. - @chaosangel767

▌𝐁𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝟐.𝟎 - 𝐀 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞’𝐬 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐛𝐲 𝐱𝐱𝐬𝐲𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 @chaosangel767

For the second time, Chaya and I decided to come up with a prompt list and put together a challenge in order to celebrate Valentine's day together with all of you! ❤ You can check out last year's challenge here.

💌 This is a content creation challenge that uses a list of 14 prompts. This is not limited to writers, so you may join with any form of art!   💌 Targeted towards but not limited to otome fandoms. (IkeSeries (Ikemen Vampire, Ikemen Prince, Ikemen Sengoku, Ikemen Revolution, Ikemen Villain, Ikemen Genjiden); Tears of Themis; MLQC; MysMe; Voltage games; Obey me!, etc.)  💌 The challenge takes place from February 1st to February 14th. Remember not to stress over the posting dates and do only as many as you wish, in whatever order you want! 💌 @chaosangel767 Will create a masterlist featuring all works as well as their creators. The deadline is February 28th. After that, you can still post your works, but they won't be added to the masterlist. 💌 You can expect the masterlist to be up around March 3rd. 💌 When creating your works, you can use the tags #be my valentine ccc and #be my valentine content creation challenge for others to find it. Additionally, you may tag us in your posts so we can find them easily when making the masterlist! Posting to other sites is fine as well, as long as you mention the challenge and its creators. 💌 Any additional rules are up to the content creators. The genre and rating of your works is up to you as long as you mark your nsfw content accordingly. You’re totally free to take requests using this list. 

You can always come and ask additional questions if you have any! Our DMs are open!

Happy Creating!

[ Under the cut you will find the 14 prompts in a blank format. ]

"I've been hit with Cupid's arrow."

[ credits for the prompt: @voltage-vixen ]

2. "Why, look at that! Our hands fit just perfectly, don't you think?" 3. Feeding them a chocolate-coated strawberry with the mouth 4. Scavenger hunt ending in a date 5. "You know, whenever I look at you, I immediately feel like everything is going to be okay." 6. "I knew I could find you at our secret spot." 7. Getting them a bouquet of their favorite flowers 8. Corny pick-up lines 9. "Are those hearts in your eyes that I am seeing?" 10. Slurring out a love confession in the heat of the moment 11. "You taught me the meaning of love." 12. Saving the situation after a burnt romantic dinner 13. "No matter what anyone says, you're perfect for me." 14. "I didn't think it was possible to love someone this much."

🍕 𝙒𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙈𝙤𝙤𝙣 𝙃𝙞𝙩𝙨 𝙔𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙀𝙮𝙚 𝙇𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝘼 𝘽𝙞𝙜 𝙋𝙞𝙯𝙯𝙖 𝙋𝙞𝙚,

► A story about Italian vampires, secret admirers, and pizza.

Galileo x MC • rating: G • wordcount: 1,863 • characters: mc, galileo, francis, leonardo, napoleon, comte, dazai • tags: Pizza; Secret admirer; Romance; Cliché; Feelings Realization; Crack treated seriously  • masterlist

a/n: I don't know. I don't know.

I blame the English Ikesen twitter for informing me it's international pizza day (in a very creative way), which led to me going "haha three italians in ikevamp" which made me remember one very bad movie full of pizza and cliché, which led to me coming up with this. I don't even like pizza that much.

Idk if I should label this as crack, but don't take it seriously either way.

MC and Galileo's first encounter described in this fic is canon and you can read a translation of it here - many thanks to @cirillafionariannon

I wanted to try my hand at writing for our new two vamps, and this could also be an early Valentine's Day fic! Hope you enjoy!

Fun statistics!: the word pizza appears 33 times in this fic.

Leonardo was in Comte's room, lounging around with a drink and listening about his friend's most recent trip to the 21st century. While Leonardo was a man with passion for knowledge, not everything that Comte talked in great detail about was to Leonardo's interest. Mind trailing off in random directions while supposedly continuing to be a good listener, he suddenly feels the need to interrupt his friend.

Waving a hand in the air and looking over the Gucci shades that Comte actually bought for himself, he motions a pause.

"Forget about that, tell me if they made an International Pizza Day in the future yet."

"…Why, there actually is a day like that. It's the 9th of February, if I remember right."

***

With a little over a week remaining until Pizza Day, or Just Another Thursday as 19th century Parisians know it, Leonardo mobilizes the mansion into preparing something grandiose for the occasion.

"We're going to feed the whole of Paris with pizza."

MC blinks in apparent bewilderment. With the amount of crazy stuff happening around the mansion already, one would think that feeding the whole of Paris with pizza would find its place low in her list.

They're all gathered in the kitchen as if it's some kind of conference hall, with Leonardo using a blackboard to illustrate his schemes. So far he's drawn just one giant pizza taking all of the blackboard. He taps the chalk against the board.

"Think of it as a charity. While everyone would be free to help as well as consume, we'll prioritize those who are in need."

Dazai raises a hand. "Let me guess, you always wanted to invent a giant stove and this is your mastermind plan."

Leonardo enthusiastically points at Dazai with the chalk in his hand, "Esatto! But not exactly a stove. While fixing various gadgets for people in town, I had this idea of making a massive hot plate," he draws an oval under the oval supposed to be pizza, "which is a metal plate heated by charcoal underneath. Some of you will help me assemble it, others will get the word around town. And for those who are incompetent with cooking pizza…"

"I can give out a lesson or two." Napoleon says, with a raised hand. "I love the idea. I have volunteered in food banks a couple of times already around town. I'd be glad to help."

"Heh, Napoleon, knew you had that Italian blood still running hot in you. Alright then, it's settled."

***

MC is in her bed, staring a hole through the wall. Eating in bed is something she rarely indulges in, moreso if it's pizza, but she can't help it. As she chews with eyes squinted in deep concentration, she tries and tries to make just any connection between recent events and the possible reason behind all of this.

Just a couple of days ago, some white haired guy with a half-up hairstyle started coming to the mansion.

"Pizza delivery! Miss, that's for you. You don't owe anything. Enjoy! Bye!"

Wait, pizza delivery in the 19th century? It was strange the first time, and it's still strange the tenth time it happened. Some of the residents advised she don't eat it, but in the course of events (and hunger) she found out that's some damn good pizza. The best she had ever since she came here. And it was addressed to her. Is this a secret admirer situation?! Very strange.

Of course she suspected Leonardo. With his pizza hype recently it only made sense, but also that would be too easy. Placing the box on the nightstand, she sighs and goes over the possible leads in her head one more time.

***

The next day she takes Napoleon's pizza cooking class and conveniently stays behind until everyone else leaves the kitchen - namely Vincent, Mozart, and Jean. Napoleon takes the bait and praises her efforts at perfecting her pizza-cooking skills, being more than willing to give her some extra lessons.

Then they have clichéd and intimate dough kneading moment where he stands behind her and guides her hands; she pokes her nose into some private topics as carefully as she could, taking the conversation in the direction of love and cooking a meal full of love. Still, nothing she samples for the sake of learning tastes nearly the same as that same pizza delivered to the mansion's door every night.

***

Looking out of the window up at the moon that is nearly full, MC can't help but remember about a recent encounter with a strange man. It happened when she had to deliver some Blanc to Isaac who was working late at the university. In one classroom there was a white haired man with beautiful purple eyes looking through an old-fashioned telescope. There was something intriguing about him; about the shooting star they saw together, the timing, his comment about "still looking at the stars even in this day and age". The name he introduced himself with. All of it, full of mystery.

And yet the biggest mystery of her life currently revolves around pizza.

***

The man with white half-up hair approaches the merchant brig ship has recently docked at the Seine. Night has long fallen but the light inside is unmistakable; of course it's his friend baking pizza again. On his ship, nonetheless.

"Again, Galileo? That's the sixth time this week. I'm not going out this time. And please be careful not to burn down the ship, okay?"

The other whitehaired man doesn't as much as acknowledge the other's presence, too absorbed in his craft. The parmesan falls from between his fingers like a snowstorm over a tomato-red sea; in the next second he's at the cutting board; going left and right like a madman. Or like someone inlove.

The other sighs.

"I'm hearing something about a pizza charity in town. Basically everyone's gonna cook a giant pizza together and then give pieces away. Sounds like your thing, eh?"

Galileo's eyes dart towards his friend for a mere second, his hands never pausing.

"Where are you taking all my pizzas to, anyway? And I'm not participating."

"As you wish."

He exits the kitchen, opting for the company of the moon outside instead. The gentle lull of the waves make him crave a nap ever if it's technically close to his sleeping time. He notices the telescope nearby, unused by his friend in some time, which is awfully unusual of him.

"Man, this stress-cooking is going to ruin him."

***

The day finally arrives. The masses are buzzing around the square where Leonardo shows his invention that aims to leave everyone with a stomach full of delicious pizza, so long as there are enough hands to help. And they are. Soon the place gets overcrowded, the air smells like heaven, and the chilly February day gets as hot as a midsummer one.

All MC can think about is her secret admirer. With all the pizza being passed around and under her nose, she swears she's not crazy when she claims she didn't catch a whiff of That One Pizza. Will the whitehaired man be here today? Is it him, after all, stating that all he does is deliver it to her door, yet lying? No, there was no trace of such feelings in his demeanor; not the thrill of seeing her, nor the hope of learning something more about her in those short encounters. He was merely a proxy. But whose?

Defeated, the reason why the smile hasn't already left her face is solely the fact that she saw a lot of happy people today. Pizza really does bring people together; Leonardo was right all along. He was excellent at what he did, but he did it only with the people in mind; not a lover, much less her. She liked helping him today. And Napoleon too, who thankfully didn't think anything about her strange behavior the other day.

***

With the sound of street musicians who joined the celebration drifting in the distance, MC walks along the Seine, admiring the moonlight dancing on the surface. The noise and the hustle had gotten to her, so this little walk was welcomed, and it matched the feeling in her heart. The emptiness wasn't only there, though.

"Haha… I made so much pizza yet it seems like I didn't eat anything all day."

"I can see that. The growling of this belly of yours could be heard all the way here."

Eyes widening at the sound of that voice, she looks at the direction of a docked ship. The man exiting it seemed familiar, along with the voice, and it took just a couple of seconds to remember.

"Ahh, you're the…"

"The man with the telescope. I didn't think we'd meet again."

Right, this is the man who introduced himself as Galileo. The silence was awkward, his earlier comment not helping much, but she still felt good about seeing a familiar face. Though, they're barely more than strangers. Or maybe after having their second encounter, they're not strangers anymore?

MC stares at the fullmoon high in the sky, and surprisingly, so does Galileo. She giggles and breaks the silence.

"It's like a big pizza pie."

That's the single most absurd thing Galileo Galilei has ever heard in his life, being a person who devoted himself to astrology.

He scuffs at her remark, too taken aback to even say anything that won't ridicule her. He decides to spare her.

"So? Are you hungry? I've got some pizza on the ship."

Ah, pizza again.

"Sounds great."

Hoping for a distraction, she followed him on the ship. If anything, with all the pizza flavors she tasted recently, her palate would hopefully forget about the one that her secret admirer makes for her. What a silly story. She's sure it all ends tonight, the person likely pranking the whole of Comte's mansion in relation to the whole pizza cooking event or something.

"What a yummy smell. I must be really hungry. Did you make this yourself, Galileo?"

The man visibly tenses a little, possibly at the fact that she remembers his name. He should've given her a different one, after all.

"Yes."

MC bites into the piece, mind elsewhere. She wonders if she'll be sick of pizza ever since today.

Wait.

The flavors clash in her receptors and realization hits all at once; she looks at Galileo.

This taste!

"It's you."

The man with the beautiful purple eyes hums at her, without a clue what she is talking about. He hasn't shared his pizza recipe with everyone other than Francis, the look of recognition on MC's face not making sense to him.

He would soon come to know; but not tonight.

With the assurance that she must be mistaking him for someone else; and with the need to help her get home due to the late hour, their second encounter soon comes to an end.

And for Galileo, who barely kept his composure in the face of the one he strangely fell hopelessly inlove with, he swears he'll make sure this time it truly would be their last.

Unless the stars have other plans for him.

Taglist: @arsnovacadenza @ale-teodora @kimi00twin @otomelady @privilegedpancake @g-kleran   @pumpumnnnp @thesirenwashere @ravenarld @kimmy-banana @devonares @animeworldsposts @randomanimatedhusbandoseeker @galaxyprison @sadshaxk @starshards26 @pro-cat-stination @acethephoenix256 @ikevamp-shrine-2 @nad-zeta @crystal13unny @keen19thcenturygoatsstudent @lordsister @ikemen-banshou  @themysticalbeing @canaria-blackwell @otome-scribbles @rhodolitesrose @coornn @kpop-and-otome @queen-dahlia @kisara-16 @chaosangel767 @ikemenlibrary @queengiuliettafirstlady @aurora-morning @aquagirl1978 ​ @ikemenlover24 @violettduchess @mcofthemansion @tiny-wooden-robot @joy-the-reader @katriniac @ikemen-writer @tele86 Let me know if you want to be tagged/untagged!

OMG OMG OMG I JUST THAT THIS IS THE LAST DAY TO REQUEST TvT. I hope I'm not too late. I wanted to ask for Sariel, Litch, Chevalier and Clavis. Secret lovers. Pairing with MC ofc. Again I hope I'm not too late. Lots of love from me. I love you. AAAAAAH I LOVE YOU😩 YOU'RE AMAZING

Ok tq sorry for the sudden love declaration but I still love you💅

A/N: Here you are, @ludivineikewolf 💜 Thank you for the kind words and for the request!

Word Count: 1706

Licht Klein

There is something fearful in Licht that still has its claws sunk deep in his heart. Something that still breathes hot worry through its chamber like Dust Bowl wind across a faded prairie. He knows he is not a faction leader, but his prowess on the field of battle is known. He is renowned for his military mind, for his expertly trained soldiers. Licht Klein is a name that would make most men think twice. And it is because of this, he says, that he wants to keep your relationship secret. He has enemies and they must not know how close you are to him.

Night has fallen over Rhodolite and deep within the heart of the palace, you lay in his arms. Though his skin is warm against yours, though you are safe within the circle of his embrace, though your limbs are heavy with the exhaustion of your lovemaking, you can’t help but tilt your head up to look at him in profile, wakefulness buzzing in your mind like a swarm of insects. Thankfully, Licht is asleep. His rubine eyes are closed, his breathing is slow and even. His face holds a peace in it that almost breaks your heart at how rare the sight is. 

You love him with the strength of your whole heart, with the force of every breath you take, with a ferocity that could bring a mountain to its knees. And all of that is held tight, locked inside yourself, but threatening to burst free at any moment. Because how can you keep your gaze from finding him across a room? How can his voice, the one you know can be soft and cloying and whisper its desperate need and gentlest love for you, how can it not turn your head? A boot presses down on your heart every time you force those feelings down and away, back into the shadows. 

He is uneasy, afraid of what loving him may cost you. But you ask yourself, as your gaze wanders his sleeping visage, could the cost of hiding it be even greater?

Sariel Noir

You know it’s wrong. He knows it’s wrong. There are so many reasons why it is simply wrong. He is your tutor. He is an important member of the administrative arm of the palace, if not the most important person aside from the princes themselves. You are his student, learning all you can about your role as Belle. You are a commoner, unfamiliar with the palace aside from it being some distant entity that has always loomed over your life like a star in the night sky. Far away, untouchable, yet ever-present. All this and more should be enough to keep each other at arm’s length, to maintain those boundaries between you as solidly as a stone wall of propriety. 

And yet....even now....your feet are carrying you down darkened hallways, up winding steps within narrow tower walls, dusty with disuse. At the top your hand finds the dull, worn brass door handle and pulls, the wood creaking a testament to age and dereliction. You shouldn’t be here, sneaking around like a thief in the night...but there. There is his figure silhouetted by moonlight. He stands at the small window, looking down on the distant, empty courtyard. Your breath catches in your throat. The moon is a loving artist, painting his pale skin with radiant silver, his dark hair in glistening argent light. For once, he is not moving, not writing, not reading, not hurrying from one meeting to the next. He is perfectly still, his dark violet gaze never leaving the glass. Maybe you should leave. Some part of you, some tiny thorn that has dug its way into your mind, is telling you that would be the right thing to do.

You step backwards and the floorboards creak underfoot. He turns and you are lost. One look at his face, at the way his breath caught at the sight of you, at the sudden flash of light in those amethyst eyes, and you know that backwards was never an option. It will always be forwards, always towards him.

You meet in the middle, mouths finding one another, bodies pressed tightly together, held that way by strong arms and blazing hearts. As you drink him in, as you stumble together over the wooden floor toward the bed of this long-forgotten guest suite, the one whose sheets have been unobtrusively replaced with clean, soft linens, you know in the deepest part of your heart and quietest part of your soul that for him, for this, the risk is worth everything.

Clavis Lelouch

You and Clavis have been through many obstacles during your time as Belle. And while that time has come to end, the challenges haven’t. Because of all the things Clavis may be, he is still a prince. And you are still a commoner. And in the eyes of the nobility, your worlds are as incompatible as oil and water. But you love him, this one-of-a-kind man of yours, this golden-eyed song your heart can’t stop singing. And he loves you. Of all the people in all of Rhodolite, you have captured his affection and devotion and passion and there is no way you are ever going to let it go.

And so your love for one another has become good at sliding through shadows. A visit for tea with the princes that ends in a dark alcove, exchanging kisses sweeter than any baked treat. A stroll through the palace gardens in palest moonlight, arm in arm, whispered laughter drifting across roses as dark as pomegranate seeds. Nights in your small bedroom, in your cozy cottage, listening to the pitter-patter of raindrops on your roof while nestled together safe and warm under your patched bed quilt. 

Now the sun is just readying itself for its daily climb, the first rosy-fingers of dawn testing their grip on the dusky, pre-dawn sky. Clavis groans, his hands clasped tightly over yours, whispered curses at the sunrise already falling from his lips. You burrow closer against him, your body wrapped around his from behind. As much as you love feeling sheltered in his arms, you can’t deny there is a satisfaction in being the one to hold him like this, to press your forehead against the bare skin between his shoulder blades, as if willing all your thoughts of love and lust to sink into his skin, to become a part of him. 

“I have to go, my love.” If ever a man sounded like he disliked the feel of words in his mouth, it is Clavis right now. With a groan to emphasize how much he hates what he said, he rolls over, turning to face you. “Oh no,” he murmurs as his gaze locks with yours. “This is so much worse. Now I won’t be able to leave at all.” He reaches out, his fingers pushing your loose hair away from your bare shoulder, then drops his hand to the soft skin there, his touch lingering. A sigh is torn from your chest and he shakes his head. “I know that sound. You’re going to be cruel.”

“It isn’t Chevalier you’re meeting with today. And you were late last time.” If it were Chevalier, Clavis may very well stay in your arms for another few hours. The King never once said a word about his brother’s more frequent absences or tardiness. You know Clavis has been pushing himself even harder, getting all his work done and then some so Chevalier would have no reason to complain. But you also suspect the king already knows and does not care. Maybe some part of that cool heart is even happy for Clavis. But the men he is meeting with this morning would not be happy if they knew. Not at all. They are nobility of the old guard, the kind who look down their noses at anyone without a title and would certainly file official complaints if they even suspected a prince of Rhodolite was acting so callously as to have an affair with a commoner. Even if it was one who had been chosen as Belle. 

He knows you are right and it hurts to see the way his eyes dim. His hand slides across your shoulder to the back of your neck. Leaning forward, he pulls you close for one last kiss. He tastes like the sweetness of adoration tinged with the bitterness of necessary departure.

There is a knock at your front door. Two short raps, then one final, stronger one. Cyran’s code for “Get moving.” The kiss breaks as another soft curse leaves his lips before he summons all the willpower he has to pull away from you. You slide out of bed, not one to linger there when he has spent the night. His absence only makes it feel empty and cold. You dress, neither one looking at the other. The lightening sky brings misery along with it. Not wanting him to see the pain in your eyes, you keep your back to him, a hand pressed over your mouth to stifle any soft cry that escapes the tight back of your throat.

He knows anyway. He feels the same noose tightening around his heart. There are no jokes, no quips. He slides one arm around you from behind, pressing a kiss just behind your ear. “Just a few days. Then you’re coming to the palace to deliver those books for Chev.” You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to stop the flow of tears that threaten to spill over. “That’s the weekend of the Diplomat’s Ball. I can’t stay.” Too many nobles, too many unfamiliar servants, too many eyes and ears. His moment of silence speaks louder than any words. A heartbeat. Two. Then he speaks. “We’ll find a way, little bunny. We always do.”

Cyran knocks again, irritation practically traveling along the soundwaves. Clavis kisses your cheek, the tenderness almost rendering your heart in two. He whispers against your soft skin: “Remember who loves you.” And then he is nothing but the sound of boots as they leave your bedroom, hurry down the short hallway and turn into the slamming of the door. Closing your eyes tightly is a failure. The tears streaming down your cheeks have triumphed, once again.

Chevalier Michel

He does not see the point in hiding your relationship. Anyone who does not like it, be damned. Or meet the end of his sword. 

(They are very likely the same thing.)

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @alixennial @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @ikemen-writer @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @redheadkittys @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @kpop-and-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @queen-dahlia @aceuuuuu @scorchieart @bubblexly

Leonardo request: he and mc break up (he breaks up with her so she will go back to her time and she does), and now it is her time and she runs into him after she has been back in her time for a while and he has lived through the years until he has finally caught up with her

if it is a happy reunion or painful because she is with someone, I leave up to you!

A/N: Here you go, lovely Bellerose. Thank you for your request!

Leonardo x female Reader

I had to pick a hair color for the reader in this, which I usually don't, so I apologize if that bothers anyone.

Word Count: 3157

You would think there is nothing that can rival the beauty of a moonlit lake, a sky littered with silvery stars, the soft whisper of grass as it's ruffled by a gentle wind. But the enchanting scene surrounding you is nothing compared to the glow of Leonardo’s golden eyes, the softness in his smile, the feel of his hands as they hold yours. His gaze lights a warmth inside you that spreads slowly like honey, sweet and delicious. He leans down and you rise to meet him, lips already parted in anticipation. 

It is not what you imagined. 

It is so much more. 

He tastes vaguely smoky, evoking the comfort of a fire on a cold night. And sweet, but not excessively so. More like chocolate and hazelnuts, rich and earthy and absolutely decadent. As he wraps his arms around you and pulls you close to the shelter of his body, you find another word to describe what kissing him feels like: home.

Leonardo extends his hand, helping you up into the carriage. The door closes and soon you are rolling over the uneven cobblestone streets, away from the concert hall. He’s tucked you under the protection of his arm, unable to resist the urge to hold you close. Even at night, when you are curled up in his bed, he needs to touch you. Maybe it’s only his ankle over yours or his hand on your back, but you are his lifeline to finding joy in the endless, weary march of time and he wants every single moment possible to be filled with you. 

Your sigh pulls him out of his reverie and he turns to look at you. Your sparkling diamond earrings swing gently with the swaying of the carriage as you look out the window and at the darkened city that rolls by outside of it. 

“Cara mia? Is everything ok?”

It takes you a moment to tear your gaze away from the glass, shaking your head as if clearing away cobwebs. 

“I’m fine. It’s just….” You trail off and he frowns slightly, nudging you with his lips to your temple.

“It’s just?”

He feels the way you sigh again, with your whole body, a wave passing from you to him. Whatever you’re feeling weighs on you heavily.

“The song Mozart played. ‘Sonata facile.’ My mother taught me to play that on the piano. And she knew it because her mother taught her. And I just always thought….” You lift your shoulder in a small shrug, glancing at the darkness through the window again. “I just thought I would teach it to my children someday.”

His heart feels like it's been dropped with sudden speed into a frozen lake, splintering as it crashes through the ice. Grateful you’re not facing him, he takes a moment to compose himself before speaking, his tone deceptively casual. “Children were a part of the plan then, yeah?”

Your earrings swing, glittering even as you speak in a quiet voice, hushed like dusk as it settles across the sky. “I was an only child with parents that were often away on business. That could be….lonely, sometimes. So I promised myself that I would have lots of children so there would always be noise in the house. And so they would always have someone to play with.” 

It is impossible for him to miss the flash of sadness that crosses your features, subtle like lightning too distant to be bright but unmistakable nonetheless. Long fingers of cold wrap themselves around his heart. What you have dreamed of for yourself is something he cannot give you. Something he will never be able to give you.

Even as you sigh again, nestling closer to him, resting your sweet cheek against his shoulder, he can’t shake it. 

And spends the rest of the carriage ride avoiding the sight of the darkness outside the window. 

The dishrag hits the marble counter with a satisfying whack. Untying your apron, you bid Sebastian a good night as you make your way out of the kitchen, your steps hurried as you make your way towards Leonardo’s room. Worry had been gnawing at you ever since you returned home from the concert last night. 

He had been unusually quiet, almost distracted in a way you were not familiar with from him. You asked him to unhook your gown and there was no provocative curve of his lips, no low sensuous murmuring. He had simply undone your gown and then proceeded to undress himself, the motions perfunctory, almost careless. It was only when you had joined him in bed after removing your jewelry and unpinning your hair, when you had slid your arms around him and pulled him to you, stretching yourself under him like a cat in its favorite patch of sunshine, that he returned to you, lowering his head to claim your lips, his hands coming to life as they slid their way over the curve of your hips, across the span of your ribcage before finally sliding up into the expanse of your soft auburn hair.

And even then, when he made love to you, it had felt….different. He was slow, exploring the entire expanse of your body, deliberately lingering, as if committing every part of it to memory. True, you had only been intimate a handful of times, but the times before this were electric, your body feeling like it might overload and burst like lightning, illuminating the whole mansion with the force of your radiance. But last night you were embers, glowing with the warmth of his slow, tender attention. And when it was over, you lay with your cheek against his heart, its steady rhythm lulling you to sleep.

He’s not in his room. Or the library. Or the dining room. Or the salon. You pause at the bottom of the staircase, wondering if you should go knocking on the doors of some of the other residents when Arthur approaches, a cup of coffee in one hand and a piece of dark fudge in the other.

“Hello luv. A bit late to be wandering ‘bout the place all alone. I’d offer you my company but….” His blue eyes are alight with mischief. “I’m afraid ol’ Leo might not be pleased with it.”

“Do you happen to know where he is? I’ve been looking everywhere for him.”

Arthur pauses, already a few steps up and gestures with the fudge to the top of the stairs. “Last I saw him he was visiting Comte.”

You thank him, pass him on the stairs and hurry towards the sitting room Comte uses on this floor. Your knocking gets no answer so you boldly enter. It’s empty. Disappointment shadows your heart and you are about to leave when you notice the door to the small balcony is open. 

He’s there, alone, forearms resting on the smooth stone of the balcony railing, a lit cigarillo between his fingers. The balcony faces the mansion’s gardens and he’s staring intently out into the dark as if he might be able to find some answers there.

“Leo?”

He turns, startled and then breathes out when he sees it’s you. “Cara mia.”

Frowning, you make your way to his side. “Is everything ok?”

He is silent, wrestling with a decision he needs to make. You wait, letting him battle it out internally, watching the thin plume of smoke from his cigarillo as it rises, twisting and turning as if anxious and unsettled.

“The door to your time will be opening again in two days. Maybe…..you should use it.”

His words are so unexpected you wonder for a moment if you understood them.

“What……why would you say that?” 

You can hear the tremor in your voice, the aftershock of his suggestion jolting you.

His jaw clenches, his gaze still searching the dark and silent gardens.

“Maybe you would be happier there. Could live the life you always dreamed for yourself. See your family again. Your hometown. There are a thousand reasons.”

You reach out, placing a firm hand on his arm. “And one very big, very stubborn one right here.” His breath shudders from his body as you pull, forcing him to turn towards you. “I made a commitment to you, Leonardo. We discussed this. I’m staying.”

He tosses his cigarillo over the railing, its small glow swallowed by the night. When he finally meets your gaze, the conflict in his beautiful eyes makes your heart ache. “Cara mia…..I cannot give you a family. I cannot promise you safety. I-”

Your hands reach up to cup his face, your grip determined. This is no time for gentleness. He needs to understand. You speak slowly, each word carefully weighed and measured.

“I want to stay with the wonderful, funny, intelligent, kind man that I have fallen in love with. For as long as I can. And there is nothing that can change my mind.”

He holds your gaze as you hold your breath, waiting. Finally he nods and you echo his gesture, nodding back in response. “Ok….” you whisper. “We’re ok.” You step into the circle of his arms, burying your face in the soft, rich fabric of his clothing. 

He holds you close, but his eyes remain open, once again returning to the impenetrable darkness of the gardens.

The next day he’s gone again but you try to keep yourself busy and ignore the uneasy feeling that keeps scratching at your heart. The sun sinks to its rest and the moon rises, cold and pale among its nest of stars, and still there is no Leonardo. No other residents have seen him and worry flashes in Comte’s golden eyes when you ask if he knows where Leo has been all day.

Your thoughts are heavy, each one hammering a different worry in your mind as you make your way up the stairs and to his room. He’s bound to come back from wherever he is and then you’ll be waiting.

It’s far into early morning when Leonardo returns, pushing his way through his bedroom door and stumbling inside. You sit up in bed instantly, sleep having only caressed you and never quite fully taken over.

“Where have you been?” You can’t keep the frustration out of your voice or block the sound of your thrashing heart in your ears. “I’ve been worried!”

His movements are slow, radiating something unusual. Something that slowly begins twisting your stomach into an uncomfortable knot. 

“A man can go out, yeah? Without a thousand questions.”

His voice is thick, perhaps with drink, perhaps with something else. Either way it sends a cold shudder through you as you slide out of bed.

“Leonardo…..what’s going on? This isn’t like you.”

He turns, his eyes liquid amber, unnaturally bright in the soft orange light of the lamp you left burning low.

“Then maybe you don’t know me as well as you think. Maybe I’m not the warm, intelligent, kind man you have fooled yourself into believing I am.”

Hearing your own words thrown back at you like daggers nearly sends you staggering back to the bed. A hand reflexively rises to cover your heart as if you had really been pierced by some wicked blade.

“That’s not possible. I know you. I know who you are and–”

He growls, closing the distance between you quicker than you can draw a breath. He does not lay a hand on you, instead pinning you in place with the force of his heated glare.

“I am a pureblood.” His voice is low, the words dragging over your heart like plow teeth across the earth. “I am eternal. You are a minute, yeah? A second in an endless succession of days and nights. A blink of an eye.” Your lips part but before you can even see if you are capable of sound, he continues. “I am dangerous.”

“You would never hurt me.” The words slip out, small and unsteady, but born of the conviction that still lives in your aching heart.

His eyes close a moment, freeing you from the pain of his excruciating glare. And then with a snap of his head, his fangs protract and he growls, the sound more primal than anything you’ve ever heard from him. A primordial fear skitters down your spine, sends goosebumps across your skin. He’s changed the framework from lovers, to something much more sinister: predator and prey.

“Get out.” 

You don’t know if you sob or if you simply turn and run. The way back to your own room is a blur of shadows. It is only when you have closed your door, have turned the key in its lock, that your legs turn to water and you sink to the carpet, your breath coming in uneven, painful gasps.

He has never threatened you before. You never thought he would.

Now the only sound you hear is the cracking of your heart as it splinters into a thousand tiny pieces.

The next day, when the door to your world opens, you walk through it.

He is not there to say goodbye.

Epilogue:  21st century London

The vintage bookstore is a popular one. Some people are milling about the coffee bar, deciding how they want their caffeine intake today. A handful of children are sitting on large, oversized bean bags, excitedly flipping through colorful books. There is a low buzz of people’s talking, an undercurrent of appreciation for stories and writing and reading that he is happy to be around. He is somewhere between the New Releases and Staff Favourites bookshelves, thumbing his way through a copy of “Love in the Time of Cholera”, when the small bell above the bookstore chimes, announcing another patron exiting or entering. He still doesn’t know what exactly caused him to lift his gaze from the page. Perhaps the hand of Fate caught his chin and pulled. 

He is not prepared for the sight of you. He has not seen you in over one hundred and thirty years. But now, as if by magic, there you are. For the first time in a century his heart leaps with emotion, hurriedly and haphazardly clearing away the cobwebs of loneliness that had settled there, delicate yet incessant. He steps behind the bookshelf, forcing his eyes closed. They want nothing more than to drink in the sight of you, an oasis in the desert of desolation he himself had created when he pushed you away that nightmarish evening.

The one where he had made the decision that he would not destroy your dreams by selfishly keeping you all for himself, robbing you of the chance to build the life you imagined for yourself.

So he did what he deemed necessary to make you leave.

You had stepped through the door that led back, your heart broken. And he had been the one swinging the hammer.

Time is a merciless teacher. Its harshest lessons were taught in the black heart of night, that gaping pit of time when no one could hear the rattling sound of his remorse, the anguished cries of regret. It was then, before the relief of morning’s pale light, that he understood what he had done. While he had, at the time, seen his intentions as noble, all he had truly accomplished was to destroy the chance at happiness you had been so freely and adamantly offering him. 

He breathes out slowly.

He has been given a chance. A gift. He must not squander it.

His golden eyes open and he peers around the bookshelf. You look the way he remembers. A bit older, maybe, but it's the same face that has visited his dreams countless times, the one he has kissed every angle of and traced with devout fingertips. 

The cold of a London winter has left your cheeks tinged pink, your hair dotted with tiny snowflakes that are slowly melting, glistening even in the book store’s artificial light. You look enchanting, like a fairy tale character from one of the children’s books on display. 

A knot has formed in his throat and he swallows against it, trying to ignore the twisting of his stomach and the roaring of his heartbeat. Leonardo da Vinci, for the first time in centuries, is nervous.

He’s about to step forward, to say the name that hasn’t crossed his lips in ages except for anguished whispers in his sleep, when something brushes past him, lightly bumping into his leg, and then haphazardly carrying on, barreling forward towards its destination.

“Mummy!!”

You turn and your face is alight, as bright and warm as summer. Dropping down, you open your arms and catch the cannonball of a little girl, pulling her close to you.

A man with a sleeping baby strapped to his chest brushes past Leonardo, offering a polite “Pardon me” before he stops in front of you, his shoulders dropping in relief.

“I’m sorry, darling. She saw you and took off like a shot.” He sounds slightly exasperated as he approaches you and his wayward daughter who has now thrown her small arms around your neck.

She has your soft auburn hair and bright, intelligent eyes. 

Leonardo’s heart is quietly crumbling in his chest.

You stand, lifting the little girl up along with you, much to her delight. “Did you find a book for the plane ride, Cara?”

This is what he wanted for you. So why does it hurt so much?

She nods, brushing her hair away from her face enthusiastically. “Yes!” She turns. “Show her, Daddy.” Your husband smiles, his warm golden-brown eyes softening at the sight of you two. One hand absently pats the soft baby carrier and its sleeping passenger while the other holds out the book. Your daughter reaches over, taking it.

Your husband looks a bit like him. Same brown hair, same golden eyes. Leo’s heart continues to break.

“Oh, a children’s guide to the most famous paintings in the world. What a good choice.” You slowly set her down and she reaches for your hand. 

“It has all the best ones in it, Mummy. Including your very favorite, the Mona Lisa!”

There is now nothing but dust.

You smile, running a hand over her hair. “I can’t wait to look at it with you.” 

As you wait in line to pay for the book, the small bell above the bookstore chimes, announcing another patron exiting or entering. You don’t know why you glance up toward the door. There’s nothing to see except the receding figure of a man in a long brown duster as he crosses the street, arm raised to hail a taxi.

Your gaze lingers, inexplicably drawn to him, until your daughter tugs on your hand. 

“Mummy?”

Jolted back to the present, you shake your head to clear the strange, momentary fog, offering the woman at the register an apologetic smile.

“I’m sorry. How much for the book?”

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