever faced and she wasn’t prepared for the social difficulties she’d have to hurdle. All her life, Y/N had grown up with the same people around her, spending every school year with them up until graduation, expanding her friend group as time passed. Even after high school, she’d remained closely connected with most of her graduating class. The region she lived in was tiny, tight-knit and friendly; it was hard not to. She couldn’t even go to the store for groceries without bumping into at least three people from her Algebra II class.
Point being, it had been ages since Y/N had been put in a situation where she actively had to try and make friends. She’d been through that challenge way back in kindergarten and had never been hit with it again.
Until it smacked her across the head here in LA.
Y/N didn’t mesh well with Californians, she quickly found out. They were all about crazy parties and club-hopping, whereas Y/N had been raised on community cookouts and mass sleepovers. They enjoyed getting cross-faded and streaking down the beach at two in the morning, meanwhile Y/N liked stripping down to her undies and spending the night binging Queer Eye while stuffing her face with Cheeze-Its and Snickers bars. They freely boasted about their sex adventures while bussing down tables at the restaurant, while Y/N’s intimate life had been nonexistent since the move.
It was just...startling, to put it lightly. It wasn’t what she had expected at all, and that’s mostly her fault for not doing the correct amount of research before jumping headfirst into a cliche LifeTime film.
Therefore, Y/N had made a pact with herself one month in, swearing to let loose and allow her surroundings to sweep her into a new dynamic— into a new, social butterfly version of herself. She’d started accepting the invitations from her coworkers to go out at night, and she’d started putting more effort into being open to wild experiences, no matter how scary they might seem. Shutting down and refusing to mold to her environment would only result in her having to return home with her tail between her legs, and she’d rather jump naked off a pier than see her parents’ faces wracked with pity.
And that’s exactly what she’d done a couple nights ago, at the encouragement of the group of girls she was at the club with now. It had, in turn, ended in her coming down with a mild cold, but at least now she’d be able to tell her friends back home a cool story about dropping inhibitions.
Dropping inhibitions is also why Y/N’s here tonight, dressed in the most party-like outfit she could put together, prodding an overly-boozy drink into her system, attempting to release some of the tension that had been building in her head for the last couple of weeks since she’d left her old life behind. That’s why she’s here, with strands of her blow-dried hair catching on the dark red gloss Melissa has slathered on her mouth in a thick layer. That’s why she’s here, with synthetic smoke scratching at her lungs and drunken men and women bumping into her every two minutes, most of them too busy sticking their tongues down each other’s throats to realize they’d almost toppled her off her seat. That’s why she’s here, with a blasé expression plastered across her features as her coworkers talk over her head without a second thought, her mind far away from the walls of this overhyped horror house.
Y/N had been thinking about how she’d just started her Disney+ membership, finding comfort in putting together a mental checklist of all the movies she’s going to plow through the second she sets foot past the doorframe of her apartment. Indulging on her childhood was an ideal form of escapism, in her opinion. She’s positive Walt Disney would agree.
That’s what her brain had been lost in when Harry’s deep, melodic voice had interrupted her daydreams, sending her spiraling into an embarrassing performance of nerve-induced hysteria.
Now here she is, blinking back at him dumbly, eyes the smallest bit damp from the smoke machine and neon flashes of light. And here he is, smirking at her over the rim of his glass, eyes raking down her wired up body suggestively as he takes a calm sip from what appears to be the straight tequila in his colossal, bejeweled hand.
The English boy takes a gradual step closer to her, wanting to make sure he’s not crossing any boundaries that would make her uncomfortable. The scent of his cologne intensifies and she feels a fiery heat suddenly pour between her clasped thighs. It just hits her how long it’s truly been since she’s gotten laid and fuck, it’s sad.
Harry begrudgingly peels his attention away from Y/N for a second, aiming his words towards the girls standing behind her with their mouths still opened stupidly. Even from a respectful distance, his warm breath still washes across her jaw and cheek, causing electricity to zip down her spine. “You don’t mind if I steal her for a bit, do you?”
‘Yeah,’ Y/N thinks in the back of her muddled skull, ‘that’s definitely tequila.’
Isabel and Melissa slowly shake their heads in unison, glancing at each other as if to confirm he’d just spoken to them.
The edges of Harry’s lips jolt into a kind, easygoing smile. “Thank you. Promise I’ll keep her safe.”
Y/N feels her heart hiccup at his statement. If she’s not insanely mistaken, it appears to have carried an undertone of dirty intentions. God, she’s praying she’s not mistaken.
The two girls clamber away on their tall pumps, rounding around Harry and pausing for a moment. They make moaning faces and vulgar motions behind him, encouraging Y/N to pursue the stranger. She then watches them disappear into the throng of crowded bodies, leaving her alone with the beautiful boy and her heart slamming against her ribs.
Y/N focuses back onto Harry, licking her itching lips lightly, not knowing what to say next as he settles himself beside her. He rests his forearm on the counter along with his drink, tucking his other hand back into his trouser pocket and fixing himself into a comfortable standing position, crossing his ankles nonchalantly. The friction between his jacket and the bar rides his sleeve up an inch or so, and Y/N gets a view of the anchor tattoo he has along his wrist, as well as the upside-down cross inked between his thumb and index finger.
Harry catches her looking, mouth twitching with a smidge of arrogant self-assurance. He loves when girls drool over his tats.
“I have more.” He remarks lightly, a pang of condescending pleasure shooting through his chest at the way she jerks and pins her gaze down to the floor.
Blood rushes into her cheeks at the realization that she’s been caught and Harry’s teeth grind. It’s so hot watching her fidget for him. Maybe he finds her more attractive than he’d originally let on. “Would you like to see them?”
Y/N timidly coaxes herself into locking stares with him once again, looking up at him from beneath her lashes, barely nodding with a soft, “Sure.”
She looks so pretty like that, he notices, staring up at him all doe-eyed and shy. It’d probably look even better if she were on her knees.
Yeah, he definitely likes her more than he’d thought.
Harry proceeds to shift about, shrugging his coat off his strong shoulders, letting it slip down his lean arms and reveal the plethora of dark tattoos strewn across his left arm. Y/N watches avidly, drinking up every flex of his biceps under the black paint and every twitch of his pecs beneath his cotton shirt, the tendons along his throat going taut for just a moment. That moment is enough for her to etch the image into the back of her eyelids for the rest of her life.
Harry tosses the article onto the table, extending his arm over its surface for her to get a better reading. She doesn’t miss the chance, her pupils tracing over every line and stroke of the pen, over every shaded area and meticulous detail.
His voice comes out as a low, garbled murmur, his own irises studying her features with just as much intensity. “You can touch them, if you’d like. I don’t mind.”
After a moment of hesitation, the brim of her crystalline cup is replaced by the ridges of his smooth, tanned skin. She drags her digits over the naked mermaid, tracing the curve of her figure and the dip of her tail, then passing onto the stem of the large rose, ghosting over every thorn and prickle. Harry can feel her heartbeat through her fingertips and it’s making him throb.
“They’re very pretty.” Y/N whispers, allowing her touch to fall away, palm finding refuge across the counter. “Did they hurt?”
“A bit, yeah. But I’ve gotten so many done that I think I grew numb to the needle after a while.” Harry answers, shrugging one shoulder to show it’s no big deal. He grasps his glass once again and takes a drawn-out swig, extending the action just so she can see the way his Adam’s Apple bobs as he swallows. Once the cup is back in its place, his tongue peeks out and swipes any leftover liquid from his rosy lips, which then settle into a coy simper. “Plus, I kinda like the pain.”
Y/N’s breathing stutters in her lungs and she swiftly swerves the topic onto something much less explicit. “So why’d you ask if I was the designated driver? That’s kind of an odd question. Very out of the blue.”
Harry lulls his middle finger across the hem of his glass, exactly how she had been doing earlier, the motion weighed by an innuendo. She seems to understand it, present in how she bites into the inside of her cheek. “I just figured that a pretty girl like you would have easily found someone to dance with. So when I saw you sitting here looking all bored with your drink barely touched…I just assumed, I suppose.”
And there it is again— the blood pouring into her face. Christ, if she keeps that up, he’s going to fucking lose it.
“Thank you, that’s— that’s really sweet. Proper gentleman.”
Harry runs his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes snapping to her tinted mouth for a second, establishing some sexual tension that he’ll expand on as they go. “Who doesn’t like a guy who knows how to treat a girl, right?”
Y/N clears her throat softly, obviously phased by his forward compliment, but she tries to play it off. “To answer your question, I— uhm...I’m not really one for the club scene, I guess. Don’t really like it, but I didn’t want to be rude and turn down the invitation.”
‘Good girl,’ Harry thinks, silently cheering her on for having more brain cells than the typical human.
“Well, that’s where we share some common ground, then.” He chimes brightly, a soft smile bringing his dimples to life. “I don’t care for clubs, either, but my friends have an affinity for them so here I am.”
He gestures vaguely towards the general direction where he’d left Mitch, continuing his rant. “The choking smoke, the annoying strobe lights, the crowded floor, the drunk morons—”
“Bumping into you without giving a shit.” Y/N finishes his sentence, her vulgarity drawing a boyish giggle from her companion and now she’s convinced she’d do anything to hear him laugh like that again. “And there’s always a faint smell of vomit coming from somewhere.”
Harry slaps his hand down against the glass table in passionate agreement, voice pitching up slightly as his brows jump in emotion. “Right?! It’s fucking disgusting. Don’t understand how anyone could genuinely enjoy it.”
Y/N nods vehemently, sharing the same expression of utter distaste towards the subject. “It honestly doesn’t make any sense to me, either. Why come here when you can go to, like, a nice bar somewhere, y’know?”
Harry blinks at her in astonishment, her opinion mirroring his own with psychic-like accuracy. “My thoughts exactly.”
“Great minds think alike.” Y/N responds playfully, taking a hearty gulp from her drink since the first time he’d spotted her from across the room.
After a comfortable pause, Harry speaks up, also entertaining another sip from his own drink, which is now nearly empty. “Are you from around here?”
She can’t be. Rarely anyone born and raised here is willing to bash the status quo, and never so openly.
She’s once again mesmerized by the attractiveness of his rings, but manages to get her composure in check. “Kinda. I moved here about two months ago.”
Precisely his point.
Harry releases a curious hum over the cup between his lips. “Let me be the one to officially welcome you to Cali, then! Where people go to shitty clubs for fun and tan themselves into a strip of leather.”
Y/N sputters out a half-suppressed giggle and Harry’s brows almost furrow at the weird fluttering in his stomach. He rarely gets it.
Y/N takes another deep gulp of what he thinks is probably an Old Fashioned, silently praising the way she’d finished it off so quickly. She crunches an ice shard between her teeth and lets it melt across her tongue before engaging again. “I’m guessing you’re not from around here either though, are you?”
Now it’s Harry’s turn to chuckle a bit and she fights off an endeared smile.
“What gave it away?” He asks, purposefully doing a thicker, fuller accent, his teasing nature making the grin she’d just stifled fully break through.
Y/N lifts a shoulder offhandedly. “Your accent seems a little too…posh for this area. Or even this hemisphere.”
Harry scoffs softly, the pinky around his glass sticking up jokingly as he kinks an eyebrow at her, a few rouge curls falling across his forehead. “Keen ears, mate.”
Y/N lifts her drink up a bit with a playfully knowing air, mimicking an English dialect. “Cheers.”
He places his empty cup down on the counter, his middle finger once more ghosting around the edge absentmindedly. She notices the pastel yellow polish covering his nails, tiny black smiley faces decorating the lacquer.
“I like your nails.” She admires, tipping her empty lowball towards his hand for significance. “Did you do them yourself?”
Harry glances at his fingers, stretching and wiggling them out, his features taking on a bit of pride. “Sure did.”
“Don’t think I’ve ever met a guy at a club who could pull off nail polish so easily.”
The left edge of his lips flicks upwards. “How do you mean?”
Y/N’s gaze bounces back to his and the tone twirling in his jade irises tells her everything she needs to know about keeping this conversation going: he enjoys being praised.
She chooses her next words carefully, wanting to appeal to his interests. “I mean that it looks amazing on you. The color suits your skin nicely, makes your hands look good.”
Harry breaks eye contact, glimpsing down at his shoes and she realizes he’s actually trying to hide a blush. The fact that she had managed to coax one out of him boosts her confidence while simultaneously making his own waver. He’s never like this— never so easily flustered. He needs to get it together.
Harry tilts his chin back up, lower lip strung between his two front teeth. His voice comes out as a flirty laugh.
“Known you for maybe,” he looks at the beautiful watch on his wrist symbolically, “ten minutes, and you’re already stroking my ego just the way I like it. I think that’s a record.”
Y/N doesn’t know if it’s the liquor she’d just consumed too quickly, or if it’s Harry’s intoxicatingly alluring scent dulling the region of her brain that controls fear, but she’s suddenly filled with a strange surge of courage and her thoughts are spilling down her semi-numb tongue before she can stop them. “I’ve been told I’m pretty good at stroking, so an ego’s not too hard to handle.”
Harry cocks an eyebrow, surprised at her brazen reply. He might have misjudged her more than he assumed. However, he can’t say he doesn’t enjoy this girl more than the one he thought he was going to receive. There’s just something about how she can match his banter without a problem, and how they share a lot of the same thoughts and opinions, that just lights a fire in his stomach.
“Is that so?” His voice lowers in pitch and he scoots a step closer, fingers just barely brushing against her arm as he repositions himself against the bar. His question comes out as a sultry murmur. “What else can you handle?”
Y/N knows that she’s starting to cross a line, and with every passing moment, the likelihood of returning to her friends is getting smaller and smaller. She’s not mad about it. Riding off of the wave of confidence that had inflated her ego earlier, she mumbles her response back with the same tone and texture. “How about you buy me another drink and then maybe you’ll find out?”
Harry gives her a boyish grin and the indents that pop into his cheeks nudge his appearance from an incredibly attractive man to an adorable cheeky boy. He motions to the bartender for another round of drinks, only letting his eyes flicker away from her for the moment it takes to do it. “How do you like LA so far?”
“It’s...alright.” It’s Y/N’s turn to move closer to him now, flicking her hair off her shoulder, hoping that the motion releases the perfume she’d dabbed on her neck while getting ready. Judging by the darkening of Harry's eyes, it does just that. “It’s definitely a change in pace from where I used to live, but I think I’m slowly gaining the reigns. I feel like once I get acquainted, I could grow to love it.”
“LA’s definitely a toggle. You could either vibe with it, or it’ll eat you alive and spit you back out.”
She bats her lashes at him in stunned fright at his bluntness, his face deadly serious without any twitch or give.
Harry then bursts into high-pitched laughter, eyes crinkling shut and nose scrunching. “I’m just fucking with you, love. Ease up, hm?”
“You asshole!” Y/N exhales grandly, half in relief and half in indignation, slugging him on the shoulder. All she feels is hard muscle beneath.
He continues to cackle, sticking his tongue out at her. “Looked like you were about to cry.”
“It definitely crossed my mind, yeah!”
The bartender arrives with their fresh drinks and Harry tells the man to but both of Y/N’s on his tab. She feels her cheeks glow, telling him he doesn’t have to, but he waves it off and says he’s more than happy to serve such a nice girl as herself. Especially if she “hates the same things I do. Think of it as your initiation gift into the Anti-Club Club.”
A handful of heartbeats tick by, full of comfortable quietness as they both savor their new beverages. Harry pipes up first, regaining their topic from before.
“But, yeah, Cali’s for sure a special place. You meet some cool people if you hang around for a while. But sometimes,” he pauses for a second, eyes gleaming with something she can’t quite interpret. “But sometimes you can meet a really interesting person in just one night.”
“I don’t doubt it.” Y/N clicks her nails against her Old Fashioned distractedly as Harry fixes her with that beautiful emerald gaze that makes her ears tingle. She cocks her head to the side knowingly, flashing him a soft smirk. “Sometimes, you just happen to meet that one in a million.”
“A lucky strike.” He adds, lifting his tequila an inch off the counter and tilting it towards her in what appears to be a toast, irises dancing with a certain type of suggestive mischief. “To meeting interesting people.”
The human girl clinks the rim of her lowball to the edge of his cup, shrugging her brows and reciting his comment back to him. “To meeting interesting people.”
Y/N measures how the rest of their interaction goes by how quickly her drink shrinks.
When she reaches down to the first ice cube stacked on top, Harry has managed to coax multiple rounds of laughter out of her, his humor startlingly similar to her’s in the most refreshing way imaginable. She quickly learns that despite his broad shoulders, lean torso, dark inking, and flawless features, he’s a complete and total dork. His personality consists mainly of voice impersonations and contorting his expression into an endless array of silly faces, which she takes to easily.
By the time Y/N’s amber drink has reached halfway down its container, the default touch barrier between the two has broken completely. There had been a few caresses prior, but now it’s more frequent, more noticeable, and each touch extends in time. She had been the one to initiate getting physical, which had sat so right in her stomach because that meant he was respectful and patient— definitely unlike most men in clubs.
The mortal girl had gently shoved Harry’s chest when he’d made an nonchalant joke about how losing his swim trunks at a nude beach had been both the best and worst experience of his life, her cheeks boiling as she had felt nothing but more toned muscle beneath the cotton fabric of his top. She had gone back to tracing at his tattoos the further they got into sharing anecdotes and opinions, glancing up at him for permission in the middle of their exchange and smiling to herself when he’d nodded casually without a second thought. As the conversations continue, they both unintentionally get closer in distance to the point where the arm Harry had settled on the bar is now fully wrapped around the small of her back. She willingly leans into him, their knees and thighs brushing with every shift of their bodies and those minute moments begin to pile up their excitement.
By the time the alcohol in her possession bottoms out, she is nearly sitting in his lap, faces only a few inches apart. Y/N can’t recall half of what she had said, the subject having steered into so many different places that she couldn’t be bothered to keep track. Besides, she’s too focused on trying to keep a straight face as Harry plays footsie with her below the counter, his light yellow sneaker toying with her heeled velvet wedge.
An important question on his behalf snaps Y/N out of her flirty stupor.
“So how do you like your new home?”
She blinks at him slowly, partially to try and give a seductive tinge to the interaction and partially because the liquor has started to truly settle in. It takes her a few heartbeats to process the inquiry. “I love it, actually. It’s a place of my own, for the first time ever. I couldn’t be happier.”
The corners of Harry’s swollen lips tick in genuine happiness on her behalf. “That sounds amazing. Congratulations on such a big step.”
“Thank you! What about yourself? Renting anything neat?”
“Oh, I own a condo here.” He mentions casually, outlining the criss-cross pattern along the circumference of his highball glass. “I used to visit so often that I finally just decided to pull the trigger on one.”
“Look at you, investing in real estate.” She says in a teasing voice, her heel grazing around his calf slowly, cheeks sizzling as he parts his legs a bit to allow her the pleasure of traveling higher up.
“Mmhm.” Harry licks his red lips, free hand starting to trace over her own. The tips of his fingers are calloused and cold, the motion of them over her skin almost pulling a tremble out of her body. She does her best to restrain it, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. “Is it nice?”
“Hm?”
His lips twitch in endearment at how he’s managing to make her lose her train of thought. “Your apartment, darling.”
She rests the rim of her drink on the bottom of her lip as she speaks. “It’s nothing huge or fancy, but it’s a decent size and l can call it home. Can’t get much better than that.”
Y/N loves how Harry's eyes flit to her lips for what she thinks is the billionth time tonight, his vision sketching along the curve of her cupid’s bow and dotting every peak.
Another warm glow of confidence spikes through her veins and she’s talking before she can analyze her thoughts. “Well, at least I think it can’t get much better than that. Although, I could just be biased. Could probably use an outside opinion.”
It takes Harry a moment to register what she’s suggesting, a light blush creeping up the base of his neck as he realizes how he’s stopped so abruptly. Humans usually never get him this unnerved and it’s one of many times she’s made it happen. “An outside opinion?”
Y/N lists her head to the side. It sounds like he’s accepting the vague invitation, but she’s so anxious to mess this up that she’s second guessing herself with every passing second. However, with every touch, she wants Harry more and more, and that’s enough to propel her towards a more direct approach. “Mmhm. Like yours, maybe. Would you like to come back and see it?”
Harry pauses for a few of her heartbeats, and then bobs his head in acceptance. She can breath again.
He finishes off the last inch or so of his tequila, a wicked grin creeping its way across his pretty, flushed mouth, long fingers carding into his loosely arranged curls. “I’m more than happy to be of service.”
A smile works its way onto Y/N’s own face at his response, her foot dropping back down his leg slowly. “I’m glad to hear.”
“Mm.” Harry takes her hand completely now and she almost moans at how much bigger his are, his rings pinching a bit, skin rough in some areas, but silky smooth in others. And strangely icy, but she enjoys it. “Shall we say goodbye to your friends first? I wouldn’t want them to worry about you.”
He knows her “friends” couldn’t care less, but he wants to be as much of a gentleman as possible. Romanticize, romanticize, romanticize.
Y/N snorts, knowing full well that they’d probably purposefully embarrass her in front of him as a joke.
She squeezes his grasp lightly, giving him a soft smile. “You’re sweet, but it’s fine. They were actually behind you earlier, encouraging this whole thing, so I’m pretty sure they won’t mind.”
Harry hums deep in the back of his throat and the sound melts into a cute chuckle. “I’m glad they helped, then. Think you can deliver them my thanks some other time?”
The young woman chews on the inside of her cheek at his comment, realizing that it suggests he aims on keeping her occupied for the rest of the night and well into the morning. She has to will herself not to lurch forward and kiss at his annoyingly perfect lips right then and there. “I’ll make sure to pass the message along.”
With one last cocky simper, Harry helps her down from the stool and pays off their tab, offering her his jacket since most of her outfit is made of flimsy fabrics. Y/N takes it appreciatively, lashes fluttering when his scent envelopes her like a blanket. It’s the unique smokiness from his cologne, mixed with a slightly sweeter smell that she assumes is his shampoo, and a bit of something that reminds her of a vanilla candle. The aromas are sewn into every thread of his coat and she can’t wait to have those scents glued all over her more deliberately later tonight.
Harry turns and plunges them into the throng of partiers, weeding through bodies with a type of determination that makes her insides twist. His arm comes up in front of him as he plows people out of the way with absolutely no regret, leaving her to throw out a few half-assed apologies in his wake. The idea that he’s excited to be alone with her has Y/N’s insides churning.
Once they escape all of the grinding limbs and tight spaces, stumbling into the cool air of the starry night, she takes a huge gulp of air. She prays it will tide over the jitters running along the inside of her tummy. She has just now realized how riled up he’d gotten her and it’s all coming to a raging boil.
Harry paces past the bouncer, throwing up two fingers in parting. “Later, Brock.”
The security guard gives the young vampire a confused look, not recognizing him at all and wondering how he knows his name.
Y/N repeats Harry’s phrase for the hell of it, squeezing his hand jestingly and he glimpses over his shoulder, grinning at her with sheer amusement and something much deeper swirling around the specks of copper in his irises. If there was a bit more light, perhaps she would have noticed the way his irises had glinted blood red instead of olive green.
She ogles at the way his back muscles shift and flex below his pastel blue shirt, her mind vaguely taking note of the light yellow detailings along the cuffs and collar. The tee is intriguing and fun and she hopes he’ll let her sleep in it after they’re done.
She also gets distracted by the baby curls decorating the nape of his neck. She’s itching to tug at them and see what his response would be. Would he shiver in her grasp and let out a soft moan, or would he smirk darkly and tell her to go harder?
Harry suddenly halts, snapping her out of her thoughts as he presents his car. Y/N’s jaw nearly falls off. “This is yours?!”
She gawks at the vintage jet black convertible before her, feeling like she isn’t worthy of its chic presence. It looks new, shining in the street lamps like a thousand diamonds, not a scratch or dent in sight.
Harry unlocks the passenger’s door, opening it and guiding her inside with a gentle pull at their clasped hands, shrugging his brows playfully. “Hope it’s not too shabby for your liking.”
“Are you kidding?” The human mumbles in awe as she ducks down into the patented leather seat, running her free hand over the elegant cover. She sighs softly at the way his smell is lingering inside the vehicle, just as much as it sticks to his clothes. “I feel like I should bow to it or something.”
He laughs fully now, leaning down to get a view of her sitting prim and proper in his favorite car, looking gorgeous in her flowy silk pants, lace creme blouse, and his own clothes. He gnaws at his bottom lip to withhold a needy groan. “I think you fit right in.”
Y/N feels warmth erupt into her face and she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, trying to distract her fingers from shaking. “Looks like I’m not the only one that’s good at stroking egos.”
“S’hardly a task. You make it easy, doll.”
It’s the second pet name he’s called her tonight— it’s strangely vintage, same as his car— and she can’t wait to hear what others he has in store. Preferably in the form of breathy pants and broken whines.
Y/N flicks her gaze up at him through heavy lashes, attempting to stifle a sheepish smile. “Quite the charmer.”
A moment of silence suspends in the air, a light breeze filtering through Harry’s curls, swaying the jewelry around his neck as well as the earring hanging from his lobe. Harry speaks up with a type of hushed desire she hadn’t heard from him yet. “Can I kiss you?”
She blinks up at him once in mild surprise and then releases a sigh of utter relief. “Fuck, I thought you’d never ask.”
Her hand reaches upwards outside the confines of the car, knitting into the thick fabric of his shirt and yanking him down. The second their mouths meet, it sets off a dozen fireworks in the pit of her stomach. His is softer than she had imagined, wet and warm, and his tongue carries the sourness of the tequila he’d been swishing the whole night.
Harry’s breath hitches in his throat, and then a quiet whimpery moan streams down his tongue onto her itchy skin. “Christ, that was hot.”
As much as she loves the taste of him— the tartness of the alcohol mixed with an inherent sweetness his lips carry— she forces herself to pull away, but keeps her sweaty forehead pressed to his. “Yeah. It was.”
With one hand still gripping the car door, Harry uses his other to cup her chin lightly, guiding her into another kiss. Now that they have both developed a feel for the other, this one is less tentative than the last. She tastes so fucking good on his tongue, like strawberry syrup—probably from her lipgloss— orange bitters, and bourbon. He just has to have more of it.
A helpless gasp escapes Y/N when Harry's teeth graze against her upper lip, only nipping enough that she craves more. More of anything he has to offer.
He pulls away and the whine that plucks her vocal chords feeds his eternal soul like nothing else has in a while.
The young man grins at her for a moment, half in smug satisfaction, half red-faced and desperate, before carefully closing the car door and making his way to the driver’s side. He slides in with ease, shuts his own door and buckles up with a click of the belt. The simple action has never looked so attractive before, but she’s certain that anything Harry does with his ring-covered hands would be attractive.
He fishes his keys from his front pocket, asking her where she lives in order to try and orient himself. As it turns out, she’s not too far away from his own flat. He knows exactly which condominium she’s referring to without having to even search it up— a perk of living here for a few decades.
He also chuckles to himself a bit at the fact that she hadn’t mentioned he shouldn’t drive under the influence. Vampires have an extremely high tolerance due to their self-healing properties, so the drinks he’d had only gave him a soft, warm buzz. He just finds it comical— and slightly arousing— that she’s so eager to get at him that she’d let that detail slip her mind.
Harry starts the car, but doesnt pull out of the parking spot. Instead, he glances at Y/N as a crease appears in his beautifully sculpted brows. The idea of something displeasing him bothers her, and she’s about to ask what it is when he murmurs a quick, “Just a second, dove.” He reaches across to grab her seatbelt, pulling it over her body and securing it into place on her behalf, making sure it’s nice and proper before leaning back in his seat. He doesn’t know why he cared to do it, but he had.
The simple action leaves another layer of heat on Y/N’s cheeks. Having him bent over her like that was just a teaser of what was going to unfold later and it already has her mind spinning. She can only imagine how much of a mess he’s going to leave her when there’s no clothes restraining them.
“Thanks.” She whispers, playing with the tips of her fingers.
“No need to thank me. Just wanna keep that pretty face in one piece.”
He plops one hand on the steering wheel as he shifts into reverse, carefully backing out of his spot. His arm ducks behind her seat, head turning and veins chiseling into his neck. It takes all of Y/N’s willpower not to lean up and begin to darken his tanned skin with hickeys.
Harry cruises up to the exit of the club parking lot, waiting impatiently for the turn signal, digits tapping away at the leather below them. Y/N can see him throwing pained little glances at her from her peripheral vision, obviously restless to feel her skin sliding against his. Each look causes the warmth between her thighs to swell.
She’s talking before she can stop herself, voice bashful and soft as ever, yet full of boldness from the liquor she’d consumed. “If you keep looking at me like that, I’m going to do something to you that’s gonna get us both killed.”
The tapping of his fingers halts and he cranes his head to face her fully, ignoring the flashing green arrow on the stoplight before them.
Harry reaches over the center console, his nose dragging up the length of her cheekbone, causing her to squeak out a tiny whimper at the feathery sensation. It’s the first time tonight he’s touched her so intimately.
The sentence he grits out next makes her entire body visibly shutter, his breath hot against her ear, damp lips smearing over her jaw as his oath burns into her flesh.
“And if you say something like that to me again, I promise you I’ll pull this car over and make you eat every fucking word.”
#harry styles x reader#harry styles x y/n#harry styles x you#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles fic#harry styles smut#harry styles series#vampire!harry#harry styles#1d fanfiction#1d fic#one direction fanfiction#one direction fic#1d smut#one direction smut#ysijwa#harry styles one shot#harry styles dirty one shot#harry styles dirty fanfiction#vampire au#smut#harry styles blurbs
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you’re someone i just want around: VI
“I think I’m catching feelings
And I don’t know if this is empathy I feel
Just hold on
Remember when you said this was the last time?”
Sex, Eden
A/N: okay this chapter has probably been my favourite to write so far because we are finally. finally!!!!!! getting to a lil smidgen of softness!!!!! and the softness will only continue like originally I had a different lyric in mind for this chapter (a hozier lyric to stay on brand) and decided that it was too soft so I stocked it away to use in the future when things get even sweeter and harry gets even dumber 😌 we really hope you guys enjoy this chapter!!! and please remember that feedback is truly, madly, deeply™ appreciated!!!! not just by us but by all content creators!!!!! and if you enjoy it, please reblog it!!!! spreading content keeps creators motivated!!!!! and so do messages about what you liked!!!! it lets us know what sort of vibe to add in later!!!! okay now that that’s out of the way!!!! let’s dive in 😼
ysijwa masterlist : andrea’s masterlist : leyla’s masterlist : ysijwa playlist
word count: 29.1k
content/warnings: a good healthy dose of denial and justification to deny feelings, the defamation of gherkin pickles, pet names (literally), a strong independent woman who don’t need no man, a (not quite) man who definitely needs a strong independent woman, brunch served with a side of emotional trauma, breaking promises, nsfw social distancing, and Harry once again ignoring the phrase “bros before hoes”
///
Harry knows he’s good at a lot of things.
He’s good at picking up on fashion trends and turning them into timeless styles, molding each piece to fit his own persona with ease. He’s good at identifying the locational origins of wines within five seconds of the sweet liquid crossing over his tongue. He’s good at mixing his own drinks as well, always managing to craft the perfect concoction that suits each drinker’s needs. He’s good at creating gallery walls in his apartment, at charming anyone into giving him what he wants with a slip of his mouth, and at pissing off his friends until they’re threatening to stake him just to get a little peace and quiet. Harry is good at chess, at reciting poetry from memory, and at painting his non-dominant hand’s fingernails without smudging any nail polish onto his icy skin. Harry is fucking excellent at coaxing orgasms out from his lovers. He knows that he’s good at a lot of things.
The issue, he realizes the day after he asks Y/N out on a real date, is that planning a real date is not one of those things.
This, Harry rationalizes to himself, is not his fault. After all, the last time he’d been on a real date was during the Victorian era, and Harry is fairly certain that taking a chaperoned stroll around his beloved’s estate garden isn’t in fashion anymore. And when the way all of those dates ended is taken into account, Harry doesn’t think his past experiences should be the marker for a good date, anyways.
It’s this frustrating lack of knowledge that leads Harry to do what he always does when he doesn’t know the answer to something: he Googles it.
With the top of the line Macbook Harry had purchased a few months back with the money from a CEO of some candle company perched on his lap, Harry relaxes back onto his leather couch, kicking his brown boots up onto the matching footrest as he does so. Once the search engine is open and the cursor is blinking in front of his face, however, the vampire pauses, his manicured fingernails perched over the keys. What question could he possibly Google for his situation?
Harry twists his lion head ring around his cool finger as he thinks, his tongue tucked between his lips in concentration while potential queries run through his head. Ideas for a first date with a girl you’ve been fucking for a month. Things to do in L.A. with a mortal when you’re a two hundred year old vampire. Places to take someone after drinking their blood. A snort echoes from Harry’s throat as the last idea pops into his head. Somehow, Harry isn’t confident in what results those questions will show him.
Tapping his black lacquered nails against the keys, Harry purses his lips as he loses himself in thought. How had he even gotten himself into this position? The reason he hasn’t planned a date in centuries is because he doesn’t date, and for good reason. What use does a soulless vampire have for dating? Mortals use romantic outings to open their hearts to one another, and Harry, in contrast, can’t open what he doesn’t have.
Despite his wondering, however, he knows exactly how he got himself into this situation: he let himself get jealous of a fake-tanned, shaggy-haired idiot named Jacob, a name that Harry despises on principle alone. It had been a perfectly fine name until that awful Meyer woman decided to make it one of the banes of Harry’s existence. And while Harry doesn’t have a particularly forgiving nature, he had just finally begun to get over the association, but thanks to that hallway confrontation at the end of Y/N’s date with the obtusely orange fool, Harry is now reminded that he will forever hate the name with a burning passion. And shaggy hair. And fake tans. And while the irony of him, a vampire—with a middle name of Edward, for Christ’s sake—hating an insignificant mortal named Jacob, simply because he dared to make a pass at the object of Harry’s fascination, is not lost on him, all of that was pushed aside the moment Harry smelled the perfume his fascination wore for the mortal boy.
Y/N never wears perfume for him. And though she had assured him that her dressing up had been for him, he can’t shake the fact that Jacob had gotten to experience it first.
It’s not that Y/N needs to wear perfume for him. In fact, if Harry’s being honest with himself, he likes that she doesn’t spritz artificial scents all over her body before letting him into her home and between her legs. She has one of the sweetest natural scents Harry’s ever had the pleasure of inhaling, all lavender and honey and utterly intoxicating. Of course, as all mortals are, Y/N is unaware of the mouth watering fragrance that drips from her skin, while Harry is all too aware of it at all times, but her obliviousness to her natural scent doesn’t change the fact that Harry would bathe in it if he could. If it were possible, Harry would pump an entire room full of her personal cloud of lavender and honey, lay back on the floor, turn down the lights, spark a joint, and let himself get lost in the very thought of her. That would be Harry’s personal definition of Nirvana.
But Y/N isn’t aware of her natural, skin sweetening aroma like Harry is, which means two things. Firstly, that Y/N doesn’t feel the need to smear anything unnatural on her body to attract Harry; she knows she doesn’t need to go through all that trouble. And that was fine with Harry, until he realized the second thing, which is that there potentially could be someone that Y/N would go to all that trouble for if he doesn’t keep her entertained and occupied. She had told him her date with Jacob hadn’t been on her terms, and that she’d done it just to be courteous towards a co-worker, but that doesn’t sedate the truth: There will always be a maddening possibility that occasions could come into play in which Y/N will spray a choking cloud of gardenia and freesia over herself, all in the hopes of appealing a suitor. The issue is that in those hypothetical cases, the suitor Y/N would be trying to impress wouldn’t be Harry.
Actually, that’s only the first issue. The second issue is that it could be another fraternity moron with an equally stupid name.
After the vampire had come upon Y/N ending her date in front of her door, just minutes before their own rendezvous was scheduled, Harry had felt an initial burst of blind rage, and everything after is a blur. He vaguely remembers trying to make Jacob uncomfortable and delighting in how he succeeded, until he saw the anger on Y/N’s sweet face. He remembers a brief discussion about limits and honesty, and about how she was only interested in him, and that he shouldn’t waste his time stressing about her supposedly dormant dating life. And, most importantly, he remembers asking Y/N to accompany him on a real date, one that would blow her date with the VeggieTales carrot out of the water.
Now, of course, he’s beginning to regret his impulsive decision, purely for the fact that he now has to figure out how to woo a mortal girl just enough to keep her away from creeps with horribly coiffed hair.
And yet, despite this regret…there’s something new curling inside his belly as he types the phrase date ideas for L.A. into the search bar, the blinking cursor reflecting in his eyes before he presses the enter key and millions of results pop up. Ah, the joys of the internet, he thinks as he scours the results with inhuman speed. It’ll take Harry a few different clicks to find the perfect activity for himself and Y/N, and his hyperfocus on the topic will stop him from over analyzing that new feeling twisting inside him.
It’s a win-win situation, if he can say so himself.
Harry’s halfway through the first disappointing article (somehow, he doesn’t think taking Y/N on a hike is very romantic) when the door to his condo opens and reveals Mitch in the frame, dressed in his usual casual attire, this time of blue jeans and a plaid shirt. Harry has spent the last century trying to refine the older vampire’s taste in clothing, even going so far as to once donate the entirety of Mitch’s closet to a homeless shelter, but all his efforts have been in vain, as his friend still insists on wearing the standard (and boring) style for every decade they’ve lived through together.
“Hey,” Mitch greets from the end of the corridor with a nonchalant nod, shutting the door behind himself before sauntering further into the living room. “Thought we were meeting at the bar at eight?”
It takes Harry a moment to remember the agreement Mitch refers to, his brow creasing as his eyes flicker to the corner of his computer screen. By the time he registers the numbers 8:41 shining back at him, the memory of agreeing to get drinks with Mitch after his evening gig has resurfaced. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I lost track of time.”
“I thought so.” Mitch moves the decorative pillow next to Harry on the couch, taking a seat in his usual spot. His voice is slightly sarcastic as he gives Harry a knowing look. “That’s been happening a lot lately. Lapses in your memory and such.”
“It's old age, I suppose.” Harry’s lips quirk up in amusement, although he knows that Mitch’s comment is pointed towards a subject they’re both acquainted with, courtesy of Harry’s absence on their annual Vegas trip about a week prior. “It’s finally getting to me.”
The long-haired immortal makes a vague sound of humorous acknowledgement, but offers no other response as he turns his gaze to the younger vampire.
Harry watches as his friend’s expert eyes appraise his appearance, examining how the older vampire takes note of the messy state of Harry’s hair that indicates he’s been tugging on it in frustration, the redness of his lips, the way he’s curled over his open laptop. Although he makes no further comment on Harry’s newfound tendencies, his brows furrow in confusion. “What are you doing?”
“I, uh—” The amusement is replaced by an unfamiliar feeling of nervousness that sweeps through Harry’s entire body. “I’m doing research.”
When he’s given no other explanation, Mitch prompts his younger friend. “On?”
“I...asked that girl from the club out on a date— Y/N. Like, I invited her on a proper one.” Harry elaborates, twisting his lionhead ring around his finger as he speaks. “But I don’t really know, like, what to do with her. I’m a little out of touch with what a typical twenty-something woman wants to do on a real date.”
And this is another thing Harry is usually good at— being confident and sure of himself. Normally, he speaks with ease and a nonchalant cadence to his words, lacking any worry about how he’ll be perceived. Harry knows what he wants, and knows how to articulate it. Right now, however, he feels the complete opposite. There’s a tension aching its way through his muscles and settling into the pit of his stomach, curling around those organs that haven’t been truly needed in years, and the utterly bemused expression weaving its way onto Mitch’s face doesn’t help.
The quiet vampire cocks his head to the side upon receiving this news, propping one foot up onto Harry’s coffee table and addressing him with a mocking air. “Why are you taking her on an actual date? From what you’ve told me— which isn’t much, and that strains our best friend reputation, if I’m being honest— I thought you two had an...understanding?”
“We did. We do.” Harry stumbles over his words as he half shuts the laptop, setting it down on the coffee table and giving Mitch’s foot a quick playful shove off the lacquered surface as he repositions himself. “But she went on a date with someone else, so I have to—”
“Are you jealous?” His friend cuts over him with an incredulous tone, and the disbelief sends a flare of something akin to shame through Harry’s body. “Because she had a date?”
“I’m not jealous.” With a firm voice, Harry manages to scoff at the very notion. “I may be a monster, but my eyes are red, not green. It’s just—”
“Well, technically, they are.”
The immortal ignores the shit-eating correction. “—occurred to me that our arrangement will end if Y/N starts seeing some mortal bloke. So, if she wants a relationship, then I can fabricate one for her.”
Although the excuse slips off his tongue easily enough, Harry refuses to meet Mitch’s eyes as he picks up his laptop and opens it again, clicking his way onto another article in the search results. The older vampire’s stare feels as if it’s scorching his icy skin, and Harry can’t exactly say he enjoys the sensation, but it’s better than the alternative of admitting to Mitch—and to himself—that he may harbour the smallest trace of feelings for the human girl.
However, Mitch seems to buy the rushed explanation. “Fabricate a relationship?” He repeats, scratching the base of his chin slowly. “Doesn’t that seem a little...cruel?”
“It’s not. It’s only for a bit, and once I’m done with her, I’ll probably just…” The words lodge in his throat for some unknown reason, but he forces them out. “I’ll probably just wipe myself from her mind, and she…” Harry’s sharp teeth tug on his plump bottom lip. “She won’t remember me. It’ll be fine.”
Yes, Harry repeats to himself as he scrolls through all the results Google has to offer. It’ll be fine. It has to be fine, really, because what’s the alternative? Harry’s kind aren’t exactly built for a long term commitment to anyone that’s less than immortal. The kindest thing for him to do would be to let Y/N go now, without having to use compulsion at all. It would be so simple, he thinks. One small text, a few words along the lines of “it’s not working out, and we probably shouldn’t see each other again, I’m sorry. H.” would probably suffice. And surely she’d be a little upset, but she’s mortal, and a mortal’s feelings never stay the same for long. It would take her a few weeks, or maybe a month at most to get over the creature she’d begun a casual sexual relationship with. Within a year, Harry and their short-lived friendship would be nothing but a small blip in her memory, and she’d be moved on to someone else.
Harry can see her future so clearly that he almost believes it’s shining through his laptop screen like an old film. Y/N, going back out for the first time after Harry breaks things off. Y/N, bumping into a handsome stranger with a bright smile and dull eyes. Y/N, slumped over her kitchen table and fighting a hangover as the stranger hands her a cup of coffee. Y/N and the stranger going for dinner. Walking hand in hand. Kissing goodnight at the door.
Harry’s mind spins through scenarios faster and faster, racing through every possible future for Y/N before he can even take another breath. Although some scenarios have different paths, different breakups, different faces, they always end at the very same place: Y/N in a white dress, walking down a flower strewn aisle, and taking the warm hand of someone who is not Harry.
If Harry needed to breathe, the wind would’ve been knocked out of him the moment he pictured those warm hands with blood pulsing beneath the skin lifting Y/N’s veil, cupping her flushed cheek, and sealing their lips to hers. It’s a perfectly normal image. A human pledging themselves to another human. It’s natural, by human standards, as they seem to value monogamy over everything else. The path Harry is seeing is the path Y/N was always meant to take. So why does it make his icy blood curdle?
Mitch, who seems to be completely unaware of the wild road map his friend’s mind has just drawn, speaks out his concerns in a quiet but careful voice. “Are you sure you’re not getting too attached?” He asks, gauging Harry’s reaction to his question as if it’s a catastrophic statement. “You’ve been spending more and more time with her, you blew off the Vegas trip for the first time…” The older vampire gives a soft shrug of his shoulders. “If it were just for sex and blood, that would be one thing, but it’s almost like you’re getting…addicted to her.”
Although the statement first brings a laugh to Harry's strawberry lips, the initial chuckle quickly fades away as the gravity of Mitch’s statement hits its recipient. Certainly, he feels an indescribable draw to Y/N, but he knows, deep down, that any addiction he has to her is more so to her blood than anything else. After all, what else could he possibly indulge? The last time Harry let himself be addicted to a person, he ended up with a broken neck and newfound bloodlust. He’s learned since then. He’s not so naïve, or so foolish, as to let his emotions wander like that again. He knows better.
“There’s no addiction—I just like her blood more than others, that’s all.” Harry assures his friend, tapping his thumb against the band of his mother’s opal ring. “I know I’ve been a bit of a flake lately, but it’s just while I have her around. I’ll get tired of her eventually; I always do.” He deliberately flashes his crimson eyes at his friend with a knowing smirk. “And then all it’ll take is a few choice words to take care of whatever lingering marks—metaphorical or otherwise— I’ve left on her, and it’ll all be done, and in the past. You know me, mate. Sometimes I like playing with my food.”
That last sentence makes his mouth go sour, almost as if his body is punishing him for uttering something so indifferently ruthless. Especially because deep down, there’s the smallest seed of doubt in his speech— the tiniest hint of uncertainty, telling him that the detachment he is playing up is not true.
Harry forces it to be true. It has to be. Both for his sake, and Y/N’s.
Mitch spends a long few minutes gazing into the blood red irises marching his stare, determined to find a crack in their façade. However, Harry’s good at hiding his feelings, given that he’s had decades of practice on how to keep a thick curtain draped over his innermost thoughts. He won’t let anyone see his weaknesses anymore, no matter how microscopic they might be.
When the older monster’s search turns up empty, he repents with a long sigh, waving his hands free of the whole affair. “Whatever, Harry. You seem to know what you’re doing. Just be careful, alright?”
“I do know what I’m doing, thank you.” Harry elects to ignore the last statement Mitch tacked on, and instead flips his laptop around to show his friend his findings with a triumphant—albeit, forced—grin. “I’m doing brunch. Google says girls Y/N’s age like brunch, and that the Persimmon Pantry in downtown L.A. has authentic crepes that are to die for.”
“Too bad you’re already dead.” The older vampire deadpans, pushing the laptop closed and raising himself from the couch into a standing position, tucking his hands into his jean pockets. “If you’re going to be dating a mortal, do we get to meet her? Because I think Niall may need a bit of a heads up after the accidental run in that happened last time—”
“Do you usually meet my meals?” Harry counters easily as he sets his laptop aside, standing to escort Mitch to the door. “Don’t be sentimental, Mitch. I’m certainly not.”
When Mitch’s eyes meet his own once again, there’s a degree of clarity running through them that nearly stops Harry in his tracks. “Aren’t you?” Mitch asks, voice neutral by careful control.
Harry sucks in a quick breath out of habit, pasting a bright expression over his face in lieu of actually revealing his swirling insides. “Not since I learned my lesson.” He says easily, tapping two fingers over his dormant carotid artery with a sly smile.
The casual act does the trick, and Mitch’s eyes roll in a familiar jesting fashion as he steps towards the door. “Right. You’ve got it under control, then.”
“All under control.” The words slip off Harry’s dry tongue like honey, his sweet cadence filling the space between them. “Not to worry.”
///
Y/N thinks this may be the most out of control she’s ever felt her entire life.
A few weeks ago, she would’ve said that taking Harry home from the club was the most out of control she’s ever been. And three months ago, dropping her whole life and moving to L.A. might have been the answer to that question. And another three months from now, Y/N might get herself into the middle of a new entirely stupid act— which is completely probable, given her track record— and that’ll become the new marker for the most out of control thing she’s done. But right now, at this moment, the most out of control thing she’s done is say yes to Harry asking her out to brunch.
When compared to everything else she’s done with Harry—and let Harry do to her—brunch may seem entirely harmless, but it’s the connotation behind it that scares her. Harry is taking her on a date. A real date. A date to a brunch restaurant, at 11 A.M. on a Sunday, when it’ll be completely bright outside, and people will see them together. A date with both of them in presentable situations, rather than being coated in sweat and completely dressed. A date where Harry refrains from whispering the filthiest fucking shit Y/N has ever heard into her ear, although she wouldn’t put it past him trying to do that over a plate of avocado toast.
Harry is taking her on a date. And last time Y/N checked, she wasn’t exactly good at those.
Her ex hadn’t really been the romantic type, to say the least. Their dates typically revolved around their high school’s dance and athletic schedules. Bradley took her to homecoming and to prom, and football games on Friday nights, where all her friends would meet them at a diner after their school— more often than not— lost. He would take her on long drives where they got nowhere fast, with the two of them sitting in silence, and his music playing through the speakers. She went over to his house once a week for dinner. He’d take her to a movie every second Saturday. And while it was all fine, none of it was very romantic. ‘Robotic’ is a more appropriate term.
And even with the fear of actual romance aside, Y/N has no idea what to discuss on a first date with someone. She had already known a lot about her ex when they began going out, so there wasn’t a period of “getting to know you” that needed to happen. The few first dates she’d had after him hadn’t been stellar, or even noteworthy. If anything, they had been guides for what not to do on a first date. And the funniest thing is that, while she’s fairly sure her last first date had been the catalyst for Harry asking her out, the actual date itself had been awful. But if she’s right, and that was the factor that set Harry off, then maybe she should be grateful for all those awful dates from her past, because Harry, in contrast to all those horrible dates, is different in every conceivable way.
Harry is just different. When she speaks, he listens. When he looks at her, he really looks at her, and he sees her in a way she’s not sure she’s ever been seen before. And, honestly, he has seen her in ways she’s never been seen before, and that’s exactly what Y/N is worried about. How do you sip a mimosa with someone at the Persimmon Pantry after they’ve throat fucked you on your couch, or bent you over the kitchen counter, or handcuffed you to their bed? How do you ask someone about their favourite movie when they’ve coaxed multiple orgasms from you over the phone as Sinister played from the TV screen? How do you listen as someone tells you about their childhood dog when the last dog you were concerned about was the position they bent you into as they spread your—
Y/N clears her throat and shakes her head of the thought, reevaluating her heated complexion in the mirror that hangs on the back of her bedroom door. “Stop it.” She mutters to herself, attempting to give her reflection a stern look. “You’re not going to be able to make it through this if you’ve thrown the towel in before Harry’s even picked you up.”
And that’s another thing, Y/N thinks, as she opens her bedroom closet and begins searching through it for something acceptable to wear. Harry insisted on picking her up, even though the restaurant he chose was a fifteen minute walk from her apartment. She’d brought this up to him when he asked her to brunch over the phone (which is a whole other thing in and of itself— he only called her when he had his hand wrapped around his cock and needed her voice to finish himself off; wouldn’t a text have been sufficient?), but Harry had blown off her concern without a second thought.
“Part of taking you on a date is picking you up, Y/N.”
“Yeah, but the Persimmon Pantry is between our apartments. Wouldn’t it make more sense to meet there? Then you wouldn’t waste your time driving past it to get me.”
“I don’t consider anything involving you to be a waste of time.” Harry had answered immediately, his voice stern, but still allowing a vein of tenderness to run underneath it. “Is that your only concern, then? Me picking you up?”
No, Y/N had thought. It’s not my only concern, but how the fuck do I explain everything else?
“Yeah.” Y/N had answered tightly, her voice weak. “Yeah, I guess.”
“Well, it’s not a concern of mine, so don’t worry. I’ll pick you up at 10:45 Sunday morning.” And then there had been a pause, full of baited breath and nerves, before Harry’s thick accent rang through her phone again. “I can’t wait to see you.”
Those parting words had sat in her stomach since, warm and cozy and inviting, keeping a soft, constant glow filtering in her veins until the end of the week came.
Y/N glances at the blinking clock beside her bed. It’s 10:17 now, a couple days after that conversation, which means she has less than half an hour to pick something to wear, style her hair that’s currently dripping wet from her shower, and throw on enough makeup to cover up the bags under her eyes that have been developing over the last few nights. After becoming so used to sleeping with Harry next to her every weekend, Y/N is now finding that not having him in her bed, smoothing her hair and rubbing her cheek as she cuddles into his cool chest is prohibiting her from getting a good night’s sleep.
Another concern, certainly, but not one she can deal with at this moment. The best she can do is smear on some concealer and hope for the best, and with that in mind, Y/N turns her full attention to her evaluation of her closet.
“Brunch,” She murmurs to herself, slowly pushing her clothing apart to examine each article. “We’re going to brunch. What do you wear to brunch?”
Brunch, she decides after a moment of consideration, is casual, but not sloppy casual, so jeans and a t-shirt are off the table. It’s Sunday casual, like the outfits her mother would pick out for her to wear to Sunday afternoon teas with the other church women once she turned 15 and had to “start acting like a lady.” Sunday casual, Y/N thinks, but maybe not those outfits. The raised necklines and starched collars had made her neck itch the entire time, and she had picked at the hemlines of her dresses under tables until the seams began to unravel. Sunday casual, but more of her actual style. Sunday casual, but sluttier, maybe? Could one describe Sunday casual as slutty?
Y/N groans as she takes a step back from her closet, clutching her towel to her chest with a tense hand. Maybe she’s going about this the wrong way. Maybe she should try to match Harry…?
A sharp snort falls from Y/N’s mouth. Yeah, like she could ever match Harry. Harry, who is so obsessed with labels that even his handcuffs are embossed with the Gucci logo. Harry, who is so attractive that it’s almost otherworldly. Harry, who can make her tiny apartment look like a New York Fashion Week runway by simply walking down the corridor of her entrance. Matching Harry is almost impossible. She could show up in a full length gown, and Harry would still outshine her in a graphic t-shirt and flared jeans.
“Hey.” Y/N chastises herself lightly, catching her judgemental eye in her mirror once again. “Stop it. Don’t be mean to yourself, just...just pick something to wear. It shouldn’t be this hard.”
After returning to her closet search and trying on a few different combinations, Y/N finally settles on an outfit consisting of a pale yellow sundress with a sweetheart neckline and tea length skirt, but dresses it down with a denim jacket and a pair of cotton candy coloured vans. It’s bright and fun, but still casual enough that it looks like she just threw it on.
“Oh, this old thing?” Y/N raises her eyebrows in mock surprise as she moves to her bathroom to begin to tackle her hair. She keeps practicing the imaginary conversation in the mirror with herself, and while she knows she sounds insane, it oddly keeps her nerves in check. “Oh, I just pulled it out of my closet a few minutes before you got here. Haven’t worn it in years. Do you like it?” The mortal pauses as she reaches for her makeup, deciding to keep herself to a more natural look for the day. “Thank you, Harry, that’s so sweet. You look nice, as well.”
She lightly fills her brows before sweeping some neutral eyeshadow over her lids, pausing her muttering to herself to concentrate on drawing her eyeliner as neatly as she likes. Once she’s satisfied with that, she moves to mascara, adding a thin coat to her lashes and blotting off the makeup she smudges underneath her eye by mistake. When that’s finished, the young woman takes a step back from the mirror, appraising her appearance.
It’s not awful, honestly. She could do worse. In fact, if it weren’t for the ball of anxiety currently twisting its way through Y/N’s stomach, she might even praise herself for the cute and casual look she’s managed to pull off.
“You look good.” She murmurs to her reflection as she reaches for her small silver hoops, slipping them through her lobes with a quick and practiced motion. “Good job.” With her eyes locked on her reflection, Y/N worries her bottom lip between her teeth. “Today is going to be fine. Better than fine, actually. And it would probably go better if you stopped talking to yourself, so maybe let’s get that in check before Harry gets here—?”
As if on cue, a now familiar knock on her front door causes the mortal’s mouth to snap shut, clamping off the rest of her third person monologue. When she makes a quick pause to straighten her jacket and fetch her over-the-shoulder woven bag, Y/N impulsively decides to grab her favourite perfume bottle, giving her body a quick spritz before making her way to the door and opening it with breathless anticipation.
Harry, of course, looks fucking incredible. Although his casual outfit consists of a black short sleeved button up shirt tucked into white slacks, Harry manages to work the whole number like a model. His usual cross necklace, unique rings, and stately single cross earring adorn his body, drawing Y/N’s eyes to the glint of the metals as a pair of black sunglasses sit atop the man’s defined nose. He meets Y/N’s eyes behind them, a grin beginning to paint itself over his cherry lips as his jeweled hand pushes the sunglasses from his face and into his chestnut locks, revealing his bright jade gaze full of genuine kindness.
“Well, look at you. Proper model now, aren’t you, Miss Urban Outfitters?” Harry’s voice takes on a casual tone, but the flirty phrase sends a shiver of pleasure down Y/N’s spine. “You look so fucking good in yellow, love. Why have I never seen you in yellow before?”
The shiver of pleasure reverberates throughout Y/N’s entire body. “Maybe because I’m usually naked when I’m around you?” She retorts quickly, reaching to the little hook next to her door to grab her keys.
“Hm. That’s true.” The pleased cadence in Harry’s voice catches Y/N’s ear over the click of the door lock. “Guess you go for the Victoria’s Secret look more often, hm? Though I’m not complaining. You look just as good in lace.”
“Thanks. But not today, I guess.” Y/N says quietly as she pushes down the heat boiling her face, unable to bite her tongue before the words slip out. “We’re on a real date today.”
“Right you are, Watson.” Harry grins cheekily as he motions for the girl to walk past him, following closely with a guiding hand on the small of her back. “We’re on a real date. It’s probably a little overdue, but you know what they say...better late than never, right?”
The moment she takes a step past him, it hits Harry. Although her delectable signature scent of lavender and honey is still there, it’s faintly hidden behind the nearly overpowering scent of gardenia and freesia he smelled last time he was in her hallway, when that oafish buffoon had the audacity to try and seduce her. And despite the fact that Harry prefers Y/N’s natural fragrance to any other scent on the planet, knowing that she took the time to spritz herself with perfume before greeting him brings a dimpled smile to his face. Harry considers making a comment about it, but bites it back at the last moment. The last thing he needs is to have to explain why he pays such particular attention to Y/N’s scent.
When the pair exit the apartment building, Harry takes the lead in front of Y/N, unlocking his flashy car with a click of the remote and opening the passenger door with ease. He extends a hand, grasping the mortal girl’s hand in his own with care as he helps her into the car. The click of the car door shutting comes a moment later than expected as Harry pauses to fix the hem of Y/N’s dress, making sure it’s free of the doorway before closing the door without clamping the light fabric.
Harry doesn’t even think twice before readjusting Y/N’s skirt, with the move coming as naturally to him as breathing once did, and merely notes the stuttering of Y/N’s heartbeat with a half hidden smug smile. It’s not until he’s in the driver’s seat and stopped at a red light that he realizes what that stuttering rhythm is indicating.
Y/N is tense. Even without his supernatural abilities that allow him to hear her heart, register her strained breathing, and feel the energy radiating from her body, Harry would be able to tell that some part of her feels...uncomfortable. Nervous, even. But for what? What about Harry—aside from the obvious that the human is unaware of—could make her nervous? After the countless hours in bed together, the lazy Saturday afternoons, the kitchen singalongs, Harry would think that Y/N would be as comfortable with him as he is with her. After all she’d shown him when they have sex—
Huh. Maybe that’s it, Harry thinks, giving the mortal a quick look from the corner of his eye. The light ahead of them turns green, and Harry continues to ponder his realization as he presses on the gas. If sex has become the norm for them, then maybe a date is outside of her comfort zone. Or maybe, now that her brain isn’t fogged by the endorphins that roll through her veins whenever Harry coaxes an orgasm from her trembling body, Y/N is realizing how unnatural it feels to be around Harry.
As much as Harry likes to pretend otherwise, humans aren’t dumb. If they get too close to someone of Harry’s kind, some sharp-sighted mortals begin to sense that there’s something different about them. Aside from the easy targets and quick decisions, part of the reason that picking up meals in clubs works so well for Harry and his friends is that a mortal’s senses are dulled in the flashing lights and inebriated atmosphere of a club. If Y/N is beginning to sense that there’s something different about Harry, or if she’s beginning to feel uneasy about being around him, then she must be wondering why. In Harry’s experience, mortals will relate their uncomfortable feelings about the supernatural into something they have more experience with to make sense of it all, and if that’s what Y/N is doing, then she’s probably attributing her newfound discomfort towards Harry trying to take advantage of her. If he could read her mind, he might see a horrific scene playing out like an old movie: Harry buying her a meal, soaking her rational thinking in mimosas and other drinks spiked with God knows what, and then helping her back to his car, where he drives her back to his apartment, practically carrying her inebriated body through the door towards his bedroom…
The car takes a sharp right turn into the restaurant parking lot, and Harry guides it to a spot with his hands wrapped tightly around the steering wheel. The idea of Y/N thinking him capable of that, capable of hurting her like that...it takes Harry a moment to extract his clenched hands from the wheel. If that was really what Y/N was thinking, then he could fix it. All it would take to set her at ease would be a quick request, a repeated statement, and the girl’s breathing would even out, and everything could continue like he had planned.
“Y/N?” He begins, keeping his voice as smooth as silk as he sets the car into park and turns it off. “Look at me, please.”
And then she does. And Harry forgets his plan within a moment.
There’s nervousness apparent in her eyes, yes, but no fear. Although her lips are chewed red, they don’t tremble when she answers him with a quiet “yes?” Despite their close proximity, she keeps leaning closer to him, and whether she’s aware of the action or not, the constant inch of her hand closer to Harry’s softens the immortal more than he thought possible. He can’t compel her to let down her guard when she already trusts him.
“I know that this is different for us. Doing something like this.” Harry begins, keeping his eyes as sincere as possible without compelling the young woman in front of him, who is keeping her eyes on his emerald irises with steadfast attention. “But I want this to be a proper date, like...like what I should’ve probably taken you on a month ago.”
Warmth rises to Y/N’s cheeks at the confession. “So do I. I like being around you, Harry. A lot. I’m just a little...nervous, I guess.”
Harry bites back a smile at how she sounds like she’s confessing something, as if her body language hasn’t been telling him that from the moment she got into his car. “I know. So I think it would be best, just to prove that this is a real date, if we don’t have sex after we finish brunch.”
A choked sound falls from Y/N’s mouth, and Harry delights in watching her scramble for words before she manages to form a half indignant reply. “I didn’t say I was going to sleep with you!”
“You don’t have to say it, pet, because we both know you can’t keep your hands off me. Exhibit A,” Harry nods at her hand, which is mere millimeters away from his thigh. “Being how you kept trying to grab onto me through the entire drive.”
Another gasp of indignation fills the car, and the emphasized outrage sets Harry at ease. He’d rather Y/N be equal parts annoyed and—if the soft look hidden behind her eyes is any clue—endeared than have her equal parts nervous and anxious. He’d take any anger directed at his expense if it meant she was at ease.
“I wasn’t trying to grab you.” The mortal mutters under her breath, her eyes falling from his as the increase of her heart pricks Harry’s ears. “That’s just where my hand fell naturally.”
“Right.” Harry answers in a disbelieving voice, his smirk growing as Y/N rolls her eyes in response. “Well, either way…” He extends a jeweled hand and grips her chin between his thumb and forefinger, enjoying how her breath stutters as he turns her head to look at him. “What do you say? No sex after our date? Think we can behave ourselves?”
“I can.” Y/N answers, irritation laced through her voice to hide the desire settling between her words. “You, on the other hand...I doubt you’ll be able to keep it in your pants.”
A wry smile works it’s way over Harry’s lips, and the vampire wets them with his tongue as he uses his gentle grip on Y/N’s jaw to tilt her head forward. “I have wonderful self-control, darling.” He breathes the words, letting the scent of mint roll over Y/N’s face, and delights in the way it intoxicates her with every syllable. Harry ghosts his lips over the curve of her jaw, smudging his kisses down her neck until he can feel her pulse thumping unevenly beneath his lips. His mouth opens just slightly as he leaves a lingering kiss on the area, his tongue gliding carefully over her sweet-scented skin.
Despite every instinct in his body telling him to sink his teeth into the beating pulse he feels and quench the thirst that burns in the back of his throat like a roaring fire, Harry manages to pull away. “See?” He murmurs softly, his cool breath still clouding Y/N’s every inhale. “Self control.”
While Harry is a master at withholding his desires, the effect his actions have on Y/N is apparent in her reply. “Good.” The mortal swallows thickly, her pulse fluttering again as Harry releases her chin and drags his fingers down her neck. “That’s good to know. So no sex, then.”
“Right.” Harry grins triumphantly as Y/N attempts to collect herself. The smug expression on Harry’s face lets her know that he’s completely aware of the impact he has on her, and it drives her insane to no end. Although her conscience is urging her to play his game, and do her best to fluster him as he flusters her, the more rational part of her stops that thought in its tracks. This is what she wanted, wasn’t it? To open herself up again, to open herself up to Harry in a way she hasn’t before? To prove that she can let someone know her without burrowing themselves between her thighs?
The latch of her car door brings her from her thoughts, and her head jerks to the right to see Harry with one hand on the door handle as he extends the other to her to help her from the car. Y/N, still fumbling with her seatbelt, takes a moment to grasp his hand in return, too swept up in the fact that Harry remembers to open her door to ponder how he always reaches her side of the car so quickly.
However, there are some new developments that don’t slip from her attention, like how Harry keeps her hand grasped firmly in his icy grip even after she’s out of the car, pausing only to click the lock on his keyring before walking with her towards the door. Or how, despite his long legs, he never falls out of step with Y/N, making sure to keep his strides measured and even so as not to yank on her hand. Or how, even though her hand is already half extended out of habit, Harry reaches the door of the restaurant first, opening it smoothly and stepping back, gently laying his hand on the small of Y/N’s back to guide her inside the restaurant.
“Uh, thanks.” The young woman murmurs to him, a tone of perplexity running beneath her words. She’s not quite sure why all of this surprises her; hadn’t Harry already proved that, despite his harsh and suggestive exterior, there’s an undercurrent of manners instilled into him?
Maybe, she thinks as she watches Harry step forward to the restaurant host, the surprise and confusion is due to the lack of manners she received from her ex. Despite the “small town charm,” as her mother had called it, Bradley had lacked the ability to successfully perform any gallantry, and any attempts he made to do so had only annoyed Y/N. Whenever he tried to do something that may fall into that category, like insisting on driving everywhere they went, or choosing where they’d go for dinner, Y/N never felt that the actions came from a place of protection or chivalry; on the contrary, Y/N felt like each action was taken on the basis that she herself was incapable of doing the same things Bradley did. On the one occasion she’d brought it up to him, he had scoffed, and argued that he was just trying to be a nice guy, and why would she have a problem with him trying to help her, and if she was going to complain, then he wouldn’t—
An icy touch to the dip of her back jerks Y/N from her thoughts, both metaphorically and literally as her body spasms away from the touch. Upon hearing the alarmed gasp that falls from her lips, Harry turns his head to the side, a look of concern painted over his face.
“Everything alright, darling?” He asks in a quiet voice, his hand retracting from her back with uncertainty.
“Yeah, sorry, just—caught up in thought, I guess.” Y/N covers quickly, giving him an apologetic smile. “You just took me by surprise, that’s all.”
If the way the mortal shivers is any suggestion, Harry can guess what exactly about his touch took her by surprise. “I’m sorry.” He says sincerely, his fingers hovering a few millimeters above the fabric of her dress. “The, uh, the table I reserved is just on the patio around the corner.” Although he lays his hand on Y/N once again to guide her, Harry is careful to place his palm further up her spine, where the sensitive skin of her back is covered by her jean jacket in addition to the thin yellow sundress. As much as he usually adores making her shiver, there’s something different about the action when he knows it’s because of his inhumanly cold touch, instead of his inhuman ability to pleasure her.
The pair move in a line, following the hostess in a beeline through the busy restaurant and out onto the sunlit patio, where there are fewer occupied tables. Stopping in front of a table partly shaded under an umbrella that’s away from the other diners, the hostess turns to the two of them, her eyes flickering over Harry once again.
“Is this table to your liking, Mr. Styles?” She asks, her voice sweet as sugar. The stickiness of it grates against Y/N’s skin, but Harry gives no indication of finding it irritating. In fact, he seems to give hardly any notice to the hostess at all, only half glancing at her before nodding his head.
“Yes, it is, thank you.” He steps out to the side, grasping the back of the chair facing away from the sun and pulling it out. It takes Y/N a moment and a half step already taken towards the opposite chair for her to realize that he’s pulling it out for her.
“Oh—” Face flushing with realization, Y/N steps back around Harry, settling down into the offered seat as he carefully pushes it in. “Uh, thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Harry replies, pausing to be sure she’s comfortable before taking his own seat across from her. The hostess, who had been watching his actions with a keen eye, gives another smile to the vampire.
“Alright, Paige will be your server today, but before I leave,” The hostess spares a short glimpse at Y/N before turning her full attention back to Harry. “Is there anything else I can get you?”
The creature is aware of the effect he has on mortals, and has been since he was first turned. While he normally plays that to his advantage (and while that was, to be frank, part of the reason he was able to take Y/N home from the club the night he met her), the attention is beginning to grind against his nerves. It’s easy enough for him to ignore a human, especially one he has no interest in whatsoever, but he can see the way Y/N notices the hostess’ preference for addressing Harry. More specifically, Harry can see the way it bothers her, and it would be amusing if his jealousy over Y/N going on a date with someone else hadn’t been the catalyst to their date today.
“No, that’s alright.” Harry finally responds to the waitress, glancing at her just enough so as not to be rude. “Thank you.”
The hostess smiles at him again before nodding to Y/N and turning on her heel, marching back towards the kitchen, and it takes just a soft snort falling from Y/N’s lips to pull Harry’s attention completely back to her.
“What?” He quirks an eyebrow up at the noise, reaching for the menu in front of him and flipping it open slowly. “Something funny?”
Y/N gives a small shake of her head as she mimics Harry’s action, casting her eyes downwards towards the now revealed menu. “No, not at all.”
“You’re a terrible liar, you know that?” The vampire reaches across the table to touch his date’s hand, flipping her arm carefully so he can lay two ringed fingers against the thin skin of her wrist, the fragile hummingbird flutter of her heart thumping beneath it. “And I’m too excellent at reading people to let it go.”
“Too stubborn, you mean?” Y/N corrects him as she raises her own brow, but much to Harry’s delight, she doesn’t pull back from his icy touch as she did earlier.
Harry shrugs lightly, an unconcerned air tinting his attitude. “If that’s what you’d like to call it. Either way, I’d like to know why you’re laughing at me.”
The mortal chews on the inside of her cheek, the action of her weighing her next words clearly written all over her face. “You seriously can’t tell me you don’t notice it.”
Cocking his head to the side, Harry gently yet consistently continues to stroke two fingers over Y/N’s velvety skin, the heat of her veins burning beneath his touch. “Notice what?”
Although she opens her mouth, Y/N’s reply is cut off by the clicking of high heels approaching their secluded corner, and it’s only a moment before a waitress (whom she assumes is Paige) is standing in front of their table. Like her coworker before her, Paige gives a brief hello to Y/N before turning all of her attention to Harry, smiling brightly at him as she gives her opening spiel.
“Hi! My name is Paige, and I’ll be your server today. Can I get some drinks started for you?” She asks, her hands clasped tightly in front of her (Y/N always hates when servers don’t write down orders; she knows it looks impressive, but the attention it takes to remember exact specifications gives her secondhand anxiety) as she addresses Harry.
The order is right at the tip of Harry’s tongue. “We’ll have two mimosas, please. And two ice waters, as well.” He replies, smiling briefly at her as his fingers continue to glide over Y/N’s wrist. The girl catches the way Paige’s eyes flicker to the movement, her (just barely) professional smile shifting for a fraction of a second before fixing itself, and while Y/N knows that it’s irrational, a small part of her can’t help but be pleased.
“Sounds good. I’ll be right back with those.” She chimes giddily, her heels clicking against the ground once more as she walks away.
The moment she’s left, Harry has his full attention turned back to Y/N. “You didn’t answer my question.” He murmurs, his emerald eyes alight with curiosity. “Notice what?”
An exasperated sigh sounds from Y/N as she makes a face. “The way they stare at you.” She answers, jerking her head over her shoulder towards the restaurant door. “The hostess, the server—they were both practically undressing you with their eyes. Are you telling me you didn’t notice that?”
Harry’s curious expression drops as he begins to shift in his seat, the stroking of his fingers over her wrist pausing for just one moment. Ah, Y/N thinks. Here it is. A confession that, yes, Harry did notice it, and Harry (and his ego) loved the attention, and he—
“I noticed it, yeah.” He begins, a reluctant look painting itself onto his statuesque features as a finger on his free hand rubs over his lion head ring.
A glum feeling of satisfaction settles into Y/N’s stomach, and she pulls her hand back a few inches, completely removing it from Harry’s grasp. “I thought so—”
“But I didn’t see the point in mentioning it.” Harry continues, tugging his bottom lip between his teeth. “I’m here with you. Why would a spare look from a hostess or a server be anything but inconsequential to me?”
Huh.
“I…” For once, Y/N is stunned into silence. “Well, I just thought—”
“Y/N.” Her name sounds like a melody when it falls from Harry’s mouth, and the sincerity layered in his voice makes her snap her eyes to his. “Do you truly think I would flirt with a waitress on a date I asked you on? Does that sound like me?”
“Well, honestly…” Harry’s stare bores into hers, prickling Y/N’s skin with the new and nearly uncomfortable sensation of being seen. “I don’t want to think so, but considering how we met…”
“Ah.” Harry’s lips turn down into a small grimace, but quickly right themselves as he once again grasps her hand in his two large palms. “I won’t pretend that I’m not a bit of a—”
“Whore?”
Harry’s lip twitches in amusement again at the blatant tone of the girl’s voice. “Didn’t we just have a conversation about you slut-shaming me?”
The flush that overtakes Y/N’s face indicates that she remembers. “Yes, we did. But I seem to recall you agreeing. After you teased me for it, of course.”
“Of course. We both know how much you love teasing.” Harry digs his nails ever so slightly into her wrist, not enough to hurt, but enough to pull a small gasp from her mouth as his grip begins to mimic the handcuffs that she had begged him to use on her. “But all that aside...I couldn’t give less of a fuck about what they think of me. I’m here with you. Despite most of my flaws, my mother raised me right. I wouldn’t do that to you.”
The thunderous thumping of Y/N’s heart rings through Harry’s ears, a constant reminder of why he’s here. Beneath her soft skin, beneath every telltale mark and scar, beneath her glittering eyes and silky lips, there’s the thing that keeps Harry alive. Rushing through this girl’s arteries is the sustenance that Harry needs to survive, the sweetest liquid he’s ever consumed, and he’ll do whatever it takes to keep it at his beck and call. If being the gentleman of Y/N’s dreams is what will keep her available for him, then that’s what he’ll do. The pounding of her heart is the beat that keeps him in time with the tune of his life. It’s nothing more and nothing less.
Still, Harry chooses his next words attentively, to bring back a joking manner to the conversation. “Someone must have done a number on you, huh? Was everything not so charming in Smalltown, USA? Did your parents split when you were a kid?”
And although Harry asks the questions with a smirk on his face, laughter in his voice, and mirth in his eyes, he doesn’t miss the way Y/N’s breath hitches in her chest, how her hand tenses beneath his, and how her eyes drop for a fraction of a second. He’s touched a nerve, one that is obviously frayed and hurting, and the regret that instantly washes over him is tinged with the confusion of how he’s capable of feeling such an emotion so intensely.
“Um—” While Y/N knew that she had to tell Harry about her disastrous dating history sooner or later, she had really hoped it would be later rather than sooner. Is a discussion about one’s scumbag ex appropriate first date talk? Can she bring it up now, or should she wait until they’ve finished their appetizers?
“Alright, so I have two mimosas and two waters for you…” Paige’s return distracts Y/N from her dilemma for just a moment as the server sets down the four glasses in front of the respective recipients. With her attention turned back to Harry, she takes a step back from the table. “Are you ready to order?”
Y/N’s eyes snap to the open menu in front of her, which had become the least of her concerns over the last few minutes. “Oh, I haven’t—”
“We’ll get two orders of the chorizo and goat cheese crepes, please.” Harry closes his menu before reaching for Y/N’s and repeating the motion, handing them back to Paige with a charming yet neutral smile. “And a side of hashbrowns, please, to share.”
Brow furrowing as the server scurries away without giving her a second glance, Y/N gapes at Harry, her voice wrought with confusion. “Why did you order for me?”
Harry raises his mimosa to his lips and takes a long sip, setting the condensation-covered glass back down on the table before replying. “You didn’t know what you wanted, and the crepes are delicious. Did you want something else?” With a lick of his red lips, he glances over his shoulder. “I can call her back if—”
“No, that’s not what I meant.” Y/N wraps her hand around the alcoholic drink, swirling her finger over the cold glass. “I can order for myself. I’m a grown woman. Do you think I’m not capable or something?”
Harry cocks his head to the side, appraising how the mortal’s expression is closing off with every passing moment. This bothers her, he realizes. The idea of him not thinking she’s capable of something bothers her, enough that she’s clenching her glass, and her normally clear eyes are swirling with anger more and more with every passing moment.
“I know you’re capable, Y/N. I just thought that…” Shifting in his seat, Harry clears his throat as he gathers his words in his mind. Wasn’t he supposed to be the one asking the questions? “It’s supposed to be polite.”
“In what century?” She replies, her mouth falling agape in surprise as her eyes widen. “Men used to order for women because women weren’t allowed to, right? Because men made the decisions? Holding open a door is one thing, but choosing for me—”
“Okay, maybe choosing for you was impolite. I thought you were unsure on what to order, but I should’ve asked first. I’m sorry.” Harry half mumbles the apology as an uncomfortable feeling of shame begins to buzz in his stomach. “But the ordering thing, that— men did that as a sign of respect, so women wouldn’t have to talk to someone they didn’t know. I really didn’t mean anything by it, I swear. My mum just taught me that it was polite, so I...it’s a habit. I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”
He watches as Y/N chews her bottom lip, seemingly contemplating the authenticness of his apology. Everything he had said was true, of course. His mother did teach him that it was polite to order something for a date so she wouldn’t have to speak to someone she doesn’t know. Of course, it was also true that the practice had died out a century ago, and most women now preferred to speak for themselves. Harry can’t begrudge Y/N if she dislikes what he did; she’s proved time and time again that she can be rather independent. However, Harry’s surprised at the disappointment he feels about her reaction. If this is going to be a proper date, he’d like to hold it up to his standards of proper.
“Alright.” The mortal says after a moment, releasing her lip from her teeth and finally raising her mimosa to her mouth. “You’re forgiven. But I think I’ve earned the right to compensation for your assumptions.”
“Compensation could be arranged, I suppose.” Harry leans forward with a sly grin, his fingers finding the delicate skin of Y/N’s wrist once more. “I feel like I’ve been fairly firm on the no sex thing, but I could pencil you in for some compensation tomorrow evening, if that works for you.”
Y/N swirls the liquid in her glass as she bites back a smirk. “I was thinking of something a little different than an orgasm, actually.”
“What could possibly be better than an orgasm given by me?” Harry questions, his free hand fingering the cross around his neck. “Didn’t you once compare them to a gift from God?”
“I don’t recall ever saying that, actually.” The mortal girl replies in a dry voice, setting her glass down with a decisive thunk. “I don’t want an orgasm—”
“Oh, that’s a bloody lie—”
“I want information.” Tapping her fingers against the table, Y/N stares Harry down with firm eyes. “Like where did you grow up that your mother taught you it was appropriate to speak for a woman? Or why have you avoided any personal questions I’ve tried to ask over the last month?”
Harry retracts his hand from Y/N’s wrist as she voices her inquisition, settling his fingers on the rim of his mimosa to begin tracing the smooth glass. “To be fair, pet, you haven’t asked many personal questions. You’ve been too busy bouncing on my cock, haven’t you?”
“Maybe, but I won’t be today, as per our agreement.” Y/N steeps her fingers together as she leans towards him, the comical sight of her posture forcing Harry to repress a snort. “And you brought up personal questions first, Holmes. So you kind of screwed yourself, didn’t you?”
“I suppose I did. I’ve gotten so used to you doing the screwing, Watson. Guess I’m getting sloppy— although you seem to like that.” Harry can’t help but get in one last dig before conceding, taking a long gulp of his beverage before smacking his lips. “I’ll tell you what.” He says, pointing a jeweled finger at his date with his glass still wrapped tightly in his hand. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”
Pursing her lips, Y/N quirks up an eyebrow. “Meaning?”
“Let’s play a little question game.” Harry sets down his glass as he elaborates, his signature smirk growing over his cherry lips. “We alternate questions back and forth, asking whatever we’ve wanted to know. And the other person has to answer it honestly.”
Or as honestly as possible, Harry amends in his head. For obvious reasons, he’ll have to fabricate the majority of his answers, but that’s nothing new to him. Over the years, he’s had to create multiple spiels about his childhood, taking tiny pieces of truths and weaving them together with updated lies. Spitting out a few standard stories about where he grew up and why he left London is small change compared to his burning desire to know more about Y/N’s past.
The mortal chews on the inside of her cheek again, weighing her options in her head as she holds Harry’s questioning stare. As much as she hates to discuss her life story, and as much as she’d been hoping to hide it from Harry, she knows that she has to be honest with him if she wants him to be honest with her. As awkward as it may be, she’ll have to tell the stories sometime.
“Alright.” She relents after a moment, blowing out a harsh breath and lifting her mimosa to her lips. “But I get to ask the first question. Ladies first, and all that.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Harry flashes a cheeky grin at her, his left eye dropping into a quick wink. “Start your inquisition, Watson.”
Harry’s been in this position millions of times, so he knows the types of questions that are about to tumble from Y/N’s pretty lips. She’ll start off by asking where he grew up, and where he went to school, and how many siblings he has, before moving to things like why he moved to L.A., and how he made friends, and—
“What else did your mother teach you, besides manners?” Y/N asks suddenly, her tongue poking from the corner of her mouth to catch a stray drop of liquid on her bottom lip as she lowers her glass. “And what was the most important thing?”
The nature of the question catches Harry so off guard that he doesn’t remember to quell the throb in his chest where his heart used to beat at the mention of his mother, and the old half healed wound flares with pain. What had his mother taught him? Harry ponders the question as Y/N’s curious eyes ponder him. What hadn’t she taught him?
“My mother taught me…many things. Many good things. She was a wonderful woman.” Harry begins honestly, albeit carefully, speaking in a measured voice as his eyes fall to her opal ring that sits upon his pinky. “She taught me how to read as a child, before I began school. She taught me...she taught me how to cook a bit. I’m not nearly as good as she was, but I’m passable. And yes, she did teach me how to behave around women, how to be respectful. But the most important thing…”
Y/N watches as Harry’s eyes bore into the ring on his finger, as if he’s staring into a crystal ball of the past to search for an answer. Perhaps, in a way, he is.
“The most important thing,” Harry repeats again, his eyes finally snapping away from the entrapment of the ring. “Was how to let someone know you appreciate them. It’s easy, I think, to go about your day without telling someone you care for them.” Stroking his thumb over the band of the ring, Harry thinks back to the countless ways his mother had wordlessly shown Harry and his sister how much she adored them. “Little touches, or little favours, things like that— those go a long way. They help someone feel less alone. They can be the difference between a good day and a bad day. She used to, um,” A lump suddenly develops in his throat, and Harry struggles to swallow it down as he voices a memory he hasn’t spoken aloud in over a century. “She used to comb her fingers through my hair when I was a little boy, whenever I was upset. I’d come home from—“ Harry cuts himself off before he mentions his father’s blacksmith forge, where he was an apprentice. “—from school, and she would take one look at me and be able to see I was frustrated. She always sat in this big chair in front of the fireplace, and she’d pat her lap, and I’d sit in front of her knees and lay my head on her leg, and she’d card her fingers through my hair as I told her every bad thing that happened that day.” Unconsciously, Harry raises his own hand to his chestnut curls, raking his fingers through them. The motion doesn’t bring nearly as much comfort as it once did. “She always listened. She never made me feel like my problems were silly. She just listened. It made me feel better. Made me feel…” The vampire’s hand drifts from his hair to his lips, rubbing over them pensively. “Loved.”
The mortal girl’s eyes soften as she listens to the memories of the man in front of her, who begins to look younger and younger with every word that falls from his lips. Although she’s surprised by the candor of his answer, it pleases her; she thought pulling truths from Harry would be like pulling teeth. One note of his story, however, catches her attention with an ache.
“You said...you said she was a wonderful woman.” Y/N murmurs, carefully gauging Harry’s reaction to the question. “Is she...not anymore?”
“I’m sure she would be, but she passed away a…a while ago.” Harry’s eyes shift to the ring again, the dainty band with its opal stone standing out from the rest of his chunky jewelry. Y/N wonders if that’s because it once belonged to someone else. “She got sick, and couldn’t get better.”
With a careful but tender motion, Y/N slides her hand across the table and settles it on top of Harry’s, cupping his larger hand in her smaller grasp. “I’m so sorry.” The sincerity in her voice snags Harry’s attention, and the vampire looks up to find the mortal staring at him with understanding eyes. “I can’t imagine how awful that must have been for you. You must miss her very much.”
It takes Harry a moment to clear the lump from his throat enough that he can choke out a response. “I-I do, yeah. Every day.” He’s not sure if it’s his icy skin or the burn of Y/N’s touch, but he slowly pulls his hand from beneath her grasp, reaching for his glass of ice water instead. He gulps down half the liquid, setting the cup down with a decisive thunk before pasting a strained smile onto his face. “But that’s enough of my sob story, don’t you think? It’s my turn to ask a question.”
A small frown works its way over Y/N’s face as Harry pulls away, and she clasps her now empty hands together around the stem of her mimosa glass. “Fine. What do you want to know?”
“The answer to my previous inquiry.” Harry’s emerald irises sweep over her figure, his tongue poking between his teeth as his simper becomes more genuine. “Someone must’ve really done a number on you if opening a door for you is a shock. What’s the story there?”
Although she knew that this would be Harry’s first question, Y/N still bides her time by knocking back the rest of her mimosa in one swift gulp, wrinkling her nose at the lingering taste that catches in the back of her throat. “His name was Bradley.” She begins, tapping a fingernail against the delicate glass. “And he—”
“So sorry to cut you off, darling, but,” Harry raises a finger to pause her speech, his rings glinting in the L.A. sun. “Bradley? You fucked someone named Bradley?”
“It was a small town! It’s not like I had many options!” Y/N argues hotly, her eyes rolling harder than they ever have before. “Now are you going to be quiet and listen politely, or are you going to keep interrupting me before I can even begin?”
Harry laughs once, shaking his head with an amused air. “Sorry. Continue.” Despite the teasing smirk still tugging at his lips, Harry raises a hand to the corner of his mouth, pretending to lock it shut with an imaginary key. He even takes care to slide the invisible key into his shirt pocket, patting it with satisfaction once the deed is done.
Y/N takes one more moment to glare at him, but Harry’s newfound silence continues, and so she does, as well. “His name was Bradley. I met him through a mutual friend in our freshman year of high school. I’d seen him around before, but we’d never talked, really. And after he asked me to Homecoming, he just kind of…stuck.” The girl shrugs in a way of explanation. “Like, he started coming around more to my house, taking me out to movies. And it was nice. The attention, I mean. There was no one else I was really interested in at school, and Bradley was cute, and he was friendly, and our families really liked each other. It made sense.”
As she speaks, a crease works its way between Harry’s perfectly sculpted brows. Most mortal romances, he’s come to find, are rather dull, but this one seems more boring than others, and he can’t stop himself from raising his jeweled hand in the air as if he were in one of the classes Y/N mentioned, waiting for the teacher to call on him for an answer.
When Y/N notices the hand, an exasperated sigh falls from her mouth, but she leans across the table and retrieves the imaginary key from Harry’s shirt pocket, her warm fingers leaving pinpricks of fire across his chest. A small smile tugs at the corner of Harry’s lips as those warm fingers touch the lifted spot, mimicking an unlocking motion before she sits back in her seat. “Yes?”
Harry rests a bent elbow on the table, propping his chin up on his fist as he leans forward. “I have a question.” He begins innocently, watching as Y/N narrows her eyes at his sudden polite intrigue.
“Yes?” She repeats again, wariness written into her tone as she evaluated the suspicious air of Harry’s behaviour.
“I was just wondering how big Bradley’s dick is.” Harry’s grin grows to wicked proportions as Y/N’s mouth falls open in shock. “Because, honestly, he doesn’t seem to have that much going for him, and I’ve been wracking my brain to figure out why you dated him, and the only answer I can come up with is—“
“That his dick must be huge?”
“That he’s well endowed, yes.” Harry finishes smugly, tapping a finger against his chin. “I’m curious. Are we talking about a carrot? A cucumber? A zucchini?” Lip twitching again, Harry stifles a laugh as Y/N’s face hardens with exasperation. “A stalk of celery? I suppose the length could be a selling point, but if there’s not enough girth to fill you—”
“His dick wasn’t the reason I dated him.” Y/N replies flatly, a deadpan stare meeting Harry’s mirth filled eyes. “Although, since you’re curious…it was the size of a cucumber, but not an English cucumber. More of a garden variety. Not incredibly girthy, but good for a beginner.”
“A beginner?” Intrigue sparks at the pit of Harry’s belly (along with what he thinks is jealousy, but he’ll wait to dissect that at a later date) as the vampire leans forward more. “This bloke was your first?”
“We were together for years, so—” Y/N cuts herself off with a shake of her head, twisting a lock of her hair around her finger nervously. “No, wait, that’s another question! You don’t get another question if I didn’t!”
“But you haven’t finished answering my first question—”
“I would if you’d stop interrupting!” Silencing Harry with a stern look, Y/N holds up her left hand, pinching two of her fingers together. “Do I need to pretend to lock your mouth again like I would a seven year old, or can you sit and listen like an adult for five minutes? What happened to that old fashioned chivalry from earlier?”
Harry lets out a defeated sigh, sitting back in his chair with proper posture. He takes a moment to adjust himself, straightening his back, fixing the fall of his shirt, adjusting his cross, planting his feet on the ground of the patio, and finishing off the show by rolling out his shoulders before squaring them. “Alright, I’m sorry. I’m ready to listen. Please continue.”
The young woman inhales deeply, testing Harry’s rapt attention as she takes her time sipping her ice water. When she sets the glass down and finds that Harry has stayed perfectly still, his irises glued to her, she continues.
“So Bradley and I got together our freshman year, and stayed together for the rest of high school. It was comfortable. His mom liked me, and my parents liked him. He came to church with us—” Y/N notes that Harry’s eyebrow lifts a quarter of an inch, but only for a moment before dropping back down into its neutral state. “—and he and I went out once or twice a week. He was…nice. But he didn’t do the stuff that you do, the…etiquette stuff.” She taps an index finger against the table, thinking back to all the movie and diner dates that have blurred together in her mind. “Well, he’d try, I suppose, but not in the way you do. Whenever he did something that was supposed to be chivalrous or gallant, it felt like he was doing it because he thought I was incapable. And when I brought it up, he got mad.” Y/N lifts one shoulder in a shy shrug as she smiles apologetically at Harry. “That’s why I didn’t understand you ordering for me. I know you didn’t mean it in the way he did, I can tell that, but it just kind of…reminded me of him. It left a bad taste in my mouth; he left a bad taste in my mouth, I guess.”
A beat of silence falls between them, and the intense way that Harry is looking at her is prickling the hair on the back of Y/N’s neck.
“I get that.” The brunette speaks after a moment, voice low and accent thick. “Being haunted by someone. Even after they’re gone, even after time passes…something can remind you of them, and it can be enough to bring you to your knees.”
Although Harry’s eyes are locked on hers, Y/N has the distinct feeling that he’s seeing someone else in her place. Before she can ask what he means, however, he’s blinked himself out of the self-imposed trance.
“So what was the final straw?” Harry clears his throat quietly as his mind comes back to the present. “Between you and Cucumber Dick?”
A tiny giggle escapes Y/N’s mouth despite her far from humorous answer. “Well—”
The telltale clicking of heels interrupts the unspoken thought, and within a moment, Paige is standing next to their table once again, a tray balanced on her hand with precision as she offers another one of her smiles to Harry. “Here you go—two orders of the chorizo and goat cheese crepes, and a side of hash browns.” The server sets the first plate down in front of Harry, but he quickly lifts it again and sets it down carefully in front of Y/N before accepting the second dish. He repeats the motions with the hash browns, sliding them to the middle of the table and within Y/N’s reach.
“Thank you.” Harry speaks with a kind tone, but offers no other comment to the girl, who’s allowed her eyes to slide to the dark ink that decorates Harry’s arms.
“Of course.” Paige stutters, giving no pretense of paying attention to Y/N. “Could I get you anything else?”
Harry glances at Y/N’s empty mimosa glass, raising an eyebrow in question. “Would you like another drink?” He asks her slowly, his voice unsure. Normally, he’d just order a second one for her without a thought, but now that he knows how she feels about him ordering for her, he’ll have to work on beating back that particular bit of Victorian etiquette.
“I would, yes.” Y/N replies with a smile as she touches the stem of her empty glass. “Thank you.”
A strained smile flickers over Paige’s lips. “No problem. I’ll be right back.”
Harry nods in satisfaction as he watches the server retreat. “There. We have a few more minutes. Keep talking.”
“Ah ah ah.” Y/N picks up her fork and sticks it into the hash browns, pulling away a crispy bite for herself. “I think I get to ask a question now, especially since you’ve crammed a few different inquiries into your last turn.”
“And here I was, thinking you loved when I crammed things into—”
“Harry.”
A teasing smile breaks across the vampire’s face, more genuine than Harry thought possible. “Fine.” He relents, cutting the corner off his crepes and popping the savory bite into his mouth. “What else would you like to know?”
Where to begin? Y/N considers his question pensively as she takes a bite of her own crepe, her expression raising in surprise when she finds that she enjoys Harry’s entrée choice. The smokiness and spice of the chorizo is undercut by the tangy saltiness of the cheese, all wrapped together with a few garnishes in the perfectly cooked crepe. Savoring the bite as she chews, Y/N begins to run through the list of questions in her head.
She could ask more about his family, but if the aching sadness that had radiated off of him at the mention of his mother was any hint, any answers Harry could give on that topic may be off tone for a first date. And while inquiring about what he said before, about being haunted by someone seems promising, it may also be a bit too much. As much as she dislikes talking about her personal life, she gets the feeling that Harry absolutely abhors it, and while she was surprised about him asking her on a date, she’s been even more surprised to find herself enjoying it. The last thing she needs is to fuck that all up by interrogating him about an ex.
With those two possibilities pushed aside, only one burning question is left on the tip of Y/N’s tongue, and she hurriedly swallows her mouthful of crepe before letting it fall. “Alright, I’ve got it.” Cocking her head to the side, Y/N points her fork at the man in an accusatory manner. “Did you ask me out on this date just because you were jealous I was out with Jacob? Was that the only reason? Because you saw me with him, and you didn’t like it?”
Harry wraps his ringed hand around his water glass, the metal of his jewelry clinking against the surface as he pulls a face. Even if he wanted to be honest with Y/N about this, Harry isn’t quite sure what the honest answer would be.
“I’ll admit, I was a little…bothered by it.” Reluctance is threaded through every word that Harry manages to spit out. “Moreso by your taste in men than anything else— Jacob wasn’t exactly up to par.”
“It wasn’t like I chose him myself.” Y/N retorts, pulling a grape from the bunch of side fruit on her plate and popping it into her mouth. “Was that really all that bothered you? That he wasn’t up to par?”
Tapping his fingers against the wooden table, Harry takes a moment to ponder the question. “No.” He says finally, deciding to continue his honesty streak. “No, that wasn’t all that bothered me. You’re right, I didn’t like seeing you with him, but it wasn’t because of him. Not entirely, anyways. I can’t imagine I would’ve liked seeing you with anyone.”
A light flush works its way over the mortal’s cheeks, and Harry can hear the stuttered thumping of her heart. “Why?” She asks in a half whisper, her teeth worrying her bottom lip unconsciously. “Why is that?”
Harry muses the various answers he could give as Paige brings them refills on their mimosas. It’s not like he can tell her that he wants to keep her available for snacking whenever he gets a little thirsty. Well, he could, but then he’d have to wipe her mind, and he’s not particularly inclined to do that at the moment. And, if he’s being honest with himself…he’s not entirely sure that’s the truth anymore. Is sheer convenience the reason behind his terrible reaction to Y/N seeing someone else? Or is that reaction linked to the way he felt when she opened her door to him that morning, and the sight of her all dolled up for him hit him like a truck?
Either way, none of those answers are suitable to confess in the moment, so Harry merely gives a dimpled grin. “That’s another question, darling. We’re not very good at limiting ourselves, are we?”
“I suppose not, no.” Y/N smiles sheepishly as she takes a sip of her fresh mimosa, her eyes watching Harry over the rim of the glass. “Your turn, then. What else do you want to know?”
What else would he like to know? Harry thinks, taking another bite of chorizo as he mulls over the question. Now that the floodgates have opened, now that he has the opportunity, now that he has the ability to ask, Harry wants to know everything. He wants to know what makes Y/N tick, what her pet peeves are, and if she prefers mornings or nights. He wants to know what her favourite school subject was, if she was ever in her school’s plays, or on any of the sports teams. He wants to know her favourite flavour of ice cream, what TV shows she binge watches when she wants to distract herself, and if she’s really read all those books that line the floor to ceiling shelf in her room. He wants to know her, he realizes. She’s more fascinating than he ever thought possible, and her blood is more addicting than he knew. He wants to know every aspect that molded her into the person sitting before him. And one of those aspects is—
“Why did things end between you and Bradley?” He finally asks, his voice low and cautious. “Was it mutual, or...?”
Despite the time Harry took to think of his question, Y/N knew exactly what it was going to be, and she has her answer ready to go the moment the words roll from Harry’s pillowy lips. “He was cheating on me.” She admits with a sigh, her eyes glued to her mimosa glass as she swirls the orange liquid within it. “He went away for university, and I stayed home. I guess he met someone at school.” Allowing her eyes to flick up to Harry for a moment, Y/N finds the man staring at her blankly with a harsh crease between his brows. “I kind of thought it was going to end, honestly. He began to get more and more distant...we’d talk less over Skype or the phone...but I didn’t think he’d…” She trails off for a moment, thinking back to the day she found out. “Well. He did. I found out from his roommate, and the next day, he and I were through. And almost five years of memories, time together, shared moments...all of that was just gone.”
Although it’s been years since things ended, and Y/N has moved on in tenfold, she can’t help the way her voice aches at the end of her explanation, which acts as proof of how the raw wound had healed in a way that wasn’t quite right. No matter how much time passes, no matter how many people she’s been with, no matter how little she cares for Bradley now...nothing will change the fact that he hurt her. Nothing will mend the jagged scar he created. Sure, it may fade with time, but it’ll never disappear completely. And as much as Y/N hates that Bradley still has an effect on her after all this time, she can’t change it. She’s tried.
“That…” Harry’s cool hand wrapping around her own drags her back to the present, and she lifts her eyes to find the man staring at her with the most tender expression she’s ever seen his sculpted face wear. “That’s awful, Y/N. I’m so sorry you went through that.”
“It’s—it’s fine. Really.” Y/N half mumbles the words, distracted by the small circles Harry’s thumb is rubbing against the bone of her wrist.
Chestnut curls swaying, Harry adamantly shakes his head, the crease between his brows deepening with each passing moment. “Don’t. It’s not fine. You don’t have to make excuses for someone who hurt you.”
“I’m not making an excuse, I just—”
“Did he hurt you?” Harry’s jade irises fixate on her own with determination. “Yes or no?”
Once Y/N locks her eyes with Harry, she can’t look away. His gaze nears hypnotic the more she looks. “Yes. He hurt me.”
“Then he doesn’t deserve you making excuses for him.” The vampire squeezes her hand to emphasize his answer. Although he’s not compelling her to understand him, Harry looks at her with an unfamiliar sincerity that he hopes makes the depth of his words resonate within her. “You may be fine now, or you may not be, but the situation itself wasn’t fine. Don’t use your healing as an excuse for his behaviour. You shouldn’t have had to heal yourself in the first place.”
The gravity of his words rings in Y/N’s ears, and the girl gapes at him for a moment, her mouth half open in shock, before the realization of what he’s saying hits her. The way he’s staring at her…it’s nearly uncomfortable, the way he sees her. She almost can’t bear it. How does he know to say exactly what she needs to hear, even if she doesn’t know she needs to hear it? Since the first night they slept together, when he reassured her that she could relax and let loose, Harry has been honest and reassuring. And although Y/N has greatly appreciated that trait in the bedroom, when she’s been at her most vulnerable in a physical aspect…her eyes lock with Harry’s once more, finding them still as steadfast as ever. This may be the most vulnerable she’s been emotionally in a long time. And the idea of that, for once, doesn’t completely terrify her.
The questions get more and more personal from there. Although there’s a few lighthearted inquiries sprinkled in to ease the tension (“What was the name of your first pet?” “It was a cat named Mr. Snuffleupagus. I named him after the Sesame Street character. What’s your earliest childhood memory?” “My sister nearly drowning me in a lake. She thought I would float.”), the majority of questions asked are things that neither person ever thought they would admit to someone else.
Those questions range from vaguely prying (“How old were you when you lost your virginity?” “Seventeen. It was with—” “Bradley and his beginner penis, right.” “Alright, smart ass, who did you lose yours to?” “My first girlfriend.”) to diving deep into memories, stories, and opinions that neither have so much as breathed to themselves in the dark of the night, let alone someone else.
Despite the plan having been to leave after brunch, the pair find themselves engrossed in their conversation, drinking mimosa after mimosa as the late morning bleeds into early afternoon, and they continue to discover each other.
As Y/N takes a sip of her fourth beverage, Harry regards her with curious eyes, which are focused on picking apart every moment of her body to dissect and devour in his head when he’s alone that night. “So you said pretty much everyone from your hometown marries their high school sweetheart.” He asks slowly, rubbing a jeweled finger over his ice-swollen lips. “But you didn’t, obviously.”
“No, I did not.” Y/N says in agreement, a tipsy snort sounding from the back of her throat as she raises her fluted glass in a toast. “Thank fuck, honestly. Could you imagine me as a wife right now? And a mother? With children?”
Finger tapping against his lip, a cheeky grin tugs at the very corner of his mouth. “No, I couldn’t, frankly.” Harry’s dimples wink at her as he answers. “But what I’d like to know is…do you believe in it? Marriage, I mean? Because you said your parents had rough patches, and you thought they mostly stayed together just to stay together, and you and Gherkin Pickle didn’t last—”
“I’m sorry, Gherkin Pickle—?”
“So what I want to know is…” With his thumb and knuckle still grazing his chin, Harry points his finger at the girl across the table. “Marriage. Do you think there’s value in it? Do you think someone can be monogamous for their entire life? Do you want to get married someday?”
The alcohol is beginning to soak into Y/N’s brain, making her bolder with every thump of her heart in her chest. She leans across the table to ghost her fingers over Harry’s knuckles, continuing to glide them over his cool skin until she reaches his statement rings. “Why?” She asks, a smirk twinkling its way onto her face. “Are you asking?”
“Not quite yet, no.” Harry can feel the alcohol beginning to buzz through his stagnant veins, and he’ll later blame his flirtatious response on the pleasant feeling. “Although you in that dress has me half considering it.”
“Only half considering it?” Y/N clicks her tongue in feigned disappointment, swirling the tip of her index finger over the opal ring that sits upon Harry’s pinkie. “That’s a bit disheartening. I’ll have to up my game, huh?”
The sight of Y/N’s lithe finger tracing his mother’s ring sends a shock through Harry’s buzzing body. He can’t quite tell if it’s the witty banter that she matches perfectly and with ease, the lighthearted smile that lifts her soft lips, the gentle pulse he can feel reverberating through her fingertip, or the cleavage that’s just barely slipping out of her dress as she leans over, but Harry can’t tear his eyes away from the mortal girl, not for one second. He doesn’t want to miss a single moment of her like this. How it’s all for him.
“You know, I’m starting to regret my earlier proposal.” He murmurs quietly, wetting his lips with the tip of his tongue as he watches the mortal take a long sip of her mimosa. “How much begging would it take to convince you to follow me to the bathroom right now for a little fun?”
Despite the warmth pooling between her thighs at the offer, Y/N shakes her head. “Too much begging.” She replies, setting her glass back down on the table with a soft clink. She can already tell there’s a good chance that she’ll go back on the agreement they made, but she wants to make him sweat first. As much as it tortures her, she knows it tortures him more. And he’s certainly done his fair share of torturing. Now it’s her turn. “But speaking of proposals…”
To his credit, Harry doesn’t push the subject of bathroom quickies again. “Right.” He pauses with his glass half raised to his lips. “Marriage. Thoughts?”
Harry’s attention is rapt as his eyes drift to the mortal’s lips, which pucker slightly as her lightly inebriated mind thinks through the question. Not for the first time, he wishes he had the ability to take a look inside her head and see how her thoughts form before she voices them.
“I think…” She fixes her fork against her plate with a clink, her voice light but thoughtful as she forms her response. “I do think there’s value in marriage, but not inherently. It’s not valuable just because it exists; I think it becomes valuable based on the work you put into it. My parents, for example…” Her finger begins to circle Harry’s icy knuckle absentmindedly. “My parents didn’t put much work in, so I don’t think their marriage has that much value in comparison to what it could have if they tried. But if two people put effort in, and strive to be the best partner they can be…I think there’s tremendous value in that.”
Harry responds with a low hum in the back of his throat. “That stands to reason.” He wishes he could take her hand in his own, but the sensation of her warm fingers tracing his skin is too wonderful to pull away. “What about monogamy? Do you think it’s realistic?”
“I suppose my answer is the same.” Y/N shrugs lightly as her soft skin catches on the corner of Harry’s H ring. “It’s different for everyone, but I do think it can be realistic. What’s not realistic is the idea that it’s easy. People change over time, right? Sometimes someone can change into someone completely different. You have to expect that, and be flexible with it.”
For the first time since the beginning of their date, an uncomfortably negative feeling buzzes in the pit of Harry’s belly. Of course Y/N thinks people change—she’s mortal. But Harry, on the other hand… Harry is forever frozen at twenty-six. Harry is static. Harry is stagnant. However Y/N will change, Harry cannot match it. Ever.
That realization helps him identify the uncomfortable feeling as his eyes fall on the girl’s finger tracing his rings. It’s longing, he discovers, unable to look away from the way her fingernail scratches his immortal skin without so much as leaving a pinkening mark. Harry will never change again, while Y/N has a whole life of it ahead of her. Millions of possibilities that lead to millions of more possibilities, always shifting, never staying the same from one moment to the next.
“As for your last question…” Y/N’s familiar cadence pulls Harry from his thoughts. “I’m not sure. I wouldn’t completely rule out marriage, but it’s not an active goal of mine. It all depends on finding someone I think I could grow with and still love at the end of every day. And despite how simple that sounds,” The short laugh that leaves her mouth is wistful, but hides a tinge of bitterness. “It’s surprisingly hard to find.”
“It is, yeah.” Harry agrees, finishing the remnants of his mimosa with one fell swoop. “Incredibly hard.” His gaze sweeps to Y/N’s glass, which has about one more gulp of liquid left in it. With the hand not within her grasp, he reaches across the table, picking up the glass and lifting it to her lips. “May I, pet?”
He can hear the way her heartbeat stutters in her chest, and feel the heat radiating off her cheeks as she nods slowly. Harry places the glass between her lips, carefully tilting it back until the drink runs out of the crystal and into her awaiting mouth. A small droplet streaks from the corner of Y/N’s mouth, and Harry is sure to catch it on his finger after setting the glass down.
Y/N knows that Harry is doing his best to fluster her, and while it’s working, she knows that she can play the game just as well as he can. Keeping her eyes on his like a challenge, she grasps the hand touching the corner of her mouth, guiding his finger beyond her lips with a firm grip. The sweetness of the orange juice and champagne concoction swells across her tongue, but that’s nothing compared to the sweetness of watching Harry’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallows thickly.
Pulling his finger from her mouth with a quiet pop, Y/N sets his hand back down on the table, squeezing it once before releasing both of his hands and resting her elbows on the table. She steeples her fingers together, setting her chin on the makeshift rest as she regards Harry’s darkening eyes.
“Thanks.” She murmurs, tilting her head to the side lazily as Harry shifts in his chair. “Didn’t realize I missed a drop. That was a sharp catch, Holmes.”
Harry can’t help but flex his finger as his gaze drops to the digit, catching how a light sheen of saliva covers his skin. Heat floods between his thighs, making him regret his choice of fashionable linen pants over standard jeans. “Thank you, Watson.” He matches her banter, albeit with a slightly strained voice. “Shall we order another drink, now that we’ve both finished?”
The question hangs in the air between them like an invitation, open ended and carefully calculated. Y/N leans forward again, unlocking one of her hands to run a finger over the dark ink staining Harry’s exposed forearm. “I think we should grab the check, actually.” She wets her lips with a swipe of her tongue as she feels Harry’s muscle tense under her touch. “I think I’ve had enough to drink. Have you?”
All the moisture in Harry’s mouth disappears, his throat burning as the mortal girl’s scent envelops him with every move. His eyes flicker to her neck, where the thumping of her heart is practically visible underneath her fragile skin. With his inhuman eyes, he can just make out the ghost of a bruise he sucked into her neck a few nights before.
Has he had enough to drink? No. He’ll never get enough. But that’s not what Y/N means by the innocuous question.
“I’ve had my fill, yeah.” Jerking his head in agreement, Harry motions towards the window, where he knows Paige has been analyzing every move between them. Her displeasure at the close interactions between Harry and Y/N is nearly palpable as she makes her way back to their table, and Harry wonders if Y/N can also sense it, as she seems to be more perceptive than the average human. When he turns his attention back to her, however, his brow creases in confusion.
“What are you doing?” He asks, watching as Y/N shifts through her woven bag and extracts her wallet.
“Grabbing my wallet?” Her expression is just as confused as his own when she replies. “To pay?”
“To—? No. Put that away.” Harry says sternly, using the same dominant tone he adopts in the bedroom (only half on purpose). “This is a date. I’m paying.”
“This isn’t the 18th century, H. We can split the bill.” Y/N begins to roll her eyes as she opens her wallet, reaching for the debit card stamped neatly with her name.
“I’m well aware it’s not the 18th century, love.” Lip twitching from the wry irony, Harry gently places his hand on her own and closes her wallet. “But it’s a date— our first one, at that— and I’d like to pay for you. It’s just manners.”
Although he can feel the grip on her wallet loosening, there’s still a degree of hesitancy apparent in Y/N’s eyes. “Harry—”
“And I don’t mean that in a chauvinistic way, and I don’t mean to imply that you’re incapable of paying.” He swipes his thumb over her knuckle once, letting his physical touch reinforce his words. “I asked you out, yeah? So I think it’s only fair that I pay.”
Harry’s eyes flicker to Y/N’s pillowy lips as she worries them between her teeth, her resolve getting weaker and weaker with every passing moment. It only takes three more beats of her heart for her to give a small nod, and Harry, satisfied that she’s agreed, reaches for his wallet to pay the bill.
Despite the temptation to short change Paige on the tip for her disregard for his date, Harry still leaves a sizable tip, saying goodbye to the server with a polite— and only polite— smile. Once she has her back turned, however, Harry flashes his most genuine grin at Y/N as he scoots his chair away from the table to stand.
Y/N’s hands grip the sides of her chair to match Harry’s motion, but she freezes once she sees the man step towards her. Within a moment, his jeweled hands are wrapped around the back of her chair, carefully pulling it out before offering her a hand to help her stand.
“Is this going to be a thing now?” Y/N asks, nodding to their clasped hands as she pulls her bag over her shoulder. “Pulling out chairs, opening doors—”
Placing his hand on the small of her back once again, Harry scoffs. “It’s always been a thing,” He argues, guiding her to the patio door and through the restaurant. “You’ve just been dating pricks, apparently.”
Despite his answer, however, even Harry can’t deny that the urge to resurrect his Victorian etiquette is as strange as it is sudden. And, truth be told, there is something deeply pleasing in the light flush of blood he can hear work its way over Y/N’s cheeks when he opens the door of the restaurant for her, opens the car door, takes her hand to help her in, and shuts the door carefully before making his way to the driver’s side.
It’s easy to spend the short drive back to her building with his hand entwined with hers, their fingers woven together as Harry’s thumb moves over her knuckles. Y/N’s skin, like usual, is so warm, almost as if she’s made from sunshine herself. At this point, Harry wouldn’t be surprised to learn that; her blood could certainly pass for being made from stardust.
It’s all too soon that Harry is pulling into a parking spot in front of Y/N’s building and turning the key in the ignition, his favourite car smoothly powering down in one fell swoop. Once the sound of the engine dies down, his eyes refocus on the girl next to him.
Y/N, in comparison, is just as focused on Harry as Harry is on her. She knows that it’s time to let go of his hand, time to climb out of the car, time to return to her apartment alone. Time to fall out of the fantasy that has been this afternoon. Despite knowing all of this, however, she stays glued to the seat, her eyes locked with Harry’s emerald irises in a soft battle.
Harry is well aware of the predicament he’s found himself in. While he was the one to establish the no sex rule in an attempt to keep Y/N comfortable, it’s becoming harder and harder to stick to it with every passing moment. If he was smart, he’d bid the girl goodbye here, allow her to walk herself into her building, thereby erasing any possibility of him charming her into allowing him inside her apartment. Then, once he was safely back home, he could draw himself a hot bath, scent it with lavender epsom salts, close his eyes to picture the way Y/N looks with laughter in her eyes, the sun spilling across her cheeks, her dress’ neckline falling dangerously low, and tug himself to a tension-relieving climax.
However, Harry has never been known for his intelligence. Not as much as he’s been known for his recklessness.
Before he can second guess his most likely terrible decisions, Harry is out of the car and opening Y/N’s door. He’s helping her out. He’s guiding her into her building, and climbing up the stairs of her fifth floor walk up with her hand locked in his. And now he’s standing in front of her apartment door, with Y/N shyly looking at him as she bites her fucking lip, completely unaware of the rampage raging inside the vampire before her.
And the most infuriating, frustrating thing about the entire situation is the way Y/N is looking at him, like she can barely hold his gaze, but can’t force herself to look away. Harry can feel the waves of need and uncertainty radiating from her, hear the thumping of her heart in her chest. The last time she looked at him like this, like she’s unsure of where they stand, was the first night they met. Harry remembers how she fumbled with her keys, nervously invited him in, and then let him use her in a way that literally drove him to his most primal state. He remembers the euphoria of sinking his teeth into her neck, tasting her ridiculously sweet blood for the first time as his orgasm rolled over him, wave after wave of intense pleasure blurring together as his eyes burned crimson, the lewd sounds of their bodies moving together, the desperate whines that echoed from her throat...
“Thank you for lunch.” Y/N’s sweet voice interrupts his walk down memory lane, and with good timing— five more seconds, and Harry would have been pushing her against her front door to rut her dress up and slip inside her. “And the drinks. I had a really nice time.”
Clearing his throat, Harry pushes the indecent thoughts from his head as best he can. He can take care of this later, he tells himself. He just has to be a gentleman for a few more minutes, and then he can go home, and be as depraved as he needs to be. “I did, as well.” The vampire squeezes her hand in preparation of letting go of it. “A really lovely time, actually. I’d like to do it again.”
The way Y/N’s eyes widen ever so slightly as her breath just barely hitches, both of which would be imperceivable to human senses, makes Harry bite back a laugh. “I would too.” A more reassured smile rolls over her face as she leads his hand to her waist, setting it just over her hip and squeezing his fingers around her love handles.
Even after everything Harry has done to her, all the ways he’s seen her, felt her, made her feel— even after all that— his hand on her hip over her dress still sends a shiver down her spine. “I don’t want you to go…” She confesses in a quiet voice, rubbing her thumb over his icy knuckles. “It feels strange, not having you come inside…”
“I know.” A sigh escapes Harry’s lips as he leans down, brushing his forehead over hers as he murmurs his response, his voice dangerously low. “But if I come inside, I know what I’ll do. And I promised that I would behave myself today.”
“I don’t mind breaking promises.” Y/N wisps, closing her eyes as Harry’s breath, tinged with orange from the mimosa and mint from the candy the restaurant gave them with the bill, rolls over her in a delicious wave.
Nudging his nose against her own, Harry shakes his head with the smallest of motions, his fingertips digging further into Y/N’s love handles. “That’s the problem, isn’t it?” His lips ghost over hers, barely even brushing before he pulls away again. “One of us needs to have some self control.”
Y/N wedges her free hand between their bodies, resting it over Harry’s chest with her fingers curled along the unbuttoned edge of his shirt. “If you insist.” Her fingernails dig just the slightest bit into Harry’s sturdy chest, savouring the way she feels his body tense beneath her. “If you want to be boring, then that’s fine.”
Harry laughs quietly at the small attempt to tease his ego, and although his instinct tells him to prove her wrong, he just nods his head. “Am I too boring to receive a goodbye kiss?” He brushes a loose hair back from her forehead before cradling her warm cheek, guiding his thumb over her cheekbone in a repeated action. “Haven’t kissed you in hours. Feels wrong.”
Butterflies burst into flight in Y/N’s stomach at the innocent request coupled with the sweet explanation. They’ve done everything in the wrong order, she thinks, as she allows Harry to smudge small pecks along her chin and cheeks. The very first night they met, she allowed him to use her in any way he wanted, and he allowed her the same luxury. They’ve spent the last month exploring each other’s bodies, getting to know every nook and cranny, every preference. They’ve grown accustomed to how the other moves in their sleep, how they wake up in the morning, if they shower at sunrise or sunset. And now, after all that, they’ve finally had what has probably been the best first date in the history of first dates, and this man, who has already coaxed countless orgasms from her shivering body, who has learned all of her likes and dislikes, is asking for a goodbye kiss like a nervous teenager walking his crush home from biology class.
How could she refuse him?
The answer is simple: she can’t. In fact, she’s not sure she could refuse Harry anything he asked of her. And maybe that would be worrisome— it probably should be worrisome— if the idea of giving Harry whatever he wanted didn’t bring a wave of warmth to Y/N’s belly that travels from her center to the very tips of her fingers.
“No,” She wraps the loose fabric of his shirt around her fingers, clutching him as close as she possibly can. “You’re not too boring, H. You’re never boring.” Y/N sucks in a breath as she feels Harry’s teeth graze over her jaw, marking her ever so slightly as her lover makes his way back to her lips fervently.
He smudges a kiss at the corner of her lips, pulling a strained whimper from her as she waits for him to kiss her properly.
“Ask me.” He whispers, grazing his fingers over her cheekbone again and again. “Ask me to kiss you. I want to hear you say it, sweetheart.”
The request is so innocent compared to everything else Harry has ever asked her to do, and his voice lacks the dominant command it usually carries over her, but Y/N feels just as weak as she would if he ordered her to get on her knees. “Harry…” Her voice floats through the miniscule space between them, so quiet that it’s barely audible over their laboured breathing, but Harry still thinks it sounds like a song. “Please kiss me. Kiss me goodbye.”
A groan reverberates in the back of Harry’s throat, and the tiny molecule of composure that he has left in him slips away as he glides his lips over her own silky pair, his fingers threading into her hair on instinct. Although he does his best to restrain himself, it becomes more difficult with every passing moment, and becomes damn near impossible when he hears the way Y/N whines at the sensation of their lips brushing together with more and more force.
Despite his best efforts, Harry soon finds his hands moving of their own accord as his palm travels from Y/N’s hip towards her ass, ruffling her dress as he grips her and thrusts a leg between her own. He backs the mortal up into her door, her back hitting the wood with a delicate thud, and the groan she releases worries him for a split second before he feels her grind against his thigh situated between her legs.
Harry knows that the pretense of this just being a goodbye kiss went out the window the moment he touched her, and although she’s responding in kind, he has to live up to his word. He has to. He swore that he wouldn’t fuck her today, and as much as he wants to, as much as it seems that she wants to— and if the red hot heat burning his thigh is any hint, she very much wants to— he has to regain some self control. Despite all his shortcomings, or how his thirst for her blood outweighs any other desire he has for her, he has to remain a gentleman. Even if it means peeling himself away from the beautiful girl who is scratching at his chest, moaning into his mouth, grinding against his thigh, and speaking between ragged gasps—
“Fuck the promise.” She groans into his ear, her teeth grazing over his lobe with more pressure than Harry thought her capable. “Please, H. I know what we said, but I need you.”
Harry curses under his breath at the sensation, his eyes rolling back into his head for a split second, and he knows that if he doesn’t distance himself, he’ll succumb to her begging. “I can’t, darling. I can’t.” He chokes out the words between pants, bumping his forehead against Y/N’s as he struggles to catch a breath that he’s forgotten he doesn’t need. It’s funny, he manages to think, how he teased Y/N for not keeping her hands off him earlier, when he’s the one who can’t bear to be away from her touch now. “I want to— Christ, I want to— but I’m trying to behave.”
“Behaving is stupid.” Y/N mutters, smudging her lips across Harry’s stubbled jaw and down his neck, leaving small marks in her wake. “What happened to giving into desires?”
Good fucking question.
Harry squeezes his eyes shut tightly, a choked laugh escaping his heaving chest. “That was when we were just fucking. Now we’re…”
Y/N regards the man with hooded eyes, a flutter of hope shining through the desire that’s settled in her chest. What exactly are they? They’re not dating, she knows that for certain. But they’re not exactly just fuck buddies anymore. “We’re what?” She prompts after Harry trails off.
“We’re…” Harry struggles to form a coherent thought, too entranced by the feeling of Y/N in his arms to think straight. Sucking in a deep breath, the fragrant scent of the girl’s arousal burning his throat, Harry forces himself to take the smallest step back from her, although his hands stay locked around her hip and her cheek. “We’re saying goodbye.”
A defeated sigh falls from Y/N’s swollen lips, but she nods gently at the man before her, brushing her thumb over his exposed collar bones with great care. “Alright.” She mumbles, disappointment laced through her voice. “Goodbye.”
The glum tone brings a small smile to Harry’s cherry lips. “It’s just for a little while, love. Not forever.” Harry teases her as he swipes his thumb over her flushed cheek. “Couldn’t stay away from you that long.”
The breathless flush turns into a pleased warmth as Y/N struggles to hide the smile threatening to break across her expression. Taking the change in mood as a hint, Harry ducks his head, pressing his lips against hers with an earnest softness for just a moment before stepping back and releasing the mortal girl from his grasp.
“Goodbye.” He murmurs again, his belly aching at the thought of leaving Y/N alone for the rest of the day. It really does feel unnatural, he’s surprised to find. Has he really gotten that used to being around her?
It’s a strange process, leaving Harry at the door. After she finally says goodbye again, shuts the door, locks it tightly, and slips on the chain, Y/N finds herself touching the wood, her palm pressed flat against the surface as if she can feel Harry on the other side. It takes her a moment to walk away from it, the buzz of the mimosas and their first date streaming through her veins.
Checking her phone for the first time, Y/N is surprised to find that it’s nearly 4pm— had they really been in the restaurant for almost five hours? No wonder the server had been giving her a dirty look; they’d spent so long just talking and sipping drinks, ordering no other food, and not giving up their table. She’d probably be glaring too.
Admittedly, there is a slight rumble in Y/N’s stomach, as they ate over four hours ago, but she ignores it as she takes a seat on the couch to untie her pink vans, tossing them into the corner before slipping off her jean jacket. She tosses that over the couch too, running her hands through her mussed hair. She’s not quite sure what she’ll do with the rest of her day now that she’s alone. She could indulge some reading, or answer some messages from relatives, or maybe even—
A pounding on the door disrupts her thoughts, jerking her eyes from the book on her coffee table to her front door. With her brow furrowed in confusion, Y/N rises from the couch and walks to the door, gliding the chain free and turning the lock before swinging the door open.
Braced in the doorway with shining eyes, ruddy cheeks, and a heaving chest as if he’s run all the way back up to her apartment, is Harry. He takes a moment to compose himself, swiping his tongue over his lips as she takes in her more relaxed appearance.
“I couldn’t go.” He confesses, answering the question on the tip of Y/N’s tongue before she even has the chance to speak it. “I made it down to my car, and then—”
Y/N grabs him by the front of his shirt and yanks him into her apartment, slamming the door behind them before reaching for Harry again. His hands are already outstretched to receive her, having grown used to their intimacy routine, and she’s pleased when he automatically rests his palms on her lower back and her neck as she wedges her lips between his once again.
“I don’t want you to go.” Y/N gasps the words against his mouth, barely peeling herself back from him to utter the sentence. “I need you so fucking bad, H, please—”
With great difficulty, Harry attempts to think straight, but it gets harder when Y/N bucks her hips and— well, it gets harder. “I meant what I said, Y/N. I did, I—I made a promise, and I have to—”
“What do I have to do?” Y/N demands, tangling her fingers in Harry’s chestnut curls and forcing him to look her in the eye. “I fucking need something, Harry, and you’re the only one who can fix it.”
Christ. Harry’s had his suspicions, but now he’s convinced that this girl has some direct line to all his weaknesses, because she knows exactly how to stroke his ego like no one else has before. She presses every one of his buttons every time. She’s allowed him to handcuff her, take her in every position, manhandle her, slap her around, and she still begs him for more. Is there anything that she hasn’t done better than anyone else?
And that’s when it hits him. The perfect loophole.
Harry is so excited at the possibility of relief that he nearly whimpers, just barely managing to bite back the sound at the last second as he smooths his fingers over his lover’s wild hair. “What about when I’m not here, pet?” He goads her softly, a glint shining in the corner of his darkening eyes. “What do you do then?”
“I…” Although confusion is present in Y/N’s voice, she answers him promptly— she’s gotten used to obeying his sexual requests over the course of the month. “I call you. And you...you tell me what to do, usually.”
“Tell you what?” Harry hungrily prompts her again, tugging on her hair with the lightest of touches. Like before, he wants to hear her say it. “What do I tell you to do?”
“You tell me how to—how to touch myself.” The mortal girl stammers, shyness creeping into her tone despite having begged for Harry mere moments earlier. “And then I do.”
“You do. You behave so well for me.” Keeping his voice as smooth and sensual as possible— which isn’t hard for him, if he’s honest— Harry twirls a lock of Y/N’s hair around his finger, wrapping it around the length as his fingertip brushes over her lip. “I tell you what to do, and you do it. And you moan for me, and send me the prettiest pictures.” He presses harder against her lip, dragging her mouth open as a whimper escapes. “And I always think: what would it be like to see that in person?”
Although the effect of the mimosas has faded by now, Y/N’s head is swimming in a cloud of Harry’s cologne and her own lust, and she struggles to understand the double meaning in his words. “What—what do you mean? You’ve seen me in bed—”
The innocent confusion in her voice tantalizes Harry in the best way. “When I’m touching you. But that’s not what I want.” He murmurs, grinding his hips back into her own. “I know how to get around my promise.”
He watches as the realization dawns on Y/N’s face, her heart stuttering as warmth floods through her body. “Y-you mean—? You want to see me…?”
“I want to see you touch yourself.” Harry finishes her thought as his eyes darken, and he licks his lips at the image of Y/N laid out on her bed, legs spread wide, showing off just for him. Only for him. “Will you let me?”
And there it is. That wave of warmth and desire spreads through Y/N’s tummy, begging her to say yes to any request that falls from Harry’s mouth. The urge is so strong that she nearly begins to strip, her fingers edging to the hem of her dress, before she manages to form a clear thought of pause. “Are you sure you want to see me…?” She dances around the word for a second time. “Like, I—I don’t know if it’s very sexy, or—”
“Is that a fucking joke?” Harry laughs incredulously, his thumb swiping over the edge of Y/N’s jaw. He could leave so many pretty marks… “Of course it’ll be sexy. Christ, love, it’s fucking you.”
The statement that Harry makes is so sure, so confident, that it nearly sends Y/N reeling. The human’s eyelids flutter as he begins to pepper kisses along her cheekbones and down her jaw, his tongue swiping over her sensitive skin every few moments.
“Anything you do is sexy.” He whispers the words against her skin, his voice low and accent thick enough that it seems to fill the entire hallway. “Literally anything… How you lick your lips after taking a drink, how you get in and out of my car so delicately… It’s all so fucking erotic.” Y/N shivers when a breath of cool air hits the damp skin of her neck as Harry laughs lightly. “I’ve got a bloody hard-on nearly every moment of the day.”
Hearing the confession that tumbled from Harry’s cool lips, Y/N thinks, is the verbal equivalent of doing three shots of tequila and chasing with a vodka soda. The words wash over her as easily as Harry’s cologne does whenever she gets close to him, and her fingers tug on his brunette locks with need. “Really? Even today?”
“Are you kidding? Especially today. Look at what you’re wearing…” His icy fingers skim down her neck before tracing over the cleavage that the neckline of her yellow dress leaves exposed. “Every time you leaned over to take a bite of food, I nearly came in my trousers.”
Despite the desire curling itself around Y/N’s core, she can’t help but giggle at the mental image. “That would’ve been a sight.” She scratches her nails lightly against Harry’s scalp, the motion surprisingly tender for their topic of conversation. “Would’ve had to ask Paige for another napkin.”
“It would’ve been properly humiliating, yeah.” Harry agrees easily, unconcerned with the thought as his lips follow the path led by his fingers. “But it would’ve been worth it.”
While the pair’s position is rather incriminating— Y/N’s hands in Harry’s hair, Harry clutching her as close as possible, his lips travelling over any exposed skin he can find— there’s an air of careful consideration floating around them. As much as Harry wants to see the girl in his arms pleasure herself, he wants it to be her decision. Anything less wouldn’t be nearly as satisfying.
“Y’don’t have to do it just for me, Y/N.” The vampire takes the slightest step back to give her some room to breathe without his close proximity to cloud her judgement. “But if it’s my reaction you’re worried about…” Harry untangles one of her hands from his hair, ghosting it down his body before cautiously laying it over his white linen trousers, where his bulge is growing more prominent by the second. “You have nothing to be worried about.”
A desperate whine nearly escapes Y/N’s mouth, but she manages to bite it back at the last moment. She wants him. As nervous as she is to have him watch her touch herself, she’s more turned on than anything. When she sends Harry explicit texts and photos that are most certainly not safe for work, part of the thrill is the reaction she gets from him. A dirty photo is only as sexy as the other person’s reception of it. To see Harry’s reactions in person… it would be a lie to say she’s not into the idea.
But it would also be a lie to say that she doesn’t want something in return.
“Alright. You can watch me.” Y/N relents with a sigh, and she takes a moment to enjoy the triumphant look in Harry’s eyes before tacking on her addendum. “On one condition.”
“Anything.”
Y/N squeezes her hand over his bulge, making the slightest stroking motion upwards towards his belly as a low groan rolls from Harry’s mouth. “I get to watch you touch yourself, too.”
There’s not even a moment of hesitation. “Done.” Harry seals his lips over hers firmly the moment the word exits his mouth, grinding against her hand as he backs her into the wall. Her back hits the panel with a quiet thud, but Y/N is too busy twisting her fingers around the button of Harry’s pants to notice.
“Ah ah ah.” Harry tuts as his jeweled hand grabs her wrist, pulling it away from his hardening cock while making sure not to use too much strength on her fragile joint. “You don’t get to do that, pet. You’ll only be undressing yourself tonight. It’s only fair.”
“You’ve got a lot of nerve to talk about fair.” Y/N huffs her reply, but doesn’t pull her wrist from her lover’s grip. “You’re the one who made the stupid rule in the first place!”
Clicking his tongue, Harry takes another step back from the young woman while keeping his other hand floating over her hip. “And you agreed.” He reminds her as the corner of his lip tugs up. “So I think it’s best you behave, don’t you?”
Although the statement turns her legs to jelly, Y/N doesn’t let it show, and instead steels her resolve as best she can. “I’m behaving.” She mutters, crossing her free hand underneath the arm in Harry’s grip.
“That’s a matter of opinion, isn’t it?” Harry swipes his thumb over the delicate bones of her wrist, feeling her pulse stutter beneath his touch. The vampire swallows the venom that spills into his mouth at the thumping rhythm. He’ll have time for that later.
Chest heaving, Y/N wets her dry lips as best she can despite the lack of moisture in her mouth. “So where are we…?” She trails off as she glances down the hallway of her apartment. “The living room is probably best, position wise…one of us can be on the couch, and the other on a chair.”
“That’s true…” Harry nods his head, but a frown settles over his pillowy lips. “But it’s not very comfortable for you. You usually lie down when you get off, don’t you?” Like every other technically intimate question Harry has ever asked her, it’s spoken with a tone of efficiency and casual observance, simply to find the best approach for any situation.
And, like every other technically intimate question Harry has ever asked her, it sends a shock of warmth into her panties.
“I-I do, yeah.” Y/N stutters her response, clearing her throat before adding onto the short statement. “I’m usually in bed.”
Harry nods expectantly, like her reply is just a confirmation for him. “We’ll go to your bedroom, then.” He says decisively, his grip on her wrist loosening. “You can lie down, get comfortable. I’ll stand.”
Leading the mortal to her bedroom, Harry slides open the door, guiding her inside before shutting it with a firm click. When he turns back around to look at her, she’s looking at him expectantly, her fingers twisting around each other as she stares at him with wide eyes. She trusts him, he realizes, not for the first time. She really does trust him.
Although the anticipation is written clearly across her pretty features, Harry knows she needs a small prompt to begin. “How are you usually dressed when you do this alone?” He asks quietly, his own fingers working over the buttons on his shirt smoothly. “Completely bare? Fully clothed? Underwear only?” One of his dimples makes an appearance as he smiles with half his mouth. “Wearing only that sweater of mine that you’ve pretty much stolen?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, that sweater’s too warm.” Y/N replies with an eye roll, tugging off the jean jacket covering her smooth shoulders. “I, um…it depends. If it’s just quick, then usually I’m clothed, but if I’m taking my time, then I’ll just, um, I’ll be in my underwear. Sometimes just my bra.”
Harry’s fingers finish with his last button, and he leaves his open shirt draped over his tall frame. “We’ll be taking our time, angel. So just get as comfortable as you usually would.”
Y/N nods her head in a jerking manner, sucking in a deep breath through her parted lips in an attempt to calm the heave that threatens her chest. The erotic tension in the air could be cut with a knife as she tosses her jacket to the side and works her fingers over the zipper of her dress, which catches for a moment and puts up a struggle as she fights to undo it. Once she wins the battle, she tugs the yellow dress down her shoulders, letting it pool around her ankles before stepping out of it and tossing it to the side. Her bra and panties aren’t matching, with the former being a delicate baby pink lace, while the latter are lavender cotton, but she doesn’t let herself focus on that detail. Instead, her fingers hover for a moment at the waist of her panties, hooking in the elastic before she changes her mind at the last minute and decides to keep them on. For now, at least.
Harry watches the entire ritual with starved eyes. He wants Y/N to start before he does, so she can get into a natural rhythm herself, but he can’t resist palming himself over his trousers like she did a moment ago, despite his icy touch not being nearly as satisfying as hers.
Y/N, however, has different plans, regarding him with heavy lashes as she takes a step back towards her bed. “Your turn.” She murmurs, sitting on the edge of the bed and curling her fingers around her ruffled comforter.
“All in due time.” Harry assures her with a wry smile, ghosting his fingers along his inked abdomen. “Get comfortable, baby. Pretend I’m not here.”
“Like that’s possible.” The mortal girl mutters under her breath, unaware that Harry’s supernatural hearing can pick it up as if she were shouting in his ear. Nevertheless, she does as he says, scooting back on the bed until her shoulders reach her pillows. She lays back on the soft cushions, shifting around until the padding feels comfortable beneath her back. She lays there for a moment, her arms folded neatly over her bare stomach as she licks her lips expectantly. “Now?”
“Now…” Harry flicks open the button of his trousers. “Do whatever you like to do. Whatever feels good.”
It takes Y/N another moment to work up the courage to actually do something. The trick, she realizes, is closing her eyes. If she so much as catches a glimpse of Harry watching her, her entire body tenses, and she can’t even manage to move a finger over her stomach. With her eyes closed, however, she can imagine that Harry isn’t there, and she’s just in her room, with his only influence being in her mind as she touches herself. It may not make much sense, when she could just use the real image of him to fuel her thoughts, but Harry’s presence is so dominating that pretending he’s not there seems to be the only solution.
And so, when her eyes are shut tightly enough that she can’t see the man, but loose enough that she’s comfortable, Y/N begins to touch herself lightly, her fingers tracing over the dips of her stomach with the smallest amount of contact she can manage.
Her touch moves over her skin like a flutter, its only purpose to warm herself up and ease herself into being watched, and while the small brushes against her own skin would normally have no effect on her, in this moment, with Harry standing by her bed, the action feels more erotic than she ever would’ve thought possible. She slowly glides her hands up to the pink lace of her bra, tracing her finger along the edge of the cup before sliding over the lace to the hardening peaks of her nipples. She’s more sensitive than she thought, and Y/N’s breath hitches for a moment as she brushes against one nub, tweaking it once more with her finger before repeating the motion on her other breast. When a quiet but harsh exhale sounds from Harry’s direction, the human girl amuses the idea of removing her bra to give more visual stimulus, but quickly decides against it. Harry said he wanted to see what she does to herself, she thinks, keeping her eyes closed as she massages her breasts once more. He didn’t ask her to perform a strip tease for him.
And, in truth, a strip tease is the farthest thing that Harry wants in this moment. Any girl can take off her clothes and touch herself to put on a show for a voyeur. If Harry really wanted to watch that, he could easily find countless porn videos depicting the real thing. But the sight of Y/N gliding her fingers over the soft lace of her bra, tracing unseen roadmaps over the mountains and valleys of her chest and abdomen, parting her lips just slightly as she twists her nipple once more… that’s what Harry wants. Despite the countless erotic activities Harry has engaged with Y/N, this may be the most intimate, even without touching her. Maybe that’s why, he muses, only half in the thought as he slowly tugs down the zipper on his trousers, doing his best to make no noise so as not to startle the girl in front of him. She’s letting him see what she does to herself when no one is around, when she just wants to make herself feel good. It’s a selfish act, in the best way. And it’s making Harry’s cock throb like never before.
Y/N’s hands have reached the edge of her panties now, and with her legs spread wide open, Harry can see the dampened spot staining the lavender cotton a shade darker. Her scent wafts over him as she moves, slipping her hand beneath the fabric, and Harry’s own eyelids flutter as she fills every one of his senses. There’s a small part of his more instinctual mind cursing him for thinking of this— for establishing an activity where he can see her, smell her, but not touch her. However, there’s a larger part of his mind thanking him for this. For the opportunity to bask in Y/N’s own sensuality and pleasure.
The dampness that greets Y/N’s fingers as she slides into her panties isn’t a surprise, but still provides relief. For a brief moment, the girl had been worried that she’d be too nervous about the situation to let herself enjoy it, but as she teasingly circles her index finger around her clit, she knows that enjoying it won’t be a problem. Although she misses Harry’s cool touch, the feeling of his rings sliding over her clammy skin, and although it may seem untrue when Harry is in bed with her, no one knows Y/N’s body like she does. No one can instantly know what feels good and what doesn’t, what needs to be touched with more force, what needs to be gently caressed with a feather light pressure. Y/N alone is the keeper of those secrets, and although she’s begun to whisper those unspoken tokens to Harry in the dead of the night as he lays between her thighs, she alone knows the real truths.
She continues to circle her clit for a few moments, gradually applying more and more pressure as her free hand clutches her bare thigh, her fingertips digging into her squishy flesh. It doesn’t take long, however, for Y/N to need more, and she allows her fingers to run over her entrance a few times before dipping her index finger into her hot core.
While the sound that leaves her mouth is quiet and could potentially go unnoticed, it’s the loud groan from Harry that snaps the human’s eyes open, and the sight in front of her that stops her movements in their tracks. With her index finger still half inside her, and her grip on her thigh tightening, Y/N gapes at him unabashedly, because Harry looks like a fucking god.
Her eyes sweep over him methodically, committing every inch of his appearance to memory so as not to ever forget what he looks like when pleasuring himself. His chestnut curls are tinged with sweat, just beginning to plaster to his damp forehead and neck. His jade eyes are darkening by the second, while his strawberry lips are parted and dry, despite him swiping his tongue over them every minute or so. His toned chest is bare, displaying his dark ink for Y/N’s viewing, heaving with every movement of his tattooed arm. And lower… Y/N moans again as she clutches her leg tighter, nearly enough to bruise. Harry hasn’t completely removed his pants, but he’s pushed them down low enough that he’s freed his cock, which stands tall and proud and angrily red at the tip that pokes through the tight fist he has wrapped around the length. Despite the tension in his body, however, Harry flicks his wrist lazily, teasing himself as much as Y/N did earlier, and she wonders if he does it for the same reason she did. To give their lover something to look at.
With her eyes locked with Harry’s, Y/N pushed her middle finger inside herself, whimpering at how the extra digit stretches her out. She curves her fingers as they move in and out of her at a leisurely pace, focused more on reaching deeper than reaching a quick speed. While her hand busies itself inside her panties, she slides the other from her thigh back up to her breast, gripping and massaging it as her lashes flicker.
“Look at you.” Harry utters with a groan, breaking the silence between them as he thumbs over the leaking head of his cock. “Christ, you look so fucking filthy.” His eyes shift from hers for just a moment, glueing themselves to the shadows of motion he can see beneath her underwear. “Does that feel good, angel?”
A high pitched whine falls from Y/N’s mouth as she presses the pads of her fingers against the spongy spot inside her, setting off a wave of bliss inside her belly. “Yeah. Feels—feels really good, Harry.” His name leaves her lips in a breathy mewl as she tweaks her nipple over her bra, throwing her head back against her pillow.
The newly exposed skin of her neck beckons Harry. It’s completely covered with a thin veil of sweat, with the heat radiating from her throbbing pulse seemingly reaching towards him at the end of the bed. He takes a half step forward without realizing it, only catching his action when his knees bump the edge of the mattress. “Fuck—” He closes his reddening eyes to collect himself as his hand quickens its pace around his prick, only opening them again when he’s sure he’s under control. “You don’t know what you do to me.”
“I think I have a bit of an idea.” She mutters in reply, stroking small circles over her clit with her thumb. “It’s not like you can hide it.”
“But you’re hiding.” The vampire replies in a strained voice, tightening his fist around his cock as he nods to the girl’s covered core. “Take those off for me, pet. Please.”
Y/N withdraws her fingers from her dripping center, her skin shining in the light of her bedroom as she hooks her fingers into the waistband of the panties. “Wait—” she says suddenly, pausing her obedient motion. “Wait, I—”
The moment his foggy mind registers the word, Harry’s palm stills over his length, and although he doesn’t let go completely, he forces his body to calm down as he appraises the human. “What?” He questions, concern laced into his thick accent. “What’s wrong?”
Sitting up on her elbows, Y/N raises her head from her pillow as she scoots closer to her bedroom wall, stopping once her heated skin grazes the tapestry. “I want you next to me.” Her eyes are pleading as the words fall from her mouth, quiet and desperate. “I promise I’ll stick to the rule— I won’t touch you. I just want you to be comfortable, too, and… and I like it when you’re close. Please?”
The idea of refusing her doesn’t even enter Harry’s mind. Within seconds, faster than a mortal ever would, Harry has stripped off his trousers, leaving himself in just his dark blue boxers that are still half rugged down. He crawls onto the bed quickly, only letting his knee brush against Y/N’s leg before situating himself six inches away from her. Even with the distance between them, he can still feel an electric energy radiating off of her as her fragrance becomes thicker and all encompassing, making his head swim in the intoxicating honey and lavender perfume.
“M’here.” Harry murmurs the assurance softly, his fingers aching to reach out and touch her. Surely that’s not against the rules? After all, caressing someone’s cheek, and only for a moment, isn’t necessarily sexual. With that rationalization in his mind, his jeweled fingers brush against the young woman’s flushed cheek, grazing upwards to push a loose strand of hair from her eyes. “Hi.”
“Hi.” Y/N whispers back to him, her hands now resting on her tummy as she stares longingly at the figure next to her in bed. She wonders if the comforting touch is allowed, but decides not to question it. Questioning it may make it stop, and that’s the last thing she wants. Instead, Y/N simply places her hand over Harry’s, interlocking their fingers together and bringing his hand to her mouth to smudge a soft kiss over the back of his icy knuckles.
Harry can feel the pulsing of her heart through her lips, and it takes all of his inhuman strength to pull his hand from hers as carefully as he can. “I think you made me a deal, didn’t you?” He asks, disguising the want in his voice behind a teasing tone. “You said that if I got up here next to you, you’d…” Harry clicks his tongue as he nods at her cotton panties. “Hm?”
Despite the small laugh that escapes her, Y/N rolls her eyes. “You’ve got a one track mind, I swear.” She hooks her fingers into the edge of her panties, lifting her bum off the bed to tug them down her legs and toss to the side. “Happy?”
Harry licks his lips as he watches the girl’s hands drift back to her bare thighs, gliding over the silky skin with small strokes. “Very much so, yeah.” He replies, pushing his own hair back from his face before trailing his fingers back down his stomach. He wraps his right hand back around his leaking cock, stroking it once as he glances at Y/N again. “Keep going, dove. Don’t stop on my account.”
It’s like they’re back at the beginning,Y/N thinks, as she dips her index and middle fingers back into her wetness before she circles them around her clit. With Harry next to her, his presence so very there, Y/N has to close her eyes again to compel herself to relax. It takes a few moments of massaging her clit and focusing on keeping her breathing steady before she can open her eyes again and allow her gaze to slide back onto Harry.
The vampire, as expected, looks like an erotic renaissance painting. His hand is moving faster over his cock now, which is bubbling precum with every few strokes. His hips buck into his hand every so often, searching for more and more friction as he chases his high. Like herself, Harry has his eyes closed for much of his movements, but when he does open them, they’re pinned to her form and how she touches herself, like she’s his own personal show. And, in a way, she is. And she likes that.
It’s not long before Y/N needs more stimulation, and she thrusts her two fingers back inside herself as her other hand begins to rub over her clit. The dual sensation sends a hoarse moan falling from her lips, her tummy contracting with the wave of ecstasy that she knows is getting closer, but it’s the feeling of Harry’s lips on her temple that has her breath stuttering.
His slightly chapped lips move over her skin in slow and sensual movements, opening and closing as he speaks against her. “That’s it, darling. You’re so close, I can tell.” He sucks in a long breath while bucking his hips into his fist, a whining moan echoing from his throat and into her ear. “Fuck, you’ve got me wrecked…”
Curling her fingers inside, Y/N prods against her G-spot with fervent desire, leaning her head closer and closer to Harry’s mouth as she does so. “I’m gonna cum, Harry, I—” Her words cut off with a broken whine as her spongy walls clench around her fingers.
“Wish I could touch you.” Harry mutters the dirty confession in her ear, his lips still meeting every inch of skin they can find. “Wish I could make my pretty girl cum…” His brow furrows at the whimper that escapes Y/N at those words. “But at least I know you can—Christ—” He swipes his thumb over his tip again as his other hand moves to his balls, massaging over them with a gentle touch. “—can take care of yourself when I’m not here.”
When Harry’s lips find her neck, suckling at the sensitive spot where it meets her jaw, Y/N moans again, louder than before as she bucks her hips into her hand. “Fuck, Harry—” The way she sobs his name is music to his ears. “Can—can I cum? Please?” The question rolls off her tongue without prompt, sounding as natural as breathing to the girl. Harry’s not even sure she registers that she’s asked, but the question for permission goes straight to his throbbing cock.
“Yeah, baby. Cum for me.” He drags his teeth over her fragile skin, aching to bite down but restraining himself from giving in. Instead, he redirects his reaction to his hand, speeding up his strokes until he feels his balls tighten. “Cum for Daddy.” The way he feels her heart stutter at his words feeds his ego like nothing else, and he brings one hand up from his abdomen to rest on her throat, stretching his fingers to grip her chin and direct her face towards his. “Show Daddy how good you’re making yourself feel.” He demands, his lips ghosting over her own as they both work themselves towards the edge. His voice sounds less himself and more like a growl with every passing moment. “Cum.”
It’s the final harsh demand that pushes Y/N to thrust her fingers into herself faster, matching her motions over her clit to the new speed. It only takes a few more moments for the tight ball of pleasure inside her belly to burst, the waves of her orgasm washing over her repeatedly as her walls pulse around her fingers. “Daddy—” The name falls from her mouth and into Harry’s freely. Her only thoughts are of him as her climax consumes her; only his emerald eyes and cherry lips, only his brunette curls and inked skin, only his calloused hands and thick cock. He’s all she can think about. Has there ever been anyone else? “Please, Daddy…”
Harry watches with hungry eyes as the human’s body spasms through her release, the movements of her hands shuddering as the pleasure becomes too great to move. “That’s it, sweetheart. Good girl.” He grunts the praise through clenched teeth as his own orgasm nears, his hand twisting around his cock more and more. “Prettiest little slut in the world, y’know that?”
Y/N releases a whine of acknowledgement, her chest heaving as she comes down from her high and withdraws her fingers from her core. Resting her hands on her clenching belly, she turns her heavy lidded gaze towards Harry, watching him eagerly as he works himself. “Your turn.” She murmurs, her lips finding the edge of his sharp jaw and giving it a teasing bit. “You’re gonna cum, aren’t you? All over your stomach?”
“If—fuck—if that’s where you want it, baby.” Harry groans loudly as his stomach clenches, the butterfly flexing beneath his strained movements. “You want to watch me cum? Hm?”
“Mhmm.” Y/N hums the agreement against his skin, clasping her hands together to stop herself from reaching for Harry’s cock. “You’re usually inside me when you cum, so I’ve never seen it. I want to see it.”
“God, I—” Harry reaches over with his free hand and grasps Y/N’s warm palm, dragging it up to his hair and tangling her fingers in his dark locks. It’s a poor substitute for the craving he has to feel her touch over his cock, but the sensation of her tugging on his hair and scratching her nails against his scalp manages to provide the contact relief he desires. “Fuck, right there—” Harry’s abdomen contracts once more as he works himself over the edge and begins to shoot thick ropes of cum all over his tattooed tummy.
Y/N continues to work her lips over his jaw, whispering anything and everything into his ear to continue to stimulate him through his orgasm. “Looks so pretty, H.” She utters once his cock has finally stopped spurting and he releases it from his grip. “You’re so pretty…”
A breathless laugh leaves Harry’s mouth as he shifts in the bed, wiping his damp hand against his indigo boxers before pulling them back over his shaking hips and exposed cock. “You’re one to talk.” He murmurs, twisting his head to the side to press a kiss to Y/N’s sweaty forehead. “You don’t happen to have a wash cloth handy, do you?”
“I have tissues in my bedside table.” Y/N points to the object in question, and Harry reaches over and tugs open the drawer to retrieve the box of Kleenex. Pulling a few squares from the box, he makes quick work of the cleanup, doing just enough to save him from the trouble of a sticky stomach.
“I could’ve done that, you know. Cleaned you up.” Y/N watches as the vampire stands to dispose of the used tissues, and reaches for her discarded panties to tug them back over her still shaky legs. “You know I like it.”
“I know, but if you did, then I would’ve broken the no sex rule right then and there.” Harry chuckles lightly as he climbs back onto the bed, wanting to reclaim his close proximity to Y/N as soon as possible. “And we’d already come so far.”
When he opens his arms, Y/N doesn’t hesitate to nuzzle into his cool chest, resting her head in the crook of his neck and shoulder with a sigh. “I suppose that’s true.”
Harry lets his jeweled fingers trace down her back, drawing random shapes on the damp skin as her breathing begins to even out. “Did you like it?” He asks curiously, a seed of worry planted within the words. “Having someone watch you?”
“I liked having you watch me.” Y/N clarifies her answer as if it were the most natural and easily explainable thing in the world. “Did you like watching?”
Harry giggles again, almost incredulous as he nods his head at the damp spot on his boxers, a symptom of the copious amounts of precum that had leaked from him. “I think the answer to that is pretty obvious, Watson. I’m surprised someone as distinguished as yourself has to ask.”
“Asking questions is never a bad thing, Holmes. I’m surprised someone as distinguished as yourself doesn’t know that.” The girl counters, delighting in the small laugh that shakes Harry’s shoulders. A laugh falls from her lips as well, followed quickly by a yawn that she unsuccessfully tries to stifle.
“Tired?” Harry murmurs, his fingers still keeping a steady pace against her back. “It’s only the late afternoon— not exactly late enough for bedtime, is it?”
Y/N sighs into his musky skin, relaxing completely against Harry’s body. “Not exactly, no. But I think a little post-orgasm nap may be in order.” She raises her head from the crook of Harry’s neck, looking at him with soft eyes. “Will you stay?”
If Harry’s heart could beat, the tender question would make his rhythm irregular, and the knowledge of that fact dries out the venom that had been flowing freely through Harry’s mouth. “Wow.” He tries to disguise the reaction with a laugh. “Our first date, and you’re already asking me to sleep over? What kind of man do you think I am?”
“Shut up.” The mortal nudges her forehead against his shoulder in a playful manner. “I’m serious. Will you? I sleep a lot better when you’re here.”
The confession falls from her lips as easily as a sigh, but her words lock Harry’s chest in a tight chain, restricting his every breath. And yet… the pressure is comforting, like a hug from someone you haven’t seen in years and you’ve sorely missed.
“Alright, yeah.” He whispers gently, caressing Y/N’s mussed hair without tugging on any tangles. “I’ll stay. We can order some dinner later, if you want.”
Y/N’s voice is already far away when she replies. “That sounds nice.” She whispers, her eyes fluttering closed as her full weight falls against Harry. Within a few minutes, her breathing has leveled completely in time with her steady heart beat, which thunders against Harry’s own silent chest.
The vampire sighs as he shifts on the bed, keeping Y/N locked in place against his body as he does so. How did he end up here, in her bed, staring at that fucking tapestry again? How did he end up agreeing to stay over, to grab dinner with her after she sleeps? How does he know that, if she asks again, he’ll stay over tonight as well, even if it means lying still in bed and counting her heart beats until the sun rises through her curtains?
And why does that sound so appealing?
Carefully, so as not to wake her, Harry shifts Y/N onto her own pillow, removing her from his chest with gentle movements. Once he’s arranged her in a comfortable position and made sure that she’s still asleep, he cages himself over her, brushing her hair back from her face and inhaling deeply. This is why, he thinks. This is why he’s agreed to all of these dates, to holding her as she sleeps, to spending night after night in this tiny human apartment. Her blood.
Harry nudges his nose along the length of her throat, breathing in her fragrance as if it were the bouquet of a fine wine. Her signature honey and lavender scent is as prominent as ever, only amplified by the orgasm-triggered endorphins that are still swimming through her veins. Letting his lips drag over her fragile skin, Harry smudges kisses along the base of her throat with a light touch, searching for the most tender part that he’s come to adore. When he reaches the mark just above her carotid artery, he presses a firmer kiss to the skin, admiring how the mortal’s breath floats from her lips in her sleep. Still, he pauses for a moment to make sure that the sound is just that, a symptom of sleep, and once his suspicions are confirmed, Harry sinks his teeth into Y/N’s satin skin.
As usual, the relief is instantaneous. The warm blood that flows into his mouth quells the dry, burning ache in the back of his throat like nothing else, and Harry clutches the girl closer to him as he drinks more and more. She’s just as sweet as she smells, and there’s that familiar depth of flavour to her that Harry can never quite place a finger on. Perhaps he could if he spent more time analyzing it, but it’s never too long before he loses himself in her taste, and all rational thought goes out the window completely. In the reflection of her mirror, Harry can see that his eyes are blood red and black-veined, and that he looks every bit the monster that he actually is. If Y/N were to wake up right now and see him like this—pale skin, black veins, mouth stained red with her blood—she’d probably scream in horror, and do her best to shove the supernatural creature away. She would be thoroughly repulsed, Harry is sure. And, honestly, he couldn’t blame her. He remembers the first time he saw the red of a vampire’s eyes, and the terror that had seized his entire body like an icy dip in the English Channel. It would only be a natural response.
Harry had come to terms with what he is a very long time ago, and though it took a lot of trial and error, a lot of sleepless nights doused with self-loathing and denial, and a plethora of blurry memories full of strangers’ veins bulging under soft skin and glassy eyes dulled by compulsion, he is in a place in his eternal life where his identity doesn’t phase his peace of mind anymore. He hadn’t become a monster willingly, and he certainly doesn’t enjoy having to do the unspeakable acts required for his survival— not consciously, anyways.
From an instinct-driven perspective, he does enjoy the taste of blood, but it’s only because his supernatural carnal impulses demand it. Ethically, he isn’t proud of his affinity, but it’s not like he has any say in the matter. This isn’t his fault— he was forced to become what he is— and that moral claim is what has kept him tethered to his last few shreds of humanity for the past twenty decades. He’s not doing this to Y/N out of malicious intent, he’s doing it because he has no other choice. Therefore, he assures himself that the traces of guilt tightening his chest at the moment are completely misled and invalid. He hasn’t felt guilt much before— not for years— and he refuses to let it plague him once again. This is just the way things are. This is just the way things have to be.
So why does he feel so fucking shitty right now?
Pushing the discomforting dwellings to the back of his mind, Harry continues to drink from Y/N, using his final remaining strains of functioning thought to monitor the human’s heart beat and breaths. When his thirst is satiated enough, and before either one of those human traits begins to falter, Harry releases his bite on Y/N’s neck, licking over the wound with relish to temporarily seal it. He turns to check his reflection in the mirror again, and finds that, yes, his suspicions are confirmed. Although he’s managed to keep himself halfway presentable, there’s still a trickle of blood flowing from the corner of his mouth, and his lips are stained a dark merlot colour from the sweet substance. Harry swipes his tongue along his mouth, cleaning up any evidence of his late afternoon snack, before bringing his index finger to his mouth and pricking the tip on one of his fangs. Then, while carefully holding the girl’s jaw open with his other hand, Harry slips his finger into her mouth. It’s practically a ritual by now.
It takes only a few seconds for the bite mark on her neck to heal completely, leaving behind only a faint purple bruise in its place. If Y/N were to see it tomorrow, she’d assume it was a half-healed hickey, and wouldn’t bat an eye at it. She’d have no idea that the real cause of it was—
“Harry…” His name falls from her lips with a quiet stutter, her brow furrowing as if troubled by something the vampire can’t see. “Harry…”
“Y/N?” He whispers in reply, his limbs sealing over with ice as he freezes in place as if he were a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar. “Everything alright, love?”
“Harry…” The human utters his name once more as a frown begins to tug at her pillowy lips, and it takes another moment of her shifting in the bed for Harry to realize that she’s still asleep, and the murmuring of his name is merely a symptom of her dreaming of him.
Oh. She’s dreaming of him.
There’s a spark of something in his chest—happiness? Excitement?— but it’s quickly extinguished by the realization that, if Y/N is dreaming of him, her body language is making it clear that the dream isn’t a pleasant one.
Harry releases a frustrated sigh as he sinks back down into the sheets. That’s to be expected, really. After all, he did just feed from her; if she’s having a bad dream about him, it would only be logical.
Still, the sight of her shifting in bed with a distressed look on her face pulls an equally distressed look from the immortal, and he only hesitates for a moment before carefully maneuvering the girl back onto his chest, positioning her so that he can easily rub her warm back with his cool hands.
“You’re alright.” He murmurs softly into her ear, his voice low and melodic despite no one being around to hear it. “You’re fine, sweetheart. I’m here, hm? Go back to sleep.”
It takes a few more minutes of back rubbing, whispering, and a handful of strategically placed forehead kisses, but Y/N’s face finally relaxes as she falls back into a deep, untroubled slumber against Harry’s chest. As her breathing evens out again, Harry breathes a gentle exhale of relief. That was a close call. The next time he feeds, he’ll have to make sure she’s truly unconscious, and has been so for a while. Her bad dream, whatever it was, had probably been caused by him digging into her prematurely. Next time, he’ll wait until the dead of night, when she’s deep in REM sleep. She’ll be more comfortable then.
Which reminds him— he has plans he has to cancel tonight, and the sleeping girl on his chest mixed with his phone being in his trouser pocket on the floor make a difficult combo to surpass.
Despite the testing task, Harry manages to retrieve his phone from his discarded linen pants after a few minutes of awkward stretching, some light grunting, and a few curse words, but he manages to do it without waking Y/N up (she moves a couple of times, but a few soft words and tender hushing Harry’s behalf sends her right back into her dreams). With one hand still wrapped around her back, Harry manages to type out a quick message to Niall.
Won’t be able to make it tonight— something came up with Y/N. Have fun at the bar.
Harry references her by name, knowing that Mitch had probably already blabbed to their entire friend group about the date he’d had, and about how a human girl had recently become the target of his fascination. Juicy gossip is indisputably one of the aspects that keeps eternity from growing stale, and the vampire’s crew believe that to be so more than anyone. There’s not a single doubt in his mind they’d eaten every word up, and that he’d probably get drilled on it later.
He keeps his phone clutched in his hand, waiting for a (sure to be ridiculing) reply from Niall that comes a few minutes later.
The girl from last time? Jesus, again? Weren’t you meeting her for brunch?
A small smirk tugs at the corner of Harry’s lip. I did meet her for brunch. And then I met her back at her apartment, and I’ll probably be meeting her again later after we get some dinner. Don’t wait up.
After that text, Harry drops his phone on the bedside table, expecting Niall to just leave him on read in a fit of annoyance. He’s surprised, however, to hear the quiet vibration of his phone a moment later, and picks it up to skim the message with pressing curiosity.
You’re a fucking incubus, you know that?
The smirk on Harry’s swollen lips suddenly drops.
While it’s not the first time he’s been called an incubus, it is the first time the label has ever bothered him. Why is that? It’s not like it’s untrue; he frequently seduces various people, many of them being women, in order to sleep with them and drink their blood. That’s what an incubus does. The label shouldn’t pester him. In fact, it should boost his ego.
But the title being applied to his relationship with Y/N… that gives him pause. It reminds him of a certain person— a certain disgrace, if he’s being pettily honest— who he had sworn never to think about again, out of respect for his sanity and emotional stability. It reminds him of how when he himself was mortal, he was under similar circumstances to what Y/N is under right now— he was a human blood bag to a vampire who took pleasure in his body.
This is different, Harry tells himself. I’m not going to ruin her life. She’s not going to end up like me. And we have an understanding, which I never got to have. This isn’t the same. I’m...I’m not the same.
In his steadfast opinion, the immortal isn’t an incubus when it comes to Y/N and it’s that simple, point blank. Saying he is… that sets the implication that he could be doing this with anyone, and that’s just not true. Even though he’s keeping Y/N around as a convenient fuck with delicious blood, he wouldn’t go to this much trouble for anyone else; no one else is worth it. No one else has her honey and lavender scent, or contagious laugh, or can match him so easily in banter without flinching or blinking an eye. And though he’s too attached to his own pride— to the inherent coldness and indifference he’d worked so hard to build over the last two centuries— to let her know, he’ll admit that there’s no one else like her. There’s no one who’s company he enjoys quite the same.
Harry doesn’t indulge Niall with a response, simply closing his phone and setting it back on the bedside table. His friend can think what he wants, Harry decides, returning his attention to tracing figures on Y/N’s back. Harry knows what this really is. He knows, and it’s not some evil plan to permanently damage her. It’s just a simple loose relationship between two people who float an inch above the friendzone. That’s all.
Friends, just slightly more.
#harry styles x reader#harry styles x y/n#harry styles x you#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles fic#harry styles imagine#harry styles smut#harry styles series#vampire!harry#vampire!harry styles#vampire!au#harry styles#one direction fanfiction#one direction fic#one direction imagine#harry styles blurb#harry styles dirty fanfiction#harry styles au#vampire au#writing#ysijwa
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shut in [9]
Summary: When your high profile mission goes terribly wrong, you’re forced to hide in a safehouse with a man you’ve never met before. With seemingly nowhere else to go, you’re forced to work together to figure out who is trying to have you assassinated before it’s too late. (Sam Wilson x Reader, Hitman AU)
Warnings: cursing, anxiety, ptsd, shooting
Word count: 2.8k
A/N: ok ok ok ok sam deserves the world and im mad that he’s not getting it
i also appreciate feedback so if you would like to, please consider dropping me an ask or comment ly guys!!
here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333
Previous Part || Shut In Masterlist
He was gone.
10:00am
Time had begun to slip past you. Days where you were forced to wake up at 4am were just a dreary memory you didn’t want to revisit. The rough shoves in the morning to have you awake enough to be in training by 4:30am only fell into the category of things you had forgotten over the time you had stayed here.
Maybe sleep wasn’t a luxury you weren’t allowed to afford.
10:30am
By the time you step into the kitchen, the loose structure of the day you had ahead of you was forming. Maybe if you revisited the small makeshift shooting range you had set up for Sam and you to practice. A couple of old soup cans, a flat boulder for them to sit on and you were good to go. He had allowed you to use his giant board for knife throwing too, laughed when you asked for permission before saying it was for the both of you.
You made a sandwich for yourself, forcing it down your throat with water. Bread was starting to feel like cardboard and the jam just tasted like nothing. Peanut butter was even worse.
Losing appetite wasn’t an option, even though it had eroded a while ago. The best option was to just scarf it down with water.
11:00am
Sam isn’t in the house, you had deduced. A morning run or maybe just some fresh air.
You checked for the notes he sometimes left for you when he went out. Something along the lines of when he’d be back, or why he’d left, or where you could find him.
You looked on top of the fridge where he generally left them; someplace he knew you’d see. You didn’t find one.
You shrugged it off.
Something felt wrong about the arrangement of the kitchen but you couldn’t place a finger on what it was. All the chairs were in its place, trash appropriately in the bin, no bowls were left from soup day in the sink to wash.
The origami swan you had made still rested next to his paper airplane. Nothing seemed wrong or out of place.
You pushed yourself to shake off the nerves, to get dressed instead. The shooting range was waiting for you.
12:45pm
When you shoot for thirty and get all thirty, it tends to get a little boring. Not that you were complaining; if even one was off you’d spend the whole day trying to make up for it.
Violent hobbies weren’t ideal. They weren’t even hobbies per se. Just skills you needed to keep sharp if you wanted to survive.
You even shot at the targets that you had hung up on the trees. Dangerous and completely Sam’s idea. Said the wind made them act like moving targets. Nevermind the possibility of a ricochet.
The target board was empty too. Admittedly, knife throwing was a little harder to get used than shooting to but it still only took a few tries before you were hitting bullseye over and over again.
There just wasn’t anything to do. And you realised it had been this way for a while but you never noticed due to his lively chatter or how competitive it got with stupid games you were making up as you went.
1:00pm
You learned against the counter as you ate, eyeing the room, trying to figure out what you had misplaced. The air was cold, even more so after the shower, so you threw on an extra t-shirt to aid you.
You made a noise of disapproval when you couldn’t find what was wrong. A quick wash of your hands before you made your way to the TV, fully intending to doze off while watching Megamind for the fourth time.
You passed by the mini fridge on the way, noting how you needed to restock the ice cubes when you suddenly stopped in your path.
Your eyes peeled back to the small paper bowl Sam had crafted expertly that was still somehow managing to stick together. But that was what was wrong.
The keys were missing.
The fucking car keys and the pocket change you had taken from Pierce’s house were no longer there.
Your body moved on autopilot, dragging you towards the front door. You yanked it open, door creaking under the pressure you applied on it.
Your heart sank.
The car was gone.
1:20pm
You had all the possibilities listed out in front of you with the rest scratched out after you had rationalised it.
Someone had come in and taken the car, which wasn’t likely.
Sam had stepped out but hadn’t mentioned it to you. If he did, why would he need the car?
Someone had abducted Sam, which was absurd on paper but still left a twinge of uncertainty because you couldn’t definitively rule it out.
He had just left. Decided he was done and left.
You stared at the last option.
“Fuck,” you cursed.
You could feel his muscle shift as he looked at you.
“What’s wrong?”
You opened your mouth but shut it again. How do you explain it to him without sounding utterly ridiculous?
You wondered if it was that conversation.
He wouldn’t leave after you told him, would he?
You hesitated before shaking your head.
He’d come back. He would.
1:45pm
You had added a few more possibilities to the list but discarded it almost immediately.
You now found a place in front of the TV, watching but not registering what was said. Your fingers kept itself busy by playing with the hem of your shirt. You had thrown another one on since his jacket was missing with the rest of him. It had gotten colder.
The woman droned on about how much her husband loved the recipe she was making. It was Sam’s favourite segment, not because it was particularly fantastic or anything, but because it gave him forty five minutes of free content to trash talk.
Your eyes kept glancing up at the clock. Was it broken or was time much slower than you initially thought?
You almost felt like you were in a cognitive dysfunction; you couldn’t do anything other than while away time till you figured out what had gone wrong.
2:00pm
If you weren’t paying attention, you wouldn’t have heard the soft crunch of twigs. The whirring of the wheels as it turned gently only made you sit up straight, hands on the gun that rested on the couch beside you.
It came to a stop. The gun was fully in your grip now, TV turned off to determine what the noises were.
It was the most agonisingly slow minute you spent listening as the car opened and shut, muffled by the distance. You were near the door, using the adjoining wall as a hideaway.
The doorknob shook as someone tried to push their way in.
“Sam?” you called out cautiously against your better judgement, mentally cringing.
It took a second for his reply to return.
“Hey, sweetheart. Let me in, will you? Stupid door’s not opening.”
Of course it wouldn’t. It was fingerprint activated.
Relief flooded your system, letting yourself hold the gun with only one hand as you hastily made your way to open the door.
However, you paused. As much as you wanted to fling the door open blindly, you waited, hand on the knob.
“Is someone out there with you?”
“What?” he sounded confused. “No, it’s just me.”
You opened the door slightly, peeking out through the sliver of open space.
Sure enough, it was only him. The car was returned to the same spot that it was.
“Where were you?” You yanked the door open. You sounded way more aggressive than you planned to, you were sure. It didn’t matter though.
“Went to the store,” he said nonchalantly, stepping inside, and dropping the keys back where they were.
“What?”
He was so relaxed about it, like it was nothing. It only irked you further than you already were.
“Drove the car till the highway, walked into town and went to the store.” He set the bag down. “What’d you do all day?”
“You went to the town,” you emphasised. “To the fucking store.”
“Yeah, I figured you would be up by the time I came back.”
“You were gone for hours.” You crossed your arms over your chest, fighting the urge to yell. You could talk it out calmly. You didn’t have to snap
You hoped he had a good reason. You sincerely hoped, for his well being and security, that he risked his life to go to public space.
“We’re way further out than you think. Nearest dollar store’s almost the next fuckin’ state if you’re walking. Had to ditch the car because it’s a little too flashy, even for me.” He lifted up the bag next to him. “Got us some ramen. And juice. That’s all we had cash for anyway.”
You stare at him, mouth slightly agape.
“You could have been seen, Sam,” your tone was corrosive, the next best you could do instead of yelling. “For all we know, you could have been followed.”
“No one followed me. I made sure.”
That did nothing to alleviate the anxiety that was crawling into your head.
“You’re ridiculous,” you muttered. “Fucking ridiculous.”
“Where are you going?” You ignored him, turning on your heel and walking to the bedroom. You didn’t care if it was his day that day. He could rot in the kitchen with his stupid ramen for all you cared.
You cursed as you slammed the door behind you, launching yourself onto the bed.
There was no denying you were relieved that he was still alive and here. But fuck him. Fucking dickhead.
Fucking juice.
You spent the next couple of hours feeling absolutely embarrassed for yourself. Why did you spend hours worrying if he was safe when he was out there, gallivanting in public for some stupid noodles?
Both of you could have been absolutely fucked if he wasn’t careful. He may have just jeopardised your entire set up.
But deep down, no matter how much it was annoying to acknowledge, you knew he wouldn’t have. He was smart, strategic.
Why would he do something like this?
How much you were worried scared you. There was no time where it had occurred that maybe you were in danger too. Every possibility you came up with only pushed the thought of him possibly in trouble further into your head.
But the more you spend time overthinking, the more you realised that him being in danger wasn’t the entire cause of your worry.
What if he didn’t come back? Why’d he come back?
He had the means to leave, the will to and clearly was able to go undetected for a while. He didn’t need to return, but he did.
And for what; to give you some food he bought from the dollar store.
He seemed excited about it too, before you had closed the door on his face and decided to spend the next few hours self-destructing.
Fucking ramen.
Maybe if you could just lie there until you decomposed, then you wouldn’t have to have a conversation with him about this. That’s what you would have done a couple of months ago.
But now the idea of communicating had been implanted and implemented several times before. It didn’t feel right to push it away, not when you’d come so far. A chance to heal.
You groaned, shoving a pillow onto your face before getting up grumpily.
Fuck this man and his stupid, healthy methods of coping.
___
You opened the door slowly, creeping into the hallway to assess what he was doing. It had been a few hours of silence in the house. He had given you space, not come knocking on the door to explain himself.
You took note of the kitchen. The table had been laid with two bowls of noodles covered with a plate along with a glass each of juice. It was domestic. Cute.
He was watching Die Hard but the volume was turned down low. If he was anything like you, he wouldn’t have been paying too much attention.
You cleared your throat awkwardly to grab his attention.
His neck craned to look at you, surprise flashing across his face for a second before he leapt up, turning off the TV in an instant.
“Y/N,” he stated as normally as he could.
“Samuel,” your tone was steady.
He scratched the back of his neck nervously. “Wasn’t sure if you were gonna show up.”
“Neither was I.” You looked at the table, gesturing towards it with your shoulder. “Watchu got there, Gordon Ramsey?”
Because screw him, but the longer you stood there staring at the bowl, you were starting to understand the lengths he went to to get something other than bread, peanut butter and soup. As much as the prospect of being petty thrilled you, you had survived on nothing but them for the past few weeks.
“Got a few packs of ramen and a gallon of juice from the store. Thought you- we deserve somethin’ nice.” You noticed his quick coverup but didn’t acknowledge it. “It’s not Michelin star worthy, but it’ll do.”
You nodded, avoiding looking at him.
“I-”
“Hey-”
Both of you started at the same time, only to be cut off by the other. You mentioned for him to continue.
“Listen, I’m sorry. I should have told you before I left,” You didn’t expect the sincerity that exuded from every word he let out and you found yourself unable to look away. “I’m not used to people worrying about where I go... but things are different now. I won’t do it again.”
You weren’t used to the feeling of lightness that accompanied an apology. Relief.
“Thank you,” you said breathily. His face noticeably brightened. “But why’d you come back?”
His small smile left as soon as it came, as his face fell into a frown. “What?”
“You could have just left. You had the car, the-” you stopped yourself from listing out reasons why he should have. “Why’d you come back?”
He looked completely confused.
“Because I wanted to,” he voiced. “Leaving you behind was never an option. I wouldn’t-”
He trailed off, eyes never leaving yours.
“You’re stuck with me,” he urged softly. “We’re a team.”
You lingered on him longer than you wanted to admit. He wasn’t lying, you had realised.
“Care to join me for dinner?” he asked, extending a hand to you.
You rolled your eyes but took it, feeling the heat creep up your neck. He smirked at you and fuck, he was frustratingly cute.
You understood. You totally understood when you nearly died at the first bite you took, vowing to never take food like this for granted again. It may have been the absolute bare minimum; just the seasoning and noodles he had cooked in the microwave, but it was the best goddamn meal you ever had.
“Good, right?” He looked about as content as he could be.
“Best fuckin’ day of my life.”
He kidded around some more. You choked out a laugh at some, wholly ignored the others to which he took complete offence. You saw it as a way to humble him.
This was the normalcy you had crushed your craving for so long ago, accepting that it wouldn’t ever happen. A normal dinner with someone who made you smile, no impending doom lurking around the corner and maybe a shot at a glimmer of something happy.
It was strange that you found it with another hitman in a safe house, hiding from authorities and who knows what else, with food worth a couple of cents. You wouldn’t want it any other way.
Yet there were things that had to be discussed. Conversations that needed to happen.
“Sam, we need to talk about it.” You didn’t have to explain, he knew what you were talking about.
“What’s wrong?”
“I need to tell you something and I need you to hear me out before saying anything,” you pulled away from him, shuddering at the sudden cold that enveloped you.
“I’m listening.”
“We do,” he agreed, and you could feel the atmosphere in the room begin to shift. “But we don’t have to do it now.”
He reached across from where he was sitting, hesitantly interlacing your fingers. The sense of fluster you experienced wasn’t healthy, you decided.
You just ducked your head, fighting against the damn smile that was trying to make its way onto your face. You didn’t pull away.
“Okay.”
Next part
#sam x reader#sam wilson x reader#mcu fic#sam fic#sam wilson fic#sam wilson fluff#sam wilson angst#sam wilson series#falcon#falcon x reader#the falcon x reader#hitman!sam wilson#hitman!au#shut in fic#marvel fic#marvel#mcu#sam wilson#the falcon#sam wilson fanfiction#marvel imagine#marvel fanfiction#sam wilson imagine#sam imagine
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I was reading an article about J.K Rowling's writting just to make sure I wasn't the only one thinking bad of her storytelling and then I get this:
"The Dursleys, set up in the first book as being important, are sidelined for the majority of the series, becoming no more than ugly cameos with no serious development except at the last minute."
I believe people are okay with the Dursley's having little to no importance to the story because they were introduced in Sorcerer's Stone as a clear metaphor of "normies", common traditionalist people who are afraid of changing and excludent of the different; and also a metaphor of a non-welcoming, unfair and hostile world from which both the protagonist and the reader want to ESCAPE, not to GET CLOSE.
But Rowling missed a chance to use Harry's troubled relationship with the Dursley's as a parallel to the Pure-blood hate against Muggles. We know from the beginning that witches were hunted down and killed in the Middle Ages, although Rowling minimized this fact by creating the flame freeze spell, and doesn't it make sense that wizards also harbor resentment of Muggles for this?
Harry used magic once against Aunt Marge because she actively pursued and offended the boy and his parents. He said bluntly before running away from home she deserved her fate, so why not take revenge at all a society that persecuted and killed innocents solely out of fear, prejudice and obedience to a social establishment?
I'm not sating that the Death Eaters were right to hunt down and kill muggleborns nor that their hatred towards blood-mixed families was fair, but it would have brought more nuance and depth to the story if Harry had been forced to consider that however inadequate the villains' attitude was they have a point as Harry himself hates the Muggle World and his Muggle family which if he could he would never see again. Muggles can be just as bad and malicious as wizards even if they don't have magical abilities. I wonder why Voldemort never used this information to convince Harry that his cause was just, or at least plausible.
In a deleted scene from the movies, we see Potter talking to his aunt Petunia, he wants to rush her in their escape from Voldemort and claims she has no idea what the Dark Lord is capable of, to which Petunia replies that actually she knows" because in the night you [Harry] lost a mother I lost a sister".
A lot of fans disapproved that line but I think it was one of the most interesting lines Lily Evans' sister ever said. We know that Petunia hated her sister because of her magical powers, but that feeling never develops beyond pure fear or envy.
Was there nothing about her sister that Petunia approved of? Hadn't there been good family days when Lily still didn't manifest her powers? And how was it for her to realize that her sister received more attention and praise from her parents for being able to do things she could never do even though deep down she wanted to?
This exclusion and isolation produced by the clash of differences between the sister, resulted in a spiteful and resentful woman whose child she cannot fail even when necessary for fear of making him feel flawed and inadequate as she has felt in the past. A similar path Filch and Snape did have, characters who also have suffered terribly with persecution, mockery and bullying.
But why is Harry the only one who can an opportunity to have closure, to grow and evolve from his initial traumatic situation while the three of them don't? Snape dies a slow, painful and lonely death and Filch and Petunia are hated to this day as characters who are just obnoxious even if they had a dark past of negligence and even abuse in the case of Filch who turned them into what they are now. I hope some day in the future we may get any reboots who have the sensitivity to get deeply into these issues, but for now I'm content to just daydream about it and read some good fanfics.
Oh, the article I was talking about is this :
https://jpcrocks.wordpress.com/2020/04/30/rowling/amp/
#harry potter books#harry potter series#jk rowling#petunia dursley#the dursleys#harry potter#argus filch#filch
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👼Home Is Wherever I'm With You (Alice Macray)[NSFW]👼
Alice Macray x Fem!reader
👼Part 2 of SP getting reader pregnant👼
👼Wordcount: 2714👼
👼Posted on AO3: Read Here👼
👼Content: Fluff, some angst, homophobia, Phyllis and Alice's husband are trash garbage, some smut, strap-on, wlw magic, pregnancy, Alice is an angel, mentions of religion.👼
👼There was one person who never left your side though, even if it meant they were put in the firing path of Phyllis, and that was Alice. She, in all her sweet innocence, didn’t understand why it was such a big deal that you happened to like women, surely if God didn’t want the “lovely lgbts” then he wouldn’t have created them. Alice was religious, went to church on Sundays, said grace before eating, prayed before bed, but she wasn’t the type to go around telling people that they were sinning or judge them because they weren’t religious, if anything, she just wanted people to be happy.👼
It had been a number of years since you had moved to a slightly more progressive part of town, ever since Phyllis found out that you had – as she put it – “homosexual inclinations” it was made very clearly that you were no longer welcome in that area. And because she ruled with an iron-fist, no one dared to speak out against her, even if they had said to you in private that you were still the same wonderful person they had always known.
There was one person who never left your side though, even if it meant they were put in the firing path of Phyllis, and that was Alice. She, in all her sweet innocence, didn’t understand why it was such a big deal that you happened to like women, surely if God didn’t want the “lovely lgbts” then he wouldn’t have created them. Alice was religious, went to church on Sundays, said grace before eating, prayed before bed, but she wasn’t the type to go around telling people that they were sinning or judge them because they weren’t religious, if anything, she just wanted people to be happy.
It had hurt when you moved because you had grown close with Alice and her kids, even if her husband harboured ill feelings towards you because you were a “dyke” and “we can’t let our children around that dyke, Alice” but she managed to calm him down enough so that you could still come around. But you hadn’t seen Alice and the kids much since moving, and you missed them something wicked. Yes you had spoken to them, mainly Alice, on the phone but it was brief and happened very rarely. You missed her. You missed them.
The days where she called you had you wanting them to last forever, you could wander around your home just listening to her talk about how things were going, how much she enjoyed her job, how the kids were doing in school. You found yourself feeling like a high schooler talking to their crush after school on the phone, laying down on your bed with the dumbest grin on your face. However, that grin changed to a shocked expression when you let slip how you feel about her. “Alice, fuck – sorry I know you don’t like swearing but… Alice, I love you so much and I miss you, I miss being around you and being with the kids. It’s been miserable not being able to see you, but-“ you hear a sharp intake of breath “I- I’m sorry, I have to go.” Before the line goes dead.
Seven months, twelve days, thirteen hours, and fifteen minutes it had been since that call and you hadn’t heard from her. You weren’t usually the type to count these things, even when you had important events to look forward to, you wouldn’t count down the days. You guess it was some form of way to torture yourself, counting the length of time since you fucked up one of the few good things you still had in life. She was radiant like an angel, put the beauty of the moon to shame, and you- you were like a horseman of the apocalypse, ruining everything you touched. Maybe that was a bit of an exaggeration, you haven’t ruined everything you touch but you certainly have relationship wise.
You had a few spare rooms in your house, you’d hoped that one day you would be able to have your own family, a bedroom for each kid: two bedrooms and one room as the nursery. No, that was a lie, you had dreamed about having Alice live with you - be with you – the boys would have their own rooms to decorate how they please (under the watchful eye of Alice) and… a nursery so you and Alice could have a child together, so that the boys would have a little sister (hopefully) to protect from the big kids.
To be honest, you had already started making renovations on the house so that it would be better suited for a family like that anyway, the bedrooms had a fresh coat of paint, nothing that was specifically catered to boys or girls – you wanted the kids to pick the colour themselves if they wanted a change – and made sure the windows had latches to prevent them from opening too far so that no one could fall out of them.
You were most proud of the kitchen though; it was your pride and joy of the entire property. That’s where you currently find yourself, applying the final sealing coat on the marble countertop so that no liquid seeps into the pores of the material. You had music playing through the radio, just loud enough to drown out the sound of the odd car that drove by. You were humming along to this when you heard the doorbell ring, this surprised you because not many people stopped round to your place, and if they did they would usually knock. You put the paintbrush in the sink and put the lid back onto the tin of sealant before you made your way over to the door. You didn’t bother to check your appearance or anything because you thought it was probably some girl scouts or a random, so in all your messy renovation glory you swung the door open to greet whoever was on the other side.
“Hi there, what can I-“ Your voice catches in your throat and colour rushes to your cheeks as you lay eyes on the woman before you. Now you were wishing you had at least wiped the sweat from your face and the grime from your hands.
“Hi… I- I know we- I know I haven’t spoken to you since…well…” She trails off quietly, looking down. You bite your bottom lip slightly and shake your head, willing the tears to remain unshed “It’s- It’s fine Alice, really. It’s in the past… You don’t need to explain yourself. It’s fine.” The older woman shakes her head and looks at you again, her eyes glistening slightly “I want to. Can- can I come in, please?”
You step back and hold the door open so she can make her way inside, closing and locking the door behind her before leading her to the lounge. “I- I wanted to apologise for hanging up the way I did…and for leaving your life without saying anything.” She takes a seat in an arm chair, hands immediately starting to fiddle with the cushion “I just- I didn’t- I don’t”
“You don’t feel the same way. I- I know. It’s okay. I- I got over most of the hurt-“
“No- no that’s not what I meant. I didn’t understand why you felt that way and- and I didn’t understand why I- why I” she shakes her head, her grip on the cushion tightening before she blurts out “why I felt something I hadn’t felt since the joy I felt when I had my boys.” She lets out a sob and buries her face in her hands as she starts crying.
You rush over to her and wrap your arms around her gently, rubbing her back as you hush her gently. “It’s okay, it’s okay. Shhh… It’s okay, Alice” She moves so she can hug you tight, burying her face in your shirt as she continues crying. “hey, hey it’s okay. It’ll be okay. Shhh.. It’s okay, Alice.” You continue rubbing her back, only slowing down more as her breathing starts to return to normal. “There we go, there we go. It’s okay. It’ll be okay.”
She doesn’t pull back but you hear her mumble out “my- my husband- ex… he- he found me crying after the call and he asked why. I- I told him that it- it was because I think I- I was in…love with someone else. A- A woman… And- and he” she lets out a sob before continuing “he told me how- how disgusting I- I am. That- that I was going to- to ruin my- my kids. We- He filed for divorce a few weeks later… It’s- it’s supposed to be split custody but- but I guess the boys like me more so- so they stay with me a majority of the time. They asked why I was so sad, why I didn’t bake apple pie as much anymore, why I- why I never called you. I didn’t answer them for so long, just- just said it was some- some trial that God was putting me through. But… a few days ago they asked again, and- and the looks in their eyes…” she lets out a bit of a laugh “they looked like they wouldn’t judge me no matter what I said, they- they really are my boys. So…I told them.”
Your breath catches and you still your movements before continuing, encouraging Alice to continue. “I told them everything. Well- well excluding what their father said about- about me. I just- I said that their father didn’t- didn’t approve of- of who I had…fallen in love with. They- they were confused and asked how it was possible for someone to- to fall in love when already married. I said sometimes- sometimes it happens and that it- it doesn’t mean I never loved their father, but I had discovered that- that maybe I…liked women. A woman. Gosh… You should’ve seen the looks on their face, it was like I’d given them their birthday presents early. I hadn’t even told them who but… they’re so wonderful.”
She pulls back and wipes her eyes on her sleeve, giving you a small smile “I told them that the woman I was- I am in love with is you. That- that I hadn’t known what to do so that’s why I was sad for so long because I just… Anyway… They said I was silly and should go tell you everything because they miss you and want to see me happy again.”
You blush deeply and look away, a shy smile settling on your lips before Alice gently turns your head to face her. “I- I love you, yn.” She leans in and tentatively brushes her lips against yours before kissing you, you gasp softly in shock before melting into the kiss.
One year, three months, two weeks, three days, and nine hours. That’s how long Alice and her boys – your boys – have been living with you for. After she kissed you that day, she asked if she could make love to you but emphasised that you would have to guide her because she’d never been with another woman. Alice was a quick learner and once she had a solid understanding of what you enjoyed…she made it very clear that she was the one in charge in the bedroom. This surprised you but you weren’t going to complain, if the love of your life wanted to be called “Miss” in the bedroom and boss you around, you bet your fucking ass you’re going to do just that. Although she did burst into tears after you went down on her because she didn’t know something like that was supposed to feel that good.
She asked you why there was an empty room one day while the boys were at tutoring, and you told her it was because you hoped to have a baby one day… Hopefully with her. She was shocked and had blushed profusely but the smile on her face reassured you she wasn’t put off by the idea. You said you knew it wouldn’t actually be possible for her to get you pregnant but you saw a fierce determination in her eyes that made you feel like she would find a way. Alice didn’t bring it up again for quite some time, and you didn’t press about it either, just put it down to her having forgotten or maybe not actually being into the idea.
One evening while the boys were at their fathers Alice said she had something to show you, said it was really important. When you walked into the bedroom you nearly choked on your bottled water, Alice was standing there, looking down as she adjusted - what appeared to be a strap-on – to fit her comfortably. She still had her simple white bra on but to you she still looked sexy, with or without clothing you were attracted to her; the look of utter concentration on her face made you giggle though, drawing her attention to you, a blush settling on her face as she smiles.
“I- Hi. I- So I did some… I did things to try and- and figure out if there was a way I could get you…pregnant… And- well, I know you don’t always come to church but- No I didn’t ask around church, silly. Every time I prayed, I asked for there to be a time where it would be possible for me to get you pregnant, so- so I could have a baby with the woman I love. And- and so it turns out that tonight is that night. I saw a sign, and I know that sounds cra-“ You cut her off with a deep and slow kiss, hands cupping her cheeks gently before you pull back “Alice, baby, nothing you say sounds crazy to me.”
She blushes more and flusters a bit before continuing “I saw a sign, well- well what I hope was one and knew that it would be possible tonight. That- that it would be possible for me to- to” she tears up, some tears spilling onto her cheeks which you wipe away gently “to get you pregnant so we can have our baby.” You sniffle a little, having teared up at her words “Alice… You’re so- you’re so wonderful. Please take me to bed, make- make love to me.”
Alice takes your hand in hers gently and leads you to your shared bed where she lays you down gently on it before crawling on top of you, her hand stroking your cheek gently. “I love you so much, yn.”
“I love you too, Alice.”
You looked up at the woman you loved, her hand ghosting gently between your legs and roaming over your body before she starts to remove your clothing, kissing your skin as each item is removed. She trails kisses up your thighs before moving up to kiss you, her lips were still sweet from the dessert she had made, her tongue slips between her lips and runs against your bottom lip before you part them to brush your tongue over hers, you both moaning at the feeling. A gasp falls from your lips when you feel her touch your slit, fingers rubbing your clit lightly before dipping the tips of two into your pussy.
“You make the most beautiful noises, my love.”
There had never been a moment before now where you had felt so much love when having sex with someone. It wasn’t only because your girlfriend had managed to find a way to try having a baby with you – having her baby, it was because there wasn't a single moment the entire night where the love in her eyes disappeared.
You wouldn’t know if Alice’s prayers had been heard until you took a pregnancy tests a few days later, but there was a feeling in your bones that made you think that things would work out – that you would have her baby. On the off chance, or more likely chance, that you didn’t get pregnant, that would be okay too. Your sweet Alice would probably try her best to find another way though, she was determined like that.
You and Alice both shared a nice bubble bath after your lovemaking, just enjoying being in each other’s arms. “Alice baby, I love you so much. Thank you for tonight. Thank you for coming back to me. Just- just thank you.” She hums softly in response, her eyes drifting closed “I love you too, Yn. I’d always find my way back to you anyway.” You press a kiss to her head, enjoying the feeling of being content and happy with a woman you love, and with the chance of being pregnant with her child.
#Alice macray#Alice macray imagine#Alice macray x reader#sarah paulson#sarah paulson imagine#sarah paulson x reader
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The Princess and the Guard.
A/N: Chapter two is here, this Chapter is a bit of a filler and more will happen in the next Chapter. I hope you all enjoy! I will accept feedback and constructive criticism.
This series is not historically accurate and is not intended to be so please bare that in mind when you are reading, I am no real expert on how royalty works (even if I am from England).
This series will contain misogynistic language and views, violence, death and nsfw content. I will always put the relevant warnings into each chapter!
Teaser, Chapter one, Chapter two, Chapter Three, Chapter four
Warnings: None.
W/C: 2.4K (The chapters are set to get longer starting next week.)
Chapter two:
“You look like you had a good evening your highness.” Annie said as you made your way into your bedroom, your interaction with Tom still had your heart hammering in your chest.
“It did not turn out as badly as I had anticipated.” You answered and Annie smiled as she got to work unpinning your hair, taking the butterfly grip out first and placing it carefully into your jewellery box.
“Did you meet someone?” She asked, almost excitedly.
“No, no one my mother would be happy with.” You almost sighed. “Anyway, tell me, what will you be doing with your day off?” You asked changing the subject, Annie got a day off a week to be able to do as she pleased.
“I was hoping to go to the market and then visit my mother’s grave.” She said and you smiled sadly at her, she was so close to her mother, it saddened you that she lost her so young. “Then I was hoping to attend the bar that most of the staff do.” She said and it piqued your interest.
“Most of the staff? Who else goes?” You asked.
“Well Tuwaine and Sam go often.” She said and you smirked, it was no secret that Annie was attracted to Tuwaine. A blush often creeping up her neck and onto her cheeks when she spoke to him. Sam and Tuwaine were the lead chef’s in the kitchen. “Harry attends when he can.” She said and you smiled.
Harry and Sam where twins and Tom’s younger brother’s. Harry was in charge of training the royal guard to protect the crown and due to this he didn’t often get time off. They had an even younger brother Patrick who was training to be a stable hand, he loved the horses and taking care of them. Tom’s father worked as the groundskeeper, you’d had many conversations with him whilst walking through the grounds. Tom’s mother made most of the dresses you and your mother wore.
It was strange to you, your parents had employed Tom’s for years and you wondered if they would possibly be happy about you and Tom but you knew that was a long shot. Although your mother loved Tom’s family, she was still proper and everything had to be done in a certain way to her.
“Thomas goes.” Annie broke you from your thoughts, you tried to hide the smile that threatened to spread across your face at the mention of Tom’s name. “He’s gets a lot of female attention.” She laughed and your stomach warped with disappointment.
“He does?” You asked.
“Well of course. Not to step out of line but he is a very attractive man. Women are all over him when he comes. He doesn’t often entertain them though.” She laughed.
“He does not?” You asked and she smiled shyly.
“He seems to have a very specific type. I’ve only seen him leave with three women this year and they all have a lot in common.”
“They do?”
“I’m sorry, I am saying too much. It’s not my place, Thomas probably would not appreciate my gossiping.”
“I will not tell him.” You smiled in reassurance and she returned it. She encouraged you to stand as she started working on unlacing your dress.
“Please forget I said anything, I wouldn’t want to start any vicious rumours.” She said and you decided to drop it, she’d asked, so you would. It would be wrong to push her because at some point she wouldn’t be able to deny your request and that was an abuse of your power that you didn’t like.
“How long has it been since you lost your mother?” You asked her, you knew it was the anniversary of her death tomorrow, she’d asked you politely and almost shyly for the second day off this week and of course you had given it to her.
“Ten years.” She said as she slipped your nightgown over your head before moving your ballgown to be cleaned. You moved to your jewellery box and looked through it to find the pearl necklace you’d received a few years ago from a suitor when he’d asked for your hand. You clutched it in your hand as you moved towards Annie and took her hand in yours.
You placed the pearl necklace into her palm and she gasped slightly as she looked at what you had given her.
“I want you to take this and I want you to sell it, it will get you a good price. Buy something nice for your mother’s grave and for yourself.” You smiled and you watched as tears pooled in her eyes.
“Princess, I cannot accept this.” She said as she tried to give it back to you.
“You can. I insist. I would rather this necklace went towards something nice and to a nice person rather than collect dust in that box.” You smiled.
“Thank you, your highness.” She said as she wiped at her eyes and you pulled her into a hug.
“I hope you have a lovely day off tomorrow and get to do what you wanted to do. I will miss you, Jane is lovely but she is not you.” You laughed.
“Thank you. I shall see you when I return.”
**
You didn’t mind Jane, she was a very good maid but she was nowhere near as shy as Annie is. She’s very open about what she wants and isn’t too afraid to give certain opinions. You’d had a pretty uneventful day, the palace had been quiet due to most of the staff being off for the day and your parents had been visiting a Lord not too far away, which meant most of the guard was also gone. Jane was currently unpinning your hair and she was staring at the butterfly grip.
“I always wanted to be a princess.” She said as she put the grip into your jewellery box, not as carefully as Annie would and you had to bite your tongue in order to not shout at her. “I would love to marry a man who could make me rich.” She added and you almost rolled your eyes.
“Life as a rich woman is not as glamourous as one might assume.” You said.
“It has to be better than how it is for us though. You have your pick of the men.” She said and you raised your brows. “Sorry, that was inappropriate.”
“I may have my pick of many men but not many of them are nice.”
“But they have so much money. Not to be too inappropriate but that must be a good thing.” She said and you sighed.
“That is inappropriate. I would not like to be married to a man who I cannot stand.”
“What about that Duke? I’ve heard he has taken quite a liking to you.” She asked.
“I do not know him so well so I would not like to pass judgement.” You said as she began to brush your hair.
“I always wanted to marry your brother, he would have made me a princess and your sister.” You did raise your brows at that. “Sorry that was out of line.”
**
Once Jane was finished, you were quick to dismiss her, you did not enjoy her company at all the way you enjoyed Annie’s. You decided to head to the library in search of a romance novel you’d read so many times you’d lost count, after having found it you made your way back towards your room. A pair of voices however, stopped you in your tracks, you knew it was rude to eavesdrop but one of the voices had caught your attention.
“Jane.” You heard Tom’s voice, almost in warning.
“I don’t understand.” You heard Jane huff. “I thought you liked me.” She snapped.
“I’m not sure what gave you that impression.” You heard Tom answer, almost bored.
“We kissed last week.” Jane stated matter of factly and you swear your heart stopped at her words, you knew you shouldn’t have been bothered about it but you couldn’t help it.
“No, I believe you kissed me and I rejected you. I’m sorry Jane but I don’t like you that way.” You heard Tom say and it was like the words forced your heart to start beating again.
“Well I’m sorry that I don’t look like her.” You heard Jane snap. “You need to get a grip Tom, she’ll never like you back.” Your ears perked at that, he liked someone?
“I think you should go.” You heard Tom warn again.
“Unless you get some sudden cash injection and title change you’ll never be able to have her. Don’t make yourself miserable over a woman you can only wish has feelings for you, or even remembers your name.” Jane snapped again and you heard her footsteps as she rushed away from the conversation. Your heart was beating in your chest, your grip on the book was tight. He liked someone? Someone of a higher status?
You spent a few moments collecting yourself before you made your way around the corner and down the corridor, hoping Tom would have moved by now, he hadn’t. You realised that your appearance was less than appropriate, hair down, nightgown on, no shoes on at all. What would he think?
“Princess.” You heard his voice and you almost smiled.
“Tom.” You greeted and he smiled at you.
“Out for a late night walk?”
“No. Well yes. I wanted a book from the library.” You stumbled over your words, it felt foreign to you, you’d never struggled with what to say.
“I don’t think the Princess should be walking alone around the palace.” He almost scalded.
“Really? Who is going to tell me off? You?” You teased and he laughed.
“No. However, I would like to be a gentleman and escort you back to your room.” He said and you blushed.
“What would people think if they saw you escorting me to my bedroom?” You laughed and he smiled.
“They would probably assume I am doing my job.”
“You are Harrison’s guard, not mine.” You reminded him and he smiled.
“Correct, I am. However, Harrison does not need my services tonight and you may. Like I said, I would like to be a gentleman.” He smiled again and your heart fluttered.
“Alright then.” You said as you fell into step next to him, he looked down and smiled.
“You have no shoes on.” He pointed out and you laughed.
“I do not.”
“It looks cute.” He added and you both blushed. “Sorry, I should not have said that.”
“It’s alright, I cannot really get angry at a compliment.” You reassured.
“Please be careful where you step, I would not like you to hurt your feet.” He said nervously and you laughed.
“Tom, I thought we were passed the proper talk.”
“You still speak proper.” He teased and you breathed out a laugh.
“I apologise, I’m not really used to speaking to people that don’t expect it of me.” You said and instantly regretted the words. That sounded awful. “Wait, no. Sorry I didn’t mean-“
“I know what you meant.” He reassured and you relaxed.
“So Tom,” you pried. “Tell me. Do you have a special girl?”
“Something like that.” He answered.
“What is that supposed to mean?” You laughed. “You either do or you don’t.”
“Well I am in love with a woman, yes. But I doubt she sees me in such a way.” He answered.
“I’m sure she would.” You reassured. You were almost back to your room and you found yourself disappointed.
“Even if she did, it would be frowned upon. She is much too good for me.”
“That can’t be true. Tom, you are a lovely man. No one is too good for anyone.” You said.
“That isn’t true, this woman is special, she’s too good for everyone.” He said and you found yourself wanting to know who this woman was immediately.
“Who is it?” You asked as you stood outside your bedroom door.
“If I told you that Princess it would land me in a whole lot of trouble.” He said, there was no one around and you found yourself grateful.
“You can trust me.” You said and he smiled sadly.
“Even if I did tell her, it would change nothing. I’m in love with a woman I cannot have. Even if she did love me back, it would never be allowed. She would never be allowed to marry a guard.” He said and your heart burst in your chest, he was talking about you, that much was obvious and it filled you with a feeling you’d never had before, you couldn’t describe it.
“What if she didn’t care? What if the men she was supposed to marry didn’t interest her.” You said and he smiled.
“It wouldn’t matter, she can do better than me.” He said, you were close and if anyone were around they would deem it inappropriate but you couldn’t find it in you to care.
“What if she didn’t think so.” You said, your faces had somehow gotten closer during the exchange. Your heart beating in your chest.
“Oh Princess, you really are perfect.” He whispered, it almost sounded like he was talking to himself. You found yourself holding your breath in anticipation as he leant even closer to you, your eyes closing. You waited to feel his lips on yours but you never did. Instead you felt his lips on your cheek, the spot he’d kissed was burning as he removed them.
It took you a moment to open your eyes, composing yourself, but once your eyes had opened you were met with nothing, you watched as he made his way down the corridor, around the corner and out of sight. You were left with your heart almost beating out of your chest and the biggest smile on your face you’d ever had.
**
Taglist: @allthisfortommy , @bi-lmg , @bigassnocash , @thoughtfulfireangelpersona , @aidinniram
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I Carry Your Heart With Me (Prologue)
Summary: When your college roommate asks you to be a bridesmaid at her wedding, you pack your bags and jump on a flight to Montana. What was supposed to be a relaxing week on the husband-to-be’s ranch is turned upside down when an old flame decides to make an appearance. Mix in lingering feelings, a meddling bride, and the mother of all misunderstandings, and your week out west turns out to be a whole lot more than you bargained for.
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Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader
Warnings: Cursing, mentions of alcohol, mentions of sex
Word Count: 2.5k
Spencer gets the email on a Tuesday.
He’s fresh off of a quick trip to a nearby café that sells the most delectable scones, and he’s eagerly unwrapping one and lifting it to his mouth when he gets the notification. The quiet ping is enough to make him pause with the scone midway to its destination.
Because the thing is, Spencer Reid doesn’t get a lot of emails. In fact, there are approximately ten people that even know his email address, and seven of them are currently in the same room as him. Spencer peers over the top of his monitor and scans the room. No one is doing anything indicative of having sent Spencer yet another prank email (thanks a lot, Luke), so he deems it safe and clicks on the email icon.
As it boots up, Spencer takes a bite of his scone. The warm, sugary dough tastes like heaven in his mouth, once again proving to Spencer that the fifteen-minute walk there is more than worth his time. He’s mid-swallow when his inbox pops up on the screen, and when he sees the all too familiar name on the sender’s address, he inhales a sharp breath that leaves him choking on his pastry.
Mr. and Mrs. Charles Melville
Mr. and Mrs. Jonathan Sewell
Joyfully request the pleasure of your company at the marriage of their children
Cassidy and Mason
Saturday, the twenty-seventh of May
Two thousand nine-teen
His choking fit garners the attention of every one of his colleagues, but Spencer can’t bring himself to care. All he can focus on is sucking in as much air as possible in between coughs. It doesn’t help that his oxygen deprived brain is currently reeling. Long suppressed memories are fighting their way to the surface, and now it’s not only his lungs that are engulfed in a searing heat, but his heart, too.
Cassidy Sewell. A fiery, opinionated redhead that Spencer hasn’t thought of in nearly fifteen years. But Cassidy isn’t the reason that he feels like a knife has been thrust into his ribcage, nor is she the reason he is currently aspirating his scone. The basis of his distress is another woman entirely.
Spencer eventually regains control of his windpipe and when he does, he rereads the email several times. It’s wonderful news - really, it is. And he’s happy for Cassidy. His memories of her are plentiful and he thinks back on them fondly. The only problem is that he knows wherever Cassidy is, you’ll be there, too.
He really should just delete the email and go on about his business - that would be the smart thing to do. But Spencer’s never really been smart when it comes to you, so he does the worst thing possible and clicks on the ‘view recipients’ button.
And sure enough, your name falls just above his on the list.
Which brings up another issue entirely; why is he receiving this email? And, more importantly, do you know that he’s been invited? Spencer can only come up with two possible answers to that question, and both are equally heartbreaking. Either you know he’s been invited and you’re indifferent to the fact, or you haven’t a clue and his showing up would be entirely inappropriate.
He briefly entertains the possibility of a third option; one in which you knew he’d received an invitation and were hopeful that he might show up. Spencer allows this possibility to live in his mind for approximately two seconds before he’s stomping it out and killing it. That’s just… unlikely.
“Ooh! Who’s getting married?”
Spencer quickly exits out of his email and spins around in his chair to find Penelope pouting her lip out at him.
“No one. Just a spam email,” Spencer lies. His efforts are in vain, however, because Penelope fixes him with an unimpressed glare.
“I’m going to save you and I both the trouble of me hacking into your computer and offer you the opportunity to try that again.”
Spencer visibly deflates and mentally curses the creators of the interconnected computer networks. He weighs his options. He could be completely honest and be subjected Penelope’s endearing, yet suffocating enthusiasm, or he could skim a little bit off the top and hope she doesn’t pump him for information.
Spencer decides on the latter.
“An old friend.”
Penelope narrows her eyes at him and he shrinks under her gaze. She might not be a profiler, but she damn sure could be.
“Then why do you look like you’re about to hurl?”
“No reason.”
They’ve reached a stalemate, and Spencer isn’t quite sure what to do with that. Usually, if this were a chest match, Spencer would already have the upper hand. He’s not used to being backed into a corner. At first, Spencer’s sure that he can outlast Penelope’s inquisition, but the longer those seemingly omniscient eyes of hers bore into his own, he can feel his resolve crumbling into nothing. All it takes is her lifting one perfectly plucked eyebrow in challenge for him to break.
“An ex-girlfriend of mine will be in attendance.”
Spencer knows he’s fucked from the way Penelope’s entire face lights up upon hearing that little tidbit of information. In a flash Penelope’s dragging over an empty chair and seating herself directly in front of Spencer, eyes shining excitedly.
“Tell me everything.”
So, he does.
And an hour later, Penelope is booking him a flight to Montana.
--
“I cannot believe you did this to me,” you murmur into the receiver as you stare at your computer screen. Your eyes are zeroed in on the email, but all the words are blurring together into an intelligible mess. All except two.
Spencer Reid
“Correction; I did this for you,” Cassidy replies, sounding awfully pleased with herself. If you could see her, you were certain she’d be grinning ear to ear. “You can’t tell me that you’re not the least bit excited at the possibility of seeing him again.”
“That is exactly what I’m telling you!” you groan as you throw your head against the back of your chair. “Fifteen years is a long time, Cass. I’ve moved on, and I’m sure he has, too. That door is closed.”
Cassidy snorts, “Well open that sucker back up, because I just got an RSVP from one Doctor Spencer Reid who, and I quote, ‘cannot wait to see everyone.’ This RSVP came without a plus one, might I add.”
You jolt up in your seat and instantly regret it when your stomach churns painfully as a result. Suddenly, your decision to place your waste basket on the opposite side of the room seems awfully ill advised. The only thing keeping you from lunging for it and expelling the contents of your stomach is the fact that he isn’t bringing anyone with him, which is… something.
“He’s coming?” you squeak out. “Why would he do that?”
Another laugh from Cassidy floats out through the speaker.
“Well, I’d like to think he might be going to see one of his oldest and dearest friends get married, but I think we both know that this has nothing to do with me, and a whole lot to do with you.”
You’re just about to open your mouth to protest when a head of long, blonde hair peeks through the crack of your door. You only know one man with a head of hair like that, and that man just so happens to be the only other person in your life that lives for taking the piss at your expense. You can’t help but think that you must’ve done something terrible in a past life to be subjected to all of this before noon on a Tuesday morning.
You wave Damien in, because why the hell not? He’d be hearing about it over one or several bottles of wine this evening, anyways. What was one more spectator to the worst moment of your entire adult life?
As he takes his seat in a chair in front of your desk, you flash him a tight smile and turn your attention back to Cassidy.
“You’re reading way too much into this. He probably doesn’t even remember me.”
“You know that boy does not forget anything,” Cassidy points out.
Yeah, you think, and that’s what makes not hearing from him for fifteen years even worse. That means the radio silence was a choice.
“Doesn’t matter. You need to uninvite him. I’m being so serious right now.”
“I absolutely will not. That’d be terribly rude of me,” Cassidy sniffs. “And you obviously have no choice but to attend, Miss Maid of Honor, so consider this your warning. I was going to keep this a secret, but Mason said that would be cruel. So.”
You want to argue that the entire thing is cruel, but Cassidy’s indifference to your plight leads you to believe that your protest would fall on deaf ears. To make matters worse, Damien looks positively delighted at the prospect of something exciting happening. He’s literally sitting on the edge of his seat, leaning forward in an attempt to hear Cassidy’s end of the conversation.
You really needed to pick more sympathetic friends.
“I’m going to hang up now, because I physically cannot handle being a part of this conversation any longer.”
“That’s the spirit!” Cassidy trills. “Trust me, you’re going to thank me for this later. Oh, and do yourself a favor and Google search him. You will not be disappointed!”
At that, the line goes dead. You don’t even have the chance to say something embarrassing like too late, I already do that like twice a year, which is probably a good thing.
You slam down the phone and let your head fall into your hands, adding in a dramatic groan for good measure. Usually, you like to think you’re a little more level headed, but the Spencer Reid sized hole in your heart that you’d been trying to mend for the last decade and a half was just ripped wide open, so you figure you deserve a moment to panic.
Damien, however, doesn’t share that same belief.
“I get that you’re trying to have a moment, and I respect that, but you know how impatient I get and I haven’t seen you this upset since One Direction split up. Color me intrigued. What did dear Cassidy do to get your knickers in such a twist?”
You lift your head and fix him with a withering look.
“She invited Spencer.”
That wipes the smile right off of Damien’s face.
“Oh, fuck,” Damien swears. Finally, someone understands how extremely not okay this situation is. You let out another despairing groan. “What are the chances he’s actually going to show up?”
You chuckle bitterly, “Pretty fucking high, if you consider the fact that he already RSVP’d any indication.” You push away from your desk and begin to pace around the room, all while fanning your shirt out because holy hell did it get hot in here, or is it just you? “I mean, I could always back out. It’s Cassidy’s fault anyways. It’s not like she could hold that against me. She’s the one who did this, after all.”
“Oh, she most certainly would. And you’re not going to going to skip out on the wedding - quit being so dramatic.”
You snap your head to where he sits and narrow your eyes at him.
“Oh, I’m not? Who’s gonna stop me?” you challenge.
You can practically see the light bulb go on inside that blonde head of his. Damien gives you a saccharine smile and claps his hands together.
“I am. Because I’m going to go with you,” he announces excitedly. You’d think he just came up with a way to end world hunger from the pride that’s practically radiating off of him in waves.
You raise an eyebrow at him, “You’re going to come with me? To Montana? Have you ever even been outside of New York?”
Damien shrugs his shoulders.
“No, but that’s about to change. Plus, weddings are fun,” Damien pauses, before tacking on, “-bridesmaids are fun.”
If he weren’t such a damn good friend, you’d throw him out of your office.
His proposition was tempting. Being in close proximity with Spencer for almost an entire week was going to be harrowing as it was, but add to that the inevitable sight of Spencer in a suit and harrowing graduates to fucking excruciating. Having Damien in your corner to keep you sane was more of a necessity than a want.
But still, you hesitate, because the idea of both Cassidy and Damien conspiring against you for an entire week sounds like the undiscovered tenth circle of hell.
Damien apparently senses your apprehension. He lets out an exasperated sigh and pushes up from his seat, walking over to where you stand and placing his hands on your shoulders.
“I solemnly swear to be on my best behavior. You have my permission to fire me if I act up, Boss Lady.”
Your shoulders slump under the weight of his hands.
“You know I can’t fire you,” you grumble, pouting out your lip for dramatic effect. “If I fire you, then I’m stuck with fucking Brenda. And I doubt she’d be as agreeable a drinking partner as you.”
Damien lets out a loud laugh and pulls you into his arms. You melt into his embrace, sighing in resignation. Might as well bring him along for the ride. It’s not like the situation could get any worse than it already is, right?
“Brenda is the worst,” Damien agrees as he places a kiss to the top of your head. After basking in his warm embrace for several moments, you pull away and run a hand through your hair.
“Okay. Okay,” you murmur, more to yourself than to Damien. “I can do this. Worst comes to worst; I can just avoid him. Five days isn’t that long. I can do five days.”
Damien leans up against your desk and nods in agreeance.
“Exactly. Five days, in and out – no big deal,” he breezes. Like the absolute bastard he is, he waits until you’re taking a sip from your travel mug before continuing. “And who knows? Maybe the two of you will pick up where you left off and have some slutty wedding sex.”
Now, there’s coffee all over your white blouse and Damien’s laughing obnoxiously at your expense.
“You did not just quote One Tree Hill at me,” you choke out between ragged breaths.
Damien doesn’t waver under the weight of your death glare.
“I so did. Best show of our time, truly. Chase hit the nail on the head with that one. Weddings are always an absolute bone fest - trust me. Something about all the proclamations of love and eternal commitment gets everyone all hot and bothered.”
“There will be no slutty wedding sex,” you mutter as you dab at the coffee stain.
“There will be if I’m going,” Damien trills as he pushes off of your desk and saunters to the door. “Don’t rule it out, babe. No need to miss out on all the fun!”
You roll your eyes and toss the wadded-up paper towel at him. Damien is quick to shut the door, resulting in the paper towel hitting it with a wet plop.
Damien’s absence leaves the room uncomfortably silent, save for the sound of your heart nearly beating out of your chest. You hesitantly lift your eyes back to your computer screen, and as irrational as it is, you pray that you’ll see that something has changed in the past ten minutes. Unsurprisingly, his name is still there, just below your own.
You silently curse the tiny twinge of excitement you feel from seeing his name and exit out of the email.
Five days, in and out. No big deal.
-
-
-
taglist: @is-this-even-important @evelyncade @usuck @m0rce1ddd @bauhousewife @whxt-to-write @spencerwaltergubler @lovesicksofi @idgafayiowf @shadyladyperfection @mercy-burning @sapphic-prentiss
#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x you#spencer reid#spencer reid smut#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid self insert#spencer reid fic#criminal minds self insert#criminal minds fanfic#criminal minds fanfiction#criminal minds fic#criminal minds#spencer reid fanfic#fanfiction#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid x y/n#matthew gray gubler fanfic#matthew gray gubler smut#matthew gray gubler self insert#matthew gray gubler#mgg#bau#icyhwm#my writing
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Young and Beautiful | Rudy Pankow - Part 4
I have to apologise... THIS TOOK ME WAY TOO LONG! I am truly so sorry and I hate how this came out and it feels like a stupid filler and ugh. I hope you guys still love it. Again can't thank you enough for all the support! Tagging all of you lovely people took nearly as long as writing this (just kidding) but you guys truly I Love you. In the next chapters be prepared for: angst and smut and a whole roller coaster of Rudy and Y/N.
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4
Trigger warning: swearing? pretty harmless otherwise
Word count: 2,074 words
Y/N just got the role of her lifetime, starring beside the cast of Outer Banks in the second season as JJ’s love interest. It’s a dream come true and gets even dreamier when she meets Rudy Pankow her alleged love interest. Lines start to blur between reality and film and Y/N is left wondering if taking a leap of faith is worth risking her career.
[GIF not mine credits to owner]
The salty scent of chicken stock filled the apartment as you stirred the wooden spoon through your concoction clockwise. All bright lights were shut off except the one above the stove, lulling the place in darkness. You could barely make out the two suffering figures on the couch.
“I think my head is going to explode,” Madelyne whined dramatically and snuggled deeper into her blanket which made you chuckle.
“Stop whining!” Madison whined right back and rubbed her temples, hugging a trash can close to her.
Both of your friends were currently nursing a really bad hangover and you had been assigned as their caretaker for today, as you were wondrously quite alright after your adventurous night out.
“You both are babies,” You pointed out and transferred the soup you had prepared to two bowls.
With a tray loaded with hangover cures you made your way to the living room and the two invalids.
“What’s that?” Madelyn peeked up when the scent of the soup hit her. You could only laugh at her big brown hungry eyes.
“Pelmeni soup, a hangover cure from home. It’s basically broth with some special dumplings.” You handed her the bowl carefully and watched as she eagerly began eating.
Madison however was harder to convince.
“If I eat anything right now it will land on the carpet three seconds later,” She warned and hugged her trash can closer.
“Believe me, it’s gonna help,” You passed the bowl over to her suspicious face, “Just eat it. You need the electrolytes.”
“It’s that what the Gatorade is for?” Maddie inclined and tried reaching for the blue bottle without spilling the contents of her soup.
“Yeah,” You laughed and helped her reach the bottle.
Content silence ensued as you watched your friends eating without complaining once. When you thought they were satisfied for now you made your way back to the kitchen to check up on your phone. The butterflies in your stomach fluttered when you saw the messages on your screen.
Rudy: - Am I the only 1 who’s not turned into a whining baby last night? -
Chase won’t stop complaining about his headache -
Yesterday was definitely more fun… a lot more x -
Do u have a hangover as well? I could take care of you, rather than Chase -
Miss u already <3 -
You couldn’t help but feel a little mad at yourself for having such a strong liver. You wished Rudy would take care of you right now, but instead you were stuck with tweedledum and tweedledee.
You: - I’m doing surprisingly fine after the tequila fiesta I had -
Though I am familiar with the whining concept… -
Just made some hangover soup from home, if u wanna get some for Chase -
U know so u wouldn’t have to miss me anymore x -
You felt quite bold after sending that last message but you couldn’t help the longing all your body seemed to have for the blonde boy that had enthralled you last night.
A minute after the blue ticks appeared next to your message there was a knock on your door.
The Maddies groaned from the living room at the loud noise and you hurried towards the source.
A smiling Rudy was staring back at you as you swung the entrance door open.
“Wow, you are quick,” You breathed out surprised and stepped aside so he could come in.
“Had some good motivation,” He whispered and left a soft kiss on your cheek as he hugged you sideways. You could already feel the blood rushing to your head by the simple gesture.
He gave you his signature Rudy smile as he saw your flushed cheeks but you only rolled your eyes and pushed him towards the kitchen.
“Who’s that?” Bailey screamed from the other room which made Rudy pivot in his step and make his way towards your invalids.
“G’day sunshines,” He greeted the two blanket burritos loudly. Without hesitation he flipped the lights on. Devastated groaning could be heard from the two girls.
“Oh my God, why did you invite him?” Madison whimpered and buried her head deeper into the blanket.
“He is literally the biggest pain in the ass,” Madelyn agreed and slurped on with her soup.
“Geez, I love you guys too,” Rudy fired back and let you pull him back into the separated kitchen.
“I feel sorry for you, Chase is not even half as bad as them and you have two,” He admitted and followed your body instinctively as you leaned against the counter.
“We should pile all of them into one apartment,” You thought out loud and watched as he cornered you between his arms and the counter. His muscled arms on either side of you and the proximity of his body to yours drove your hormones crazy and you had to cross your arms to keep from touching him.
“So we would have an apartment to ourselves?” His eyes rested on your lips as he spoke, not seeing how you rolled your eyes. But either way you couldn’t ignore the effect these words had on you.
“So we could take better care of them,” You finished your thought in a serious tone and unwound your arms to push him back a bit.
He was quick to catch your wrist however and pull you even closer towards him. “I can take real good care of you, too.”
Your breath caught in your throat, you didn’t miss the innuendo. Some part of you would have kissed him senseless right there if the girls weren’t in the room next door.
A whole other part however was nagging with self-doubt.
You were scared to your bones to screw this up. Not only your friendship, or relationship or whatever this was, with Rudy, but also your very first shot at a break in the business.
What if you fell in love? And he didn’t? What if you couldn’t look at each other at some point?
It was eating you alive to only think about all the risks you were taking at this. But a bigger part of you wanted him, needed him. Yesterday night only made the feeling worse.
“What’s going through your pretty head?” The blonde Adonis in front of you whispered. All your worries seemed to wash away as you locked eyes with him.
“Nothing,” You shook your head and nestled closer to him. Body to body, heart to heart and finally mouth to mouth.
He lowered his lips on yours gently, so different from last night, so sweet. You would never get tired of kissing him, of feeling the soft pillows of his lips move against yours. You broke away from him before it got too heated, remembering the two girls next door.
“So,” He breathed heavily, clearly shaken up by the little make-out session, as his hands went though his hair, “Should I get Chase?”
You laughed at his disheveled appearance, a little proud that you could make him behave like that with just a kiss.
You nodded and left another kiss on him, slightly biting his bottom lip and dragging it out while staring at him. His lips chased after yours as his eyes widened. But you were quick to sneak out of his hold and towards the living room.
“Little tease,” He chastised you and smirked as he left the apartment.
“Where did the little mischief maker go?” Madison inquired as she heard the door slam.
“Getting Chase,” You explained and plopped down on the edge of the couch to hand her the still full bottle of Gatorade.
“Is he hungover as well?” Madelyne inclined and you noticed immediately how she tried to fix her hair a bit and sat up straighter. You were more than convinced at this point that something was going on between them.
You just nodded and waited for the two boys to come around again. Rather sooner than later a sleepy Chase with his grey beanie shuffled into your apartment, followed by Rudy.
“I heard there’s soup,” He muttered before he scooted closer to his on film lover and Maddie lifted her blanket to share it with the boy.
You just laughed but prepared him a bowl before joining the others.
“No soup for me?” Rudy asked offended and raised an eyebrow at you.
“You’re not sick, get yourself some.” You watched as he stood up reluctantly and heard a muttered ‘tough woman’ under his breath as he passed you on his way to the kitchen to fix himself some of the homemade food.
The rest of the afternoon was filled with movies and more soup as you nursed your friends back to health. You made a point of sitting as far away from Rudy as possible. You knew you couldn’t trust yourself or him for the matter. If you wanted to keep this to yourself you needed to be careful. But the constant looks he sent your way every few minutes didn’t really help. Admittedly you couldn’t help staring at him as well.
How could you? His jawline was perfectly chiseled like an ancient greek sculptor had brought it into existence. His lips too plumb and rosy for their own good. And his eyes… you could drown in his deep ocean blue eyes.
Madison cleared her throat slightly when she caught you staring and you immediately turned your head and blushed in embarrassment. So much for being careful.
“You guys,” Madelyn suddenly stopped the Disney movie playing on the flat screen and sat up straighter. You were sure she had fallen asleep with Chase a long time ago after they had whispered underneath their blanket. You hadn’t paid them anymore attention, granting them some privacy and also because you were too busy staring at the blond haired man that had thrown your whole world upside down just a couple hours before.
“We need to tell you something,” Chase went on and you immediately knew where this was headed.
“Oh I know where this is going!” Madison exclaimed and sat up straighter. You chuckled slightly at her eagerness but threw her a wink, signalling that you knew as well.
“No you don’t!” Madelyne argued but the arm Chase had thrown around her protectively didn’t really help her.
“You two are dating,” Rudy threw into the room unbothered and reached for the remote to un-pause the movie. You had to suppress a laugh at his carelessness and the looks on your two friends’ faces.
“Oh my God! That is brand new information!” You screamed sarcastically which earned you a couple laughs from your friends while Chase and Maddie still had quite shocked expressions on their faces.
“You knew?” Chase’s mouth hung open as he looked between you, only now realising how they screwed up.
“You weren’t really subtle about it to be honest,” You explained and let your eyes wander to their close proximity on the couch.
“Well, cat’s outta the bag,” Maddie agreed with a shrug and cuddled closer into Chase, totally unbothered and without a care in the world what anybody else might think. You couldn’t help but be a bit jealous about it.
“Why didn’t you tell us sooner?” Rudy inquired and you perked up. This you wanted to hear.
“I don’t know,” Chase admitted and looked into Madelyne’s eyes for her reassurance, “We just didn’t want to rush into things that might not be made to last. It was important for us to know where the two of us stand alone before getting anybody else involved.”
You smiled as you saw the loving glances passed between the couple and you were more sure than ever, that this was pure love. They had taken a leap of faith and it had worked out in their favour.
You couldn’t help yourself but search for Rudy during this moment. To your amazement he was already looking back at you. His sweet smile sent your way made you warm from your head to your toes. You knew you weren’t there with him yet, where Chase and Maddie were, but if you interpreted the gaze on his handsome face right, you had a feeling you could be there some day. But you would also take it slow. No more rushed unthoughtful acts of passion. You had to act rational about this if you wanted any chance of surviving his hurricane. You knew all too well how easy it was to drown in him and his ocean blue eyes.
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(I hope I didn’t miss anyone! If you’re not on here but would like to be send me a quick message xx)
#rudy pankow#rudy pankow imagine#rudy pankow fanfiction#rudy pankow x reader#rudy pankow smut#Outer Banks#outer banks netflix#outer banks imagine#outer banks fanfiction#jj maybank smut#jj fanfic#jj fanfiction#JJ Imagine#jj maybank x reader#jj maybank fic#jj maybank imagine#jj maybank fanfiction#by poguesrforlife
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RDRSW21 Day 2- Epilogue
Title: I Learned it All By Heart
Words: 2098
Pairing: Abigail/Sadie
Warnings/Notes: NSFW
(Title from comme tu dis by Pomme)
≿━━━━━━━━━━༺❀━━━━━━━━━━≾
I'll try to believe in myself. Like you say that you believe in me
“He almost loo.. Loo-kehd? No, that’s not a word.”
“You sure you don’t need any help, Ma?” Jack asked, looking at Abigail from across the kitchen table.
“I’ve got this, thanks though. I know this one, I know I do, it just always trips me up.”
“I can just read it to you, if you want. Or if you’d prefer that I wait until Miss Gaskill is able to come over, I don’t mind at all.”
“Jack, I wanna read what you wrote. I know I can’t offer as good advice as Mary-Beth, if I can even offer any at all, I just need to work on my readin’, or I’ll never get it at all.”
“That is true.” Jack clicked his tongue. “Do you want me to give you a hint?”
Abigail sighed. “Sure, that might help.”
“Two os next to each other don’t always make an ooo sound. Sometimes, like in the word ‘good’, they make-”
“Looked! ” Abigail exclaimed triumphantly, grabbing the pencil she kept next to her and writing down the word, its pronunciation, and Jack’s hint in her journal. She knew the alphabet by now (largely thanks to a mix of help from Jack, Charles, John, and, whenever she could make the trip west, Mary-Beth), but still struggled with bigger, more complicated words. Still, Jack told her she was doing great, and she supposed that was true, given that she could read through most of his old penny-novels now.
“Anyways, where was I.. ‘He almost looked like someone you would expect to find in a bib… bib-li-cal story, but this was not the bib … oh, bible, this was real life. This was a real man, and one who had lived... through his fair share of hardships, if the scars and the lines that marred his face were anything to go by.’ Jack,” Abigail put the paper down for a moment, looking her son in the eye, “this is amazing so far. I could never formulate words the way that you do.”
“Thanks Ma, I appreciate it.” Jack smiled, and Abigail did too. She was blessed that, despite all of the hardships he had gone through, Jack was still a happy and polite kid. He still loved reading more than anything (she doubted that would ever change, but why should it, when it provided him a way to pass his time and gave him a way to be happy?) and had been working on writing since he was eight or nine. Ever since John had run into Mary-Beth about six months ago, however, she had been coming out to Beecher’s Hope every few months, not only helping around the farm, but also doing her best to work with Abigail on her reading and giving Jack pointers on his writing. Honestly, as long as Jack was happy, Abigail was content. She wasn’t alone anymore, like she had been for so long, she had a wonderful lover, a husband who cared for her even if the romance had faded away, and said husband’s lover to lighten up her life in ways she had never dreamed possible for someone like her.
“You two been okay while I was gone?” The door swung open, and Abigail turned around to see Sadie walking in, a pleasant smile on her face.
“Sadie!” Abigail cried, getting up from her place at the table and running over to the other woman, practically throwing herself into her arms and kissing her cheek gently.
Sadie chuckled, smoothing her hands over Abigail’s hair. “Oh come on, Abi, I didn’t leave you alone for that long, only eight hours or so.”
“Still, I missed you.” Abigail insisted, pulling back a bit to give Sadie some space. “D’you need anything? I bet you’re exhausted.”
“I’m alright, just need to rest a bit is all.” Sadie walked over to the table, peaking at the paper in front of Jack. “You still working on your story?”
“Yep. It’s coming along pretty well, too. Miss Gaskill said she should be able to make it over in two weeks or so, so I’m trying to get three more chapters written before then.”
“Ooh, Mary-Beth’s on her way? That’s great news! I hope John and Charles will be back from… wherever the hell they are before then so we can have a real party.”
“I’m hopeful they’ll be back too. It’s always great when everybody’s here.” Jack smiled.
“That it is.” Sadie agreed, moving to sit down in the empty chair to Jack’s left.
“Oh, I figure we should tell you; Ma’s been getting a lot better on her reading!”
“Hm, is that so?” Sadie glanced in Abigail’s direction, a small smile forming on her face as their eyes met.
“I mean, I suppose.” Abigail blushed, embarrassed by the attention. “
“Suppose? Ma, you got through three pages of my work in about fifteen minutes, and that’s including the time you took to write down the hard words and your notes and such. You’re doing amazingly well! Just wait until Mr. Jones and Pa and Miss Gaskill all find out, they’re gonna be blown away!”
“I’m pretty blown away too.” Sadie said, her eyes still locked onto Abigail’s. “You should be proud of yourself. Readin’ ain’t easy.”
Abigail somehow felt herself turning redder, and spun on her heel to go and work on sewing. She heard Sadie laugh behind her, the sound ringing out like brazen bells.
--
Abigail watched as Sadie changed into her nightdress, entranced. She was gorgeous, her sun-kissed figure nearly glowing in the low light. Something about the way that she went about unbuckling and unbuttoning every piece of clothing was enough to put Abigail in a spell. She still didn’t know how she had gotten so lucky so as to be with a woman so wonderful as her.
“I meant it when I said I missed you, y’know.” Abigail said.
Sadie turned around pulling her nightdress over her head. “And I meant it when I said I was proud of you.”
The comment had Abigail blushing again, biting her lip as she tried to avert her gaze from Sadie’s piercing eyes.
“I’m serious, Abi.” She walked over to the bed, taking a seat on the edge next to her. “Let me compliment you, please.”
“It ain’t anythin’ that really warrants a compliment. It’s pretty straightforward, I just need to get around to doin’ it more often.” Abigail laughed. “If I had started a bit earlier, I would probably be literate by now. And if I had more time I could dedicate to it, I’d be a hell of a lot closer.”
“I’d already say you’re pretty damn near literate now.” Sadie pressed a kiss to Abigail’s temple. “You can read Jack’s old books without a problem, and with someone’s help, you can read bigger works, like his work in progress.”
“I appreciate it Sadie, I really do, I just don’t know if it’s somethin’ that really warrants this much.”
“Well I sure as hell do.” Sadie reached her hand out, rubbing it softly in circles on Abigail’s thigh. “If anything, I think this kind of progress deserves a reward, don’t you?”
Abigail made a happy noise, resting her head on Sadie’s shoulder. “Not sure I’d say that much, but I’m the last person to be complaining.”
“Good.” Sadie reached her free hand out, turning so she faced Abigail and letting it rest on her cheek. “Because I’m gonna force you to be proud of yourself.”
Abigail wasn’t sure just who leaned in first, all she knew was that their lips eventually met and they were kissing, slow and warm and relaxing. Sadie slid the hand on Abigail’s cheek back, letting it tangle in her hair as she undid her braid. All the while, the hand on Abigail’s thigh kept stroking.
They broke apart momentarily, Abigail lifting her night dress up and over her head, casting it somewhere off the side of the bed. Sadie’s face lit up, and she eased Abigail down onto the mattress gently, kissing her once more, catching her bottom lip and nibbling gently.
“‘M gonna make you feel so good, Abi.” Sadie drew her hands up and along Abigail’s breasts, smiling at the breath that caught in her throat as she did so. “Just like you deserve.”
“Mm, why don’t you show me then, instead of tellin’ me?” she teased, unable to help herself. “Don’t you think that would be better?”
“Hm, maybe you’re right…” Sadie traced the outline of Abigail’s left nipple, smirking at the shaky gasp she let out. “Need to get you nice and wet for me first, though.”
“Then touch me where I need it.” Abigail sighed again as Sadie kept teasing her nipples, spreading her legs in an attempt to entice her lover. “Sadie…”
“Fine, you do deserve it after working so hard today.” Sadie let one of her hands dip down between Abigail’s legs, finding her clit and massaging in slow, steady circles. “This feel good?”
“Yes.” Abigail breathed out, arching her back into Sadie’s touch. “Don’t stop, please.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Sadie eased herself down, using her left elbow to support herself as she leaned over Abigail and whispered in her ear. “You’re so smart, d’you know that? You pick up on things so quickly, you always take the time to teach yourself about things, you think things through logically…” Sadie trailed off, scraping her teeth along the side of Abigail’s neck. “It’s attractive. It’s so attractive, Abigail. You’re so attractive.”
“Were you thinkin’ that earlier?” she asked, smiling as pleasure fizzed through her. “You sure were lookin’ at me like somethin’-- fuck, Sadie -- somethin’ was on your mind.”
“I sure was. Damn near wanted to kick Jack outta the house and take you right there on the table. But that’s not all. You wanna know what else I was thinkin’ about?” Sadie’s breath fanned down Abigail’s neck.
“What?”
Sadie pulled back a bit so she could get a better look at Abigail, smiling down at her as though she were the only thing in the world.
“I was thinkin’ about how lovely you are. How cute you are when you blush, how perfect you always are… you’re so attractive, Abi. You always have been.”
Sadie’s words drew a moan out of Abigail, who began to grind against her fingers. “Sadie, my love…”
“Shh, I gotcha. I’ve always gotcha.” Sadie moved her finger down Abigail’s slit, circling her entrance once, twice. “I think you’re wet enough now, my darling.”
Abigail had to bite down on her lip to try and keep herself at least somewhat quiet as Sadie slid into her, stroking at that soft spot. “Sadie, goodness…”
“I know, that feels really good.” Sadie added a second finger, leaning in and capturing Abigail’s lips with her own once more, this kiss more heated than any previous one.
Abigail felt her legs begin to shake as she neared her peak. She pushed Sadie off of her lightly to try and warn her, but Sadie was already a step ahead, moving her mouth down to Abigail’s neck and sucking gently on a spot her collar would cover.
When Sadie’s thumb pressed into her clit, both of her fingers crooking just right, that was all, the coil in Abigail’s stomach coming undone as Sadie covered her mouth with hers, lips and tongues crashing together as Abigail rode out her high. She couldn’t remember the last time she had come this hard for seemingly no reason, but she wasn’t about to complain, not when everything felt this good.
Sadie pulled back as Abigail began to calm down, her breath hot and heavy on Sadie’s forehead as Abigail pulled her flush against her chest.
“That good, Abi?” Sadie asked, kissing the top of a breast lightly.
“Stop sellin’ yourself short.” Abigail panted, running a hand through Sadie’s undone hair. “That was amazin’ and you know it.”
“You really did deserve it, Abi. I’m so proud of you.” Sadie kissed Abigail’s breast again, wrapping an arm around her. Abigail hummed.
“I’ll take your word for it, then. If every time I do well on somethin, this is the reward I’ll get, I’m gonna be readin’ until I pass out from exhaustion.” she laughed.
“Just keep it at, Abi. I know you’ve got this, and you’re only gonna get better. You’ll be literate one day, and that day just keeps on gettin’ closer with every bit of progress you make.”
Abigail sighed happily. “Let’s both look forward to it, then.”
#rdrsapphicweek2021#sadigail#sadie adler#abigail roberts#abigail roberts marston#abigail marston#jack marston#my writing#fanfic#rdr2#rdr2 community#rdr2 fandom#rdr2 fanfic#red dead fandom#red dead redemption#red dead redemption 2#wlw
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I AM SORRY FOR THIS SKELLE BUT I MUST: 5 (kidnapping them was the only way I was going to get them here),6 (let's make a deal, shall we?) and 41 (can you teach me how to do that) with the demon bull fam and mk with a little hint of 64 (I may have eaten seven of them already). NOW GO HAM MY DUDE
Oh I had way too much fun with this one. I took S2E4 (spoilers mentioned for that!) and some tweets made by one of the show producers on the same day as fuel for a very silly idea I had. I don't write what can be considered "Crack treated seriously" (or at least semi-seriously, this is not a 100% serious fic) often but when I do I go hard. This is more focused on MK and others than SpicyNoodles so it's a bit more gen fic than a full on ship fic as well.
Kidnapping them was the only way I was going to get them here/Let's make a deal, shall we?/Can you teach me how to do that?/I may have eaten seven of them already.
"Red..." MK started off slowly, watching as his boyfriend's face flushed and twisted in embarrassment. "Can you tell me why your mother showed up at my apartment and used her wind vortex thing to teleport us here without an explanation? And then left us in your..." He looked around, noting that aside from the excessively large throne and two smaller thrones beside it this room looked like a... "Living room? On a couch?"
"I can-" Red Son started, raising a hand before pausing a frowning deeply. "Actually, no, I can't explain. This is just weird, even by my parent's standards. I have no idea what is going on, but since you're still here..." He shrugged with a hopeful smile, shaky through the uncertainty. "Maybe it's not bad? I mean, if Mother was truly upset or wanted to do something bad surely she would have not left us to our own devices. Maybe she’s... uh... happy I finally have a boyfriend?”
At the pointed raise of an eyebrow from MK that hopeful smile faltered a bit. Happy Red Son had a boyfriend for the first time in a couple centuries? Under different circumstances he wouldn't doubt that! Happy when that boyfriend was MK?
Oh he did doubt that.
He knew that they shouldn't have been sneaking around the way they had been. It had made sense at first, two people on opposite sides of a feud lasting centuries who discovered they actually enjoyed spending time together more than fighting each other. One who decided he very much would rather not follow through with any kind of domination and see his family hurt, who realized "actually my sworn nemesis isn't so bad", and another who decided "my life is already weird enough, why not give this befriending my enemy thing a shot".
And then one thing lead to another and before they knew it their secret friend meet up became a secret boyfriend meet up. They'd managed to keep everything under wraps for a while (except from Mei because, well... she was his best friend! He couldn't not tell someone and she would have found out fast if he wasn't obvious, and she had quickly become a mutual source of support for both of them), though MK knew Pigsy and the others knew something was up. They didn't question him, though, aside from the occasional good natured jab. "Wow MK, you seem happy today. Got any plans?" and that sort of thing. They seemed to trust him to make his own decisions, as long as he was happy and healthy and eventually told them. (Sun Wukong, however, may have caught in a little when he jokingly asked if MK had gotten a boyfriend and MK had choked on his drink. He never brought it up specifically after that but he was smart. Too smart.)
Red Son, on the other hand, was fantastic at keeping secrets when he tried. Or MK thought he was... the last few months gave no indication that either of his parents had discovered their little sneaky rendezvous. Then Princess Iron Fan broke into his apartment and, well, here they are. Clearly something had gone wrong somewhere along the line.
Before MK could follow through with any questions of whether or not there could be a fate worse than instant death that involved lulling him into a false sense of security, the two men froze at the sound of quickly approaching voices.
“Could this not have been done another way, my dear?”
“Kidnapping them was the only way I was going to get them here, you know that. Noodle Boy is not that gullible, contrary to what we first believed.”
Ah... shit... Red Son’s parents.
Mk quickly ran through all the possessions he had in his apartment and wondered if he had time to text Mei or Pigsy the world’s fastest will and testament and if that would be legally binding. He just hoped he had something for Pigsy to handle the Phantom Orderer they'd had for the last year.
They always ordered on the app and prepaid and managed to leave him a sizeable tip in his tuk-tuk after he dropped off the food at whatever random location they indicated.
"Good," PIF's voice rang clear, far faster than he could even attempt to pull out his phone, and MK turned to see that she was casually lounging on the shoulder of the Demon Bull King. She jumped down, her wind lightening her fall so much so that she barely made a sound when her feet touched ground. "You've made yourself comfortable."
MK couldn't bring himself to move, as much as he very dearly wanted to run away as quickly as possible. Yes, he was The Monkie Kid and had progressed far enough that he could probably escape without much problem. Yes, he and DBK had had an understanding after the White Bone Spirit and Lunar New Year Festival (though he still didn't know if PIF ever found out about that one). Yes, Princess Iron Fan had shown little interest in him before and had even worked beside him with no complaints (she didn't even care enough to attack during the Food Wars thing!). But that was all before she apparently found out he was dating her son behind her back while they were technically still enemies.
He was glad at that moment that she had grabbed them before they went to get lunch... his stomach was doing back flips that would make a gymnast jealous.
"Uh, yes Miss-Mrs-Muh-M- Princess Iron... Fan?" MK couldn't help but stutter awkwardly, holding onto the hem of his jacket and worrying it as he tried to keep his composure. He looked beside him, watching as Red sat straighter and kept an even expression on his face that he couldn't quite place. His hair seemed to spark softly.
Though she raised a brow at this, PIF didn't comment on that at all. Instead she made her way to the other couch across from them as opposed to what was clearly supposed to be her throne, leaning forward right her elbows on her knees and her fingers laced together in front of her. DBK stopped behind her, seemingly content to stay standing.
"Noodle Boy... you prefer to go by MK, is that correct?" She started, and he nodded slowly in confused response. "Hmn... so. You've been dating my son for quite some time. Many months... no, a bit over a year if I am not mistaken in how long his behavior has changed." 'Oh shit' went MK's brain. "You must be quite serious, if you're willing to go through so much just to see each other. Late night meetings. Secret hideaways. Sneaking onto Flower Fruit Mountain, even." 'Oh SHIT' it repeated in horror. "That's quite the dedication to show toward anyone... I hate to admit it, but I am quite impressed." 'OH SH-wait what?'
"Bw-huh?" Was what MK managed out, half a sound that was almost a word and half a squeak of confusion.
"The fact I myself remained oblivious until only a few weeks ago is quite something. Let's make a deal, shall we?" She continued, sitting back straight and looking like the proud Princess she was and not like a woman sitting on a couch that looked comically small in front of her enormous husband. "You and Red Son no longer have to hide your relationship from us and in exchange..." she paused, as if relishing the building tension between herself and the couple before her. "You will come over at least once a week so we can get to actually know you properly."
MK froze. Red Son froze even more.
Then his entire head lit ablaze as he jumped up and gestured at his mother with a gaping mouth. "Th-that's it!? I-I was... I was RIGHT!?"
PIF barely reacted to this, merely lounging sideways as she put her elbow on the arm of the couch and rested her cheek on her hand.
"Whatever you were right about, I suppose you were. But yes," she shrugged, honestly looking... kinda happy? "Has this been about a year ago I perhaps would not have understood what you saw in Nood-MK. But I can see how happy you have been lately, and there's something about him that is like... what did you say he was like, darling?" She turned to DBK, who shrugged himself with an unreadable expression.
"A ball of sunshine given human form."
... that was not what MK ever expected to hear from the Demon Bull King's mouth...
"Yes, that's it," she nodded as if this was completely normal and ignored how Red Son flopped back down onto the couch and stared at the ceiling. "I'd hate to admit it, but you've grown on us through out sparse interactions. Somehow. And we have been eagerly waiting for the day we could finally welcome someone into our son's life. So what do you say? Do we have a deal?"
She seemed... serious. MK may not know her that well, but it was clear to anyone when she wasn't being so.
"Uh... o-ok? Sure?" MK said softly, nodding in amazement as DBK and PIF actually smiled at this.
This was the strangest day of his life, beating our every single demon fight and even the day he got the Monkey King's staff. But he'd take this strangeness over the alternative 500 times over.
"Excellent," DBK nodded himself, there was a lot of that about. "That seems to have worked out n-"
Everyone paused at a loud grumble echoed the room, all turning to Red Son as he flared up in embarrassment this time.
"Don't look at me like that, we were supposed to eat half an hour ago and I am starving," Red Son grumbled as he sat up, not looking anyone in the eye. "I don't suppose we could. Eat now? Please?"
Despite the situation, MK couldn't help but smile at his pouting.
"I could bring us some food from Pigsy's?" MK offered in an attempt to contribute. Something. "I mean, I know Red likes it and you kinda seemed to like it the one time you tried it and... uh... yeah."
"Actually... I may have eaten seven of them already..." PIF admitted, looking away in embarrassment. "l've tried not to give into the temptation, but your father's noodles from the Food Wars were so... I just can't resist ordering some secretly after 5 or so weeks!"
"So you're the phantom orderer!" MK gasped out in shock, but after a moment he frowned and rubbed the back of his head. He had a bit of an idea. "Well... I could... make some for us instead?" He ammended his offered softly. "I may not make it exactly like Pigsy does, but I can get pretty close as long as you have the ingredients! And you wouldn't have to worry about me going there and coming back! We can eat like. Immediately!"
"I think that sounds acceptable," PIF said with a nod as she stood, but MK could see a bit of excitement sparkling in her usually cold eyes. "Come, Red Son. I need to discuss some upgrades the Bull Clones have been asking for with you. Your father can assist him in the kitchen until we are done."
Red looked over at MK and only stood to follow his mother once he nodded, giving his father a pointed look before exited the room. MK, in the meantime, looking up at DBK with a gulp and followed him as he lead the way toward their kitchen.
It was... well, bigger than he was used to. But pretty normal, regal size and decor aside. And it seemed, once he was given the nod of ok from his host (and wasn't that a bizarre thing, DBK and PIF being his hosts on a home visit to his boyfriend's parents... he was going to need to get used to that) he checked the fridge and counters and found he had just about everything he needed to make what he had in mind.
"Can you teach me how to do that?" DBK asked after a moment, startling MK into nearly dropping the sauce he needed for the broth. "Not the recipe itself, just..." He gestured to the counter. "Red Son has a bit of a proclivity toward cooking and he's been trying to get me involved, but we've never cooked anything like. That."
His words were awkward and stilted, but MK could tell he was trying. The same way he could tell PIF wasn't kidding with her offer. They just seemed to... want to get to know him as a potential... son-in-law... huh.
"Sure, but you're gonna want to shrink down a bit for this."
Lunch turned out amazing and, while awkward (much like most of the day)... it was nice not to have to hide their dating for once. And Red actually seemed pretty happy! Though he learned quickly that the Monkey King was still a bit of an (understandably) sore subject that was best avoided. For now.
Maybe not forever though.
(When PIF very not subtly dropped him and Red Son both off inside Pigsy's Noodles after their lunch, the only response he got was a "oh, so they finally found out huh? Looks like things went well" from Pigsy and Tang. Maybe he wasn't as sneaky as he thought he was...)
#monkie kid#lego monkie kid#gen fic#mk#qi xiaotian#red son#spicynoodleshipping#dbk and pif#pif may be one of least favorite characters in the show for a few reasons#but even she can have good moments in my fics from time to time#crack treated seriously#i love that i can use that tag#ship fic but only just
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