#I’m making the stamp whenever I get the materials

[mystic-warriors]

Can we talk about how whisper not only has a stamp of himself, but also carries it around with him everywhere to stamp the protags diary every time they do a good

[cheollipop]

one more rep

navi | taglist

pairing: jung wooyoung x model fem!reader x choi san

w.c.: 6.9k

tags: smut, some fluff, friends to lovers, woosan are reader's personal trainers

san got a little too excited watching you exercise in purple – his favourite colour – and wooyoung was nothing if not a tease. turning their attention back to you, they didn't expect to see you equally worked-up.

warnings: mean dom!wooyoung, soft dom!san, they're switches for each other though, wooyoung has a nipple piercing + a tramp stamp (hehe), san has finger tattoos, degradation (a little bit; reader gets called a slut/cockslut), praise (a lot), so much dirty talk, a hint of dacryphilia, nipple play (m & f), face sitting, oral sex (m & f receiving), face fucking, fingering (f), squirting, pussy slapping, overstimulation, handjob, mxm, spit kink (so much spit...), snowballing, cum eating/swallowing, unprotected sex (👎), multiple creampies, multiple orgasms, some humping, aftercare, nicknames (youngie, good boy; sannie; baby, pretty girl, good girl, sweetheart, darling), they're all idiots in love <3

A/N: so this has been brewing in my little kettle for a while and bam! my longest fic yet, and probably the filthiest... I put my heart and soul into this one, so I really hope you enjoy! ^^ (pls ignore any inaccuracies in the exercises,, I start wheezing after one flight of stairs)

nsfw under the cut - minors dni!! 🔞

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

San’s knees dug into the yoga mat under him, his hands – decorated with the black ink of his tattoos – secured around your calves, holding them in place while you finished up your last set of sit-ups. He could feel your muscles contract every time you pushed yourself up, relaxing momentarily as you laid back down on the mat. He often found his eyes wandering over the purple material hugging your figure, the way your shorts rode up your thighs each time you pushed yourself off the mat. With every powerful sit-up, he held his breath at how close your face would get to his – enough for him to breathe in the sweet scent of your perfume mixed in with the tanginess of your sweat, your soft exhale blowing over his face.

It had been years since your agency reached out to San’s company, hiring him and Wooyoung as your personal trainers. The three of you had developed an easy friendship, your sessions now packed with inside jokes and banter. Recently, however, you often found yourself looking at them differently – your heart racing whenever San’s hands brushed over your skin, skipping a beat at Wooyoung’s never-ending praise. As a model, you were required to remain fit, and despite the torturous exercises the pair put you through, you were glad you were able to see them regularly.

A gentle squeeze to San’s nape caught his attention, Wooyoung hovering over him with a coy smile on his face. One look over his shoulder and he could see the weights for the next exercise set up neatly in the corner.

“What’s got you so distracted? Can’t you see she’s barely making it halfway up?�� Wooyoung’s tone was playful, but both your face and San’s flushed at his comment – you, because he’d caught you slacking off, and San, because he’d called him out for not paying attention.

You propped yourself up on your elbows, your chest heaving as the past two hours of taxing exercises caught up with you, sweat trickling down your temples.

“Cut me some slack, Youngie, I’m tiiired!” You whined, letting your head fall back, eyes shut while you caught your breath.

Wooyoung kneeled beside you, running his hand over the top of your head gently. “Yeah, yeah, take five minutes to rest then we’ll move on.” He smirked when you began complaining, pinching your cheek and pulling at the skin teasingly.

Looking back at San, Wooyoung’s smirk widened, teeth peeking out from between his lips when he caught sight of the man’s demeanour – his eyes moving between the two of you, hands still holding your legs, albeit slightly tighter than he had been earlier, his veins popping out while he shifted uncomfortably on his knees. Wooyoung’s eyes trailed further down, noticing the forming tent in San’s dark sweatpants, a scoff escaping his lips.

“What’s got our Sannie so excited?”

San’s whole body jerked at Wooyoung’s mocking tone – and the innuendo behind it – instinctively pulling his hands closer to his body and dragging your legs with them. You sucked in a breath when San’s hips pressed against you before immediately drawing them back, abruptly standing up and turning away from the two of you. You could see the bright red creeping up the back of his neck, San’s shaky hands scratching nervously at the heated skin.

“I-I-” San stuttered, roughly clearing his throat while he took quick peeks over his shoulder to attempt eye contact. “I-I’m so sorry- I don’t know why-”

Wooyoung chuckled, standing up and wrapping an arm around San’s shoulders, his eyes flitting down to his concealed bulge before he looked back up to speak. “Don’t worry about it, dude. I’m sure our (Y/n) understands, right?” They both looked back at you expectantly, and you nodded your head quickly. “See? Just take a walk and calm down. I’ll continue the session with (Y/n).”

Wooyoung let go of the flustered man, giving him a playful pat on his ass before turning around to face you again. His eyebrows shot up at the sight of you, taking in the way your thighs rubbed against each other, your eyes glazed over and fixed on San’s back. Wooyoung cleared his throat, startling you back to reality, and you instinctively relaxed your legs, giving him a full view of the darkened material at your crotch.

A wave of heat rushed to your face upon noticing Wooyoung’s gaze slipping down to your core, squeezing your thighs together again and sitting up. His head tilted to the side amusingly, a sly smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He reached back to grab San’s arm before he had the chance to leave, twisting him around to face you.

“Or… Would our precious (Y/n) like to help Sannie out instead?”

--

You rolled your hips over Wooyoung’s face, gasping around San’s cock when the tip of his nose brushed against your clit. It took the man under you a few seconds to notice you grinding on his nose, soft whimpers vibrating over San’s cock as you took him in deeper, swallowing around his cockhead and revelling in the groans you drew out of him.

Wooyoung’s hands slipped under your ass, his biceps bulging as he adjusted your position until your clit was directly over his nose and his tongue at your entrance. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head when Wooyoung slipped his tongue inside you, curving it along your walls to press against the spongy spot that made your back arch. He could feel your thighs shaking around his face, moving it from side to side to nuzzle his nose against your clit, drinking up your arousal as it gushed into his open mouth.  

He pulled away, sliding his tongue over his bottom lip before speaking. “I know you love my nose on your pussy, but don’t you dare cum before San does.”

You hummed around San, hearing him grunt above you as he slid his cock over your tongue, a shallow thrust to remind you of his presence, but you couldn’t process the action when Wooyoung’s tongue was back inside you, mercilessly pushing into your g-spot, your orgasm rapidly building up in your lower belly. So you just sat there, rutting over Wooyoung’s face with your mouth stretched open around San’s throbbing cock.

San’s hands reached into your hair, the strands draping over his tattooed fingers as he gently tugged at the roots, throwing his head back when your moans vibrated against his length. He held your face and pulled you off him, bending at the waist to look at you with desperate eyes.

“(Y/n), darling, fuck- can I fuck your mouth? Please, I’ll be gentle, please-”

Yes, you wanted to say, but all that came out were gargled moans as Wooyoung tongued at your entrance, teasing your hole with the wet muscle, slipping it in and out as he pleased. He pulled off your cunt to speak, holding you over his face.

“You’ll let Sannie fuck your throat, right?” Wooyoung smirked against your skin when he saw you nodding frantically above him, San’s hands cupping your cheeks and his cock jumping in your mouth. “Be a good girl and open up then,” he tapped your thigh, bringing you back down on his face.

Between Wooyoung’s tongue ruthlessly prodding against your g-spot, your hips moving on their own to grind against the curve of his nose, and San’s heavy cock fucking into your mouth, you were left an incoherent, moaning mess with drool streaming down your chin.

“Fuuuck, baby, you feel so good-” A throaty moan ripped out of San, his fingers tugging on your hair to push you all the way down his length, his jaw slack as he watched your eyes well up with tears while you held back from gagging. “Shit- I’m not gonna last.”

You were a breath away from tumbling over the edge, thighs burning as you rode Wooyoung’s face, his tongue sending shocks of pleasure soaring through your abdomen. Strong hands wrapped around your hips, bringing you down on his face and wrapping his lips around your clit. It took two harsh sucks for you to fall apart, your whole body shaking with the force of your orgasm. You felt Wooyoung’s teeth brushing over your clit, giving the swollen bud a small nibble before pulling away and slipping out from under you.

San was in heaven, his cock twitching on your tongue as your soft moans sent waves of ecstasy up his spine. But then Wooyoung’s hands were slapping his off you, pulling you away from him to lay you down on the mat.

“W-wait! I was so close!” San complained, reaching his hand towards you only to have it brushed away again. “Just a little more, p-please-“

“You’ll have her back later,” Wooyoung gave him a stern look, and San backed away, wrapping his hand around the base of his cock with a defeated exhale. He settled down on his knees, watching as Wooyoung turned his attention back to you, your thighs still twitching with the force of your orgasm. His cock throbbed when he saw Wooyoung’s face, drenched in your arousal, his eyes ablaze with the purest forms of lust. San’s eyes moved to Wooyoung’s hand, veins protruding from the skin as he sunk two fingers into your sopping heat, leaning down to whisper in your ear. “You just had to be a little slut didn’t you? Was my mouth on your pussy and Sannie’s cock down your throat not enough for you?”

“F-felt too good, Youngie, I couldn’t help it!” You writhed under him, his long fingers ruthlessly pounding into you and building you up to a second orgasm.

“Aw, you couldn’t help cum before Sannie? All because my tongue felt too good in your cunt?”

“Uh-huuh- s-so good!”

Your eyes rolled back when Wooyoung’s other hand reached for your clit, rolling it between two fingers while he continued his tormenting.

“But I wanted to see you choke on Sannie’s cum,” he bit down on your jaw, slipping his fingers out as soon as your walls began clamping down on them, smirking when you looked up at him in shock.

“Youngiee, ‘wanna cum!”

You were too focused on Wooyoung’s face to notice his hand coming down on your cunt, the sharp slap reverberating in the empty gym. Your hips jolted off the mat when he landed another slap on your clit, your hole clenching around air.

“I don’t think you deserve it, though,” Wooyoung jutted out his lips in a faux pout, quickly turning into a smile when he saw tears running down the sides of your face. “Aww, you wanna cum that bad?”

You nodded desperately, angling your hips towards him, only to be met with another harsh slap to your cunt, letting out a strangled cry that bled into moan when Wooyoung’s fingers sunk into you again, continuing their rough pace. You felt pressure building in your lower belly, flashes of heat rushing through your body as Wooyoung drew out desperate whimpers from your lips, leaning down to press wet kisses to your skin. He trailed his tongue over the sides of your face, licking away your tears as you finally came undone on his fingers.

Wooyoung sat back on his heels, pulling his fingers out to watch as clear liquid squirted out your fluttering hole, your thighs shaking uncontrollably as you gushed all over the mat and Wooyoung’s clothed thighs. He couldn’t help himself, bringing four fingers down on your clit, delivering a sharp slap to your cunt, then again, until you were convulsing under him, pushing his hands off you as the overstimulation became too much.

Wooyoung pulled back, watching violent tremors pass through your body, your eyes shut as you basked in the aftershocks of your orgasm. His eyes moved to San, bending at the waist beside you to press a chaste kiss to your cheek, pausing to gauge your reaction before placing another on your forehead. The scene in front of him was sweet, intimate – despite San being naked from the waist down – and Wooyoung felt the insatiable need to disturb it.

San flinched when Wooyoung pressed himself to his back – so close he could feel the metal bar piercing one of his nipples brush against his clothed spine – hooking his chin over his shoulder and wrapping his arm around his small waist to press his palm to San’s hard abdomen.

“What are you doing?” San tried to ignore the shakiness of his voice, hoping Wooyoung didn’t notice, though the grin on the other man’s face told him he did.

“You said you were close,” Wooyoung sounded, his fingers toying with the hem of San’s compression shirt before sliding down to rest over his snail trail, the barely-there touch making the hair on San’s arms stand. “I thought you might need a helping hand.”

San didn’t reply, only sucked in a breath once Wooyoung’s fingers wrapped around the base of his cock, his eyes half-shut as he revelled in the friction the other man provided. He angled his head downwards, moving his tongue around in his mouth before letting it roll out, a line of his spit steaming down to meet Wooyoung’s hand, easing the slide over his leaking cock. San’s head lolled back onto the younger man’s shoulder, soft moans slipping through his lips while Wooyoung built a steady pace, squeezing around his base every time he drew his hand back.

“A-ah, fuck, ‘gonna cum,” San’s voice was strained, his chest rapidly rising and falling as Wooyoung twisted his hand around his cockhead, collecting the absurd amount of precum leaking from the tip and coating the rest of his shaft with it. “Don’t stop, I’m so close-”

“I didn’t know you could make cute noises like this, Sannie,” Wooyoung purred, his lips pressed to the shell of his ear, smirking when he felt San’s dick twitch in his hand. “Careful, I might end up making you squirt too.”

With Wooyoung’s hand avidly pumping his length, his warm breath blowing against his ear, the raspiness of his voice echoing in his head, San’s whole body shuddered as his high washed over him, hot ropes of cum painting your chest, some of it falling on your neck and chin. His heavy grunts were like music to Wooyoung’s ears, his hand squeezing out every last drop of San’s release until the older man was an overstimulated, whimpering mess, pushing him away from his softening member.

Falling limp on his knees, it only took San a couple seconds to zero in on your tits, following the cum sliding down their slope and leaving a translucent tint on your nipples. With two fingers, he smeared his release over your perked-up buds, taking one between his pointer and thumb and tweaking it until you were whining under him. San was awestruck, his body moving on its own, scooping up some of the cum on his fingers and bringing it up to your mouth – already open and waiting. He nearly moaned at the way your tongue circled his tattooed digits, your cheeks hollowing to suck them clean, prompting him to pull out only to collect more of his release and feed it to you.

Just as you were about to gulp down the bitter liquid, Wooyoung’s voice reminded you of his presence. A simple, “Don’t swallow,” and you were frozen in place, your mouth remaining open even after San pulled his fingers out.

Wooyoung was back on his knees beside you, leaning down to press his lips to yours, his tongue slipping inside to lick up San’s release, collecting it in his mouth before sitting back up. Twisting his body to face the older man, he grabbed his jaw firmly, squeezing it until his cheeks squished together and his lips parted. It happened in slow motion – Wooyoung’s lips pursing, tongue moving around as he collected the mixture of liquids before spitting it directly into San’s mouth and leaning down to connect their lips. San couldn’t process what had happened, but Wooyoung kissing him left him breathless, his eyes fluttering shut as he felt him graze the roof of his mouth. It was only when the other man’s tongue pushed the compound of spit and cum down his throat that his eyes snapped open, instantly meeting Wooyoung’s – already agape, lidded as they watched his blissed-out face.

Wooyoung’s other hand wrapped loosely around San’s neck, keeping his eyes fixed on his face, his teeth nipping at his bottom lip. Knowing exactly what the younger man wanted, San swallowed down his cum, maintaining a neutral expression as the tangy liquid washed down his throat. Wooyoung’s lips lifted after he felt his Adam’s apple bob under his palm, pulling away from San and letting his arm fall to his side, a triumphant smirk gracing his features.  

It was as if they had forgotten about your presence, emitting a small noise to draw their attention back to you. Two heads twisted to face you, eyebrows raising and eyes following your fingers as they carried San’s cum to your mouth, your tongue licking them clean. Your gaze was fixed on Wooyoung, taking in the sweat shining on his temples, his slightly parted lips – glossy from San’s spit – and finally, the tent in his sweatpants, throbbing at the sight of you. Your free hand reached for his shirt and tugged at the dark material, pulling your fingers out of your mouth to speak.

“Please, Youngie, w-want you,” you pulled at his shirt, finally breaking Wooyoung out of the trance he was in.

Throwing his shirt off, Wooyoung fitted himself between your legs, leaning down to mouth against your neck, the metal bar piercing his nipple cold where it pressed into your heated skin. “Did one little kiss make our pretty slut wet again?” He scoffed at the shy nod you gave in response, trailing his lips down to your chest and taking one of your nipples into his mouth, licking off the remnants of San’s cum. You arched your back, pushing your tits further into Wooyoung’s mouth and whimpering when he slid his leaking tip through your folds. “You’re so cute,” he brought his face back up to yours, the corners of his lips curled into an impish smile. “You want Youngie’s cock that bad?”

Just as you were about to stutter out a response, Wooyoung pushed his cock past your entrance, sheathing his whole length between your pulsating walls and groaning into your neck. “Fuuuck, you’re so tight for me, darling.”

Wooyoung gave you two seconds to adjust to the stretch before he began pounding into your sopping heat, his hands gripping your waist and his face buried into the crook of your neck.

“W-wait- hnnngh!” Your hands flew to his back, nails digging into the skin whole your body jolted upwards on the mat every time he slammed his hips into you. “S-slow down!”

“I thought you wanted me?” Wooyoung pulled away to take in your fucked-out expression, broken moans making his cock twitch inside you as he drove it directly into your g-spot.

“Y-yes, but-”

“So you’ll shut up and take me,” he held your jaw firmly, his other hand sliding down to your hip. “You’ll be my pretty little cocksleeve from now on, won’t you?” You felt a flash of heat shooting down to your core, your thighs twitching around Wooyoung, moans muffled as he squished your cheeks together, your lips parting as you stared into his eyes pleadingly. He used the hand on your face to give your head a curt shake, his chest heaving despite the stern look on his face. “I asked you a question.”

You nodded desperately, crying out a quick succession of yes and please. Wooyoung eased his grip on your jaw before pulling his hand away entirely, eying your parted lips momentarily before shoving two of his fingers into your mouth and hooking them behind your bottom teeth to open them further. You felt the hot wad of spit land on your tongue, mewling as it trickled down your throat, Wooyoung’s cock sliding against your walls deliciously, making the room around you blur so all your attention could go to the man ravishing you as though you were his last meal.

Knowing Wooyoung wouldn’t relent, you looked up at the man who would. San stared right back at you, his cock already half hard and twitching at the sight of you – thighs shaking violently around Wooyoung, sweat reflecting off your flushed skin, tears pooling in your eyes as he relentlessly fucked himself into you. San spotted the slight wobbling of your bottom lip, your tears now flowing down the sides of your face while broken moans and cries ripped through your chest, Wooyoung thrusting into you like an animal in heat, his own grunts muffled by your skin.

San slid himself behind Wooyoung and cupped his hips, hooking his chin over the other man’s shoulder to eye the drool leaking out the corner of your mouth.

“Look at her, all fucked out and sensitive,” San spoke softly, his hot breath blowing against Wooyoung’s ear, a shiver shaking the latter’s body. “Slow down a little-”

“Get off me, ‘don’t wanna slow down,” he interrupted, pressing his cockhead into your sweet spot and rolling his hips to drag his length further into you before returning to his unrelenting pace.

“But you have to, Youngie. You can’t break her yet, not before I’ve had my turn with her pretty cunt.” San’s fingers dug into the younger man’s hips, his biceps flexing as he used his strength to slow him down. Wooyoung resisted at first, but his eyes caught the way San’s hands gripped his hips – veins popping out and fingers turning white, making his tattoos look more prominent – and allowed him to guide his cock into you. “There we go,” San leaned forward to press a faint kiss to his jaw. “Good boy.”

His hands eased their hold on Wooyoung’s hips to travel up his body, feeling the muscles tense under his warm touch. San slid his cock over his perky ass, eyebrows raising and when he noticed the dainty butterfly tattooed over his tailbone, sensing himself getting harder. His fingers tweaked Wooyoung’s nipple, tugging at the metal bar until he was whimpering on top of you, biting down on his bottom lip while grinding into your clenching cunt. San brushed his thumb over the tramp stamp, smearing the precum that leaked from his tip over the black ink while rutting on Wooyoung’s ass.

The visual of San licking up the sweat off Wooyoung’s neck paired with the younger man’s heavy cock grinding into you was enough to push you over the edge again, your walls clamping down on him as black dots danced in your vision. You grabbed onto Wooyoung’s biceps, your hips frantically rolling to meet his languid thrusts while you begged him to fuck you through your high, breathing out a series of please and faster. Wooyoung’s hips picked up their pace, fucking into you as his own desperate moans escaped through his lips.

Your nails dug into Wooyoung’s skin when pleasure faded into pain from overstimulation, your toes curling and tears staining your skin, your body jerking every time he drove his cock into you.

“Just a little longer, shit, I’m so fucking close-”

San pressed himself to Wooyoung’s back, sliding his cock down his ass to brush over his perky hole, his cockhead pressing into the fluttering entrance – but not quite breaching it – while harshly tugging on his nipple. Wooyoung nearly saw stars, his eyes rolling back when he finally emptied inside you, warmth spreading through your abdomen as his hot cum filled you up, some of it leaking out while his cock was still inside you. He pulled his softening member out and flopped down on the mat beside you, his chest heaving as he recovered from his orgasm. Twisting his head to look at you, Wooyoung brushed a knuckle over your cheekbone to wipe away a stray tear, the fondness lacing his expression so gentle it sent a wave of warmth to your cheeks. Wooyoung looked like he was about to say something, but San was wrapping you up in his arms, and the words died on his tongue.

Gentle fingers smoothed down your hair and soft lips peppered feathery kisses over the tears drying on your cheeks. San’s hands slid over your arms, gentle fingers massaging the tense muscles. “You’re okay,” he muttered against your skin, “I’m here.” He brushed back the hair matted to your forehead, pressing a kiss to the slick skin before drawing back to study your face. A smile lifted the corners of his mouth at the peacefulness of your features, leaning back down to slot his lips against yours, fitting himself against your body – his shirt already off and thrown to the side – humming when your fingers ran through his hair. You parted your lips for him, allowing his tongue access to slip into your mouth, sliding over your front teeth before pushing against your own. You caged his hips in with your thighs, locking your ankles behind his knees to bring him closer, releasing breathy moans that San happily swallowed up.

“Sannie, ‘want you…” you mumbled against his lips, his own traveling down to press wet kisses over your chin and jawline.

“Are you sure, baby? You don’t need more time?”

Despite his concern, his tone was breathy, a subtle whine to his voice. Looking down between your bodies, you glanced at San’s cock – the tip red and angry, twitching when he caught you looking at it. So you shook your head, perhaps a little too eager.

“Want you now,” you insisted, sliding your hand down to grab him at the base, squeezing your fingers around him and relishing the groan it pulled out of the man on top of you.

San allowed you to guide him to your fluttering hole, dipping his cockhead into the stream of cum still leaking out of you before brushing it over your clit, your whole body shuddering under him. He angled his head down and spat on his cock, watching your ephemeral shock shift into arousal, coating his length with his saliva before dragging it back down to your hole. San’s mind fogged up when he finally pushed into you, his mouth hanging open as your searing heat enveloped him. Your sharp hiss brought him back to the present, promptly cupping your cheek and examining your face, landing one kiss after the other onto the flushed skin.

“I’m here, baby, does it hurt? Do you want to stop?” He glided his hand over your thigh, fingers digging into the plush skin before releasing it, his eyes soft as they took in your reactions.

You shook your head, using your legs – still locked at the ankles behind his knees – to push him further into you. “No, ‘feels good, Sannie,” you assured him, your nails scratching at his scalp.

“Yeah?” Aside from the cocky smirk curling the corner of his mouth, San looked absolutely fucked – lidded eyes, glazed over with lust, red spread out in splotches over his chest, heaving as he resisted the urge to thrust into you. “Am I making my pretty girl feel good?”

You nodded and rolled your hips into his, silently begging him to move. And taking one look at your teary eyes, San couldn’t help but oblige, drawing his hips back and thrusting into your heat, a harmony of moans ripping through the both of you. San felt so good, his cock brushing over your walls just right with every languid grind, fleeting touches to your skin only adding fuel to the fire burning within you. Using the hand in his hair, you pulled him down to close the gap between you, your tongues dancing in the middle before you began taking turns sucking them into each other’s mouths, slobber dripping down the sides of your face.

Firm fingers grasped your chin, startling you away from San and twisting your face to the side. Wooyoung was propped up on his elbow, looking down at you with a hooded eyes while he swiped away the spit leaking from your mouth.

“Look at our pretty cockslut taking Sannie so well… I bet he’s been waiting so long to have you, haven’t you, loverboy?” Wooyoung cooed, directing his gaze to the man on top of you and blinking innocently, a wicked smile on his lips.

It took San a few seconds to process what the man had said, the haze of pleasure clouding his brain. His hands flew to your ears when the words became coherent – an attempt to shield you from the feelings he had repressed behind locked doors, feelings he was willing to shroud so long as he was by your side, content to simply exist in your presence. His ears turned bright red, the tint spreading to his face and all the way down his chest. San’s heart slammed against his chest and into yours, its rapid pace almost alarming.

“Ya! S-shut up!”

“What? You don’t think everyone already knows about your little crush?” Wooyoung twirled a strand of San’s hair around his finger, mockingly pouting his lips at the flustered man.

Just before San could retaliate, delicate hands cradled his face and brought his gaze back to you. He nearly melted into the floor, mooning over the softness in your eyes – wide and glimmering – as they looked up at him. Mouthing “it’s okay,” you gave him quick, reassuring nod, a certain promise cloaked behind the glint in your eyes.

It was as though the weight of the world had lifted off San’s chest, his eyebrows raising as he fully took in the insinuation in your expression, eyes tearing up for a few seconds before he dropped his head down to connect your lips once again. The kiss was desperate but gentle, soft nibbling on your bottom lip, San’s hot tongue pressing against your own before pulling away to trail his lips down your face to your neck.

“You’re so perfect,” he mumbled against your pulse point, “so beautiful.” He revelled in the airy moans you breathed out while he sucked a bruise into your skin, then another, before licking a stripe up your neck to lightly sink his teeth into your jaw.  “Want everyone to know we’re the only ones who can have you like this.”

We – the pluralism sent the butterflies in your stomach on a rampage. Before your attention could shift to the neglected man to your side, San drew his length out until only the tip was left inside you, your walls desperately clenching down on it while you whined at the loss. But then he was pushing back in, finally fucking himself into your weeping cunt, your arousal mixed with Wooyoung’s cum squelching every time San’s cock pumped into you.

“Let me know if it’s too much, sweetheart,” San’s tone was so gentle, and yet you couldn’t ignore the growl in his voice while he basked in the flaring heat of your walls, his attentive eyes full of want.

“More,” you pleaded, your eyes never leaving San’s while he adjusted his position.

Wooyoung’s hand suddenly gripped the underside of your thigh and pulled it towards him to spread you out for San, leaning down to press a chaste kiss to your cheekbone. San dug his knees into the mat, pushing further into you and remaining still for a few seconds until you began whining again. With a breathy chuckle, he began pistoning his hips into you, praise rolling off his tongue as your walls contracted around him. The world around him faded away until only you remained – the sweet succession of his name, the pleasure painting your features, the gentle tugging against his scalp where your fingers tangled in his hair. San couldn’t focus on anything else.

Until rough fingers made their way between your bodies, sliding his arm behind your knee to reach the place where you were connected. Making a ‘v’ shape with his fingers, Wooyoung hooked them around San’s cock, nearly moaning when he felt the way it stretched you open. A rough “ah” ripped through San’s throat, thrusting inside you to feel your cunt squeezing down on him then pulling out to revel in the glide of Wooyoung’s fingers around his slick base.

When he thought he couldn’t get any harder, Wooyoung leaned in to whisper in his ear – low and sultry while his fingers dipped lower to cup his balls. “How does it feel to fuck my load into her, Sannie?”

With a flabby squeeze to his sack, Wooyoung felt it empty as San finally came, his whole body shuddering as his orgasm washed over him, emptying his load deep inside you. San cursed under his breath, slowly fucking his cum into your used cunt while it spurted out of him, his cock throbbing at the sight of you writhing with the need to come. Wooyoung’s hand slipped off San when he moved to pull out, moving to spread you out again and watching the other man’s cum mix with his own while it leaked out of your gaping hole. He eyed how you clenched around nothing for a few seconds before San’s fingers slipped back inside you, the black ink adoring them turning glossy with your arousal.

“I’ve got you, darling,” he leaned down to pepper your face with soft pecks, his fingers hammering into you and curling into your g-spot. “Will our sweet girl give us one more?”

You nodded desperately, tears streaking down your face and moans slipping through your lips without restraint. Wooyoung’s hand kneaded your thigh, his eyes fixed on your swollen clit, visibly contemplating something in his head. You were too busy relishing the tender kisses San dropped on your heated skin to notice Wooyoung’s hand dropping on your pussy, the sharp sting making your body jolt under San. The pain from Wooyoung’s slap paired with San’s fingers mercilessly hammering into your cunt made your eyes roll to the back of your head, your thighs shaking rabidly as the pressure building in your lower belly released, sending you tumbling into your orgasm. You nails dug into San’s biceps and your hips simultaneously pushed to meet his thrusts and pulled away from them, delirious after being dragged over the edge so many times.

San’s fingers slowed as you came down from your high, tapping against the spongy spot along your walls and taking in how your hips jerked at his ministrations. Just as he pulled out of you, Wooyoung’s hand landed another sharp slap to your clit, making you cry out from the overstimulation. But before San could berate him for it, it was like a dam broke within you, hot liquid squirting out of your fluttering hole.

The two men simply watched the scene unfold before them for a few moments before San's body began moving on its own. With a hand to the back of his head, San dragged Wooyoung down to your cunt, taking in how his mouth opened on its own to catch everything you had to give him. San’s fingers tugged at the younger man’s hair, pushing his head into your mound and observing how his tongue rolled out to lick over your entrance, taking the concoction of San’s cum and his own into his mouth and swallowing it down.

You watched as Wooyoung sat back up, taking San’s hands and slipping the fingers that had been fucking into you inside his mouth, hollowing his cheeks and sucking them clean. San eyed him with lidded eyes, studying the slide of the younger man's tongue over his trimmed nails. Before he could process Wooyoung’s head moving closer, he had already sealed his lips against San’s, sliding his tongue into his mouth to give him a taste of all of you combined. An unpleased whine rumbled through San’s chest when Woooyoung pulled away, his glossy lips forming a pout when he gave the tip of San’s nose a kitten lick and shot him a playful wink.

Wooyoung’s attention was back on you before San could even blink, spreading out beside your worn-down body and gliding a gentle palm down your side. San did the same, flopping down opposite to Wooyoung and brushing the hair off your face, leaning over you to press a tender kiss to your forehead.

“Is a five minute break enough before we start the next rep?” Wooyoung joked, giggling when you swung a limp arm into his chest.

“You’re insufferable,” you laughed, noting how San’s chest vibrated against your shoulder with his own giggles.

Wooyoung pressed his lips to your cheek, holding them in place for a few seconds before drawing back, only to plant a series of kisses down your neck and to your collarbones. “Are you feeling okay? Was it too much? I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

Your eyes softened at the concern lacing Wooyoung’s tone and you smoothed down the furrow of his eyebrows with a gentle thumb. Shaking your head, you brushed the hair off his face and spoke. “You didn’t hurt me, Youngie. I-I really liked it... all of it,” you mumbled the last part, a faint blush warming your cheeks at the admission. You could see Wooyoung's worry dissipating, a witty comeback at the tip of his tongue.

“(Y/n),” San drew your attention back to him before Wooyoung could tease you, noticing his burning ears and the fiddling of his fingers at your waist. “Earlier, you…” he cleared his throat, and you fought the smile off your lips while watching him struggle to express himself. You saw him gather up the courage to pry open the door he’d welded shut long ago. “I want you,” he blurted out, “a-and I don’t mean only in this way,” he flailed his hands between your bodies before reaching down to lock his fingers with yours, his anxiety turning into panic and making your heart swell with fondness. “I want all of you, I want to make you happy and-” he sucked in a deep breath before continuing. “I-I guess, all I’m asking for is a chance.”

“San-”

“You’re playing dirty, you dickhead!” Wooyoung interrupted, wrapping a protective arm around your waist. “Don’t try to steal her away for yourself!”

Your eyebrows raised in shock, trying to process the situation brought on by the two men bickering on either side of you, arguing about who would get the princess when the princess herself was unsure of what she wanted. Your infatuation with San was undeniable, every fleeting touch left your skin burning for days, every smile directed towards you had the butterflies in your stomach going rabid, eating at the insides of your stomach. Everything about Choi San was warm – his eyes, his words, his expression, all were laced with scotching heat, leaving you burning from within.

Whatever it was you felt towards Wooyoung was fiery, fervent, leaving you dazed and confused – what was it about him that drew you in? Perhaps it was his playfulness, or was it the way he changed up on you? One second Wooyoung was a friend and the other he was dropping subtle hints – a flirtatious wink, or a hand on your hip that held its place for a second too long for it to be friendly. You’d simply assumed him to be a flirt by nature, though one peek at his interactions with other women and you were proven wrong: Jung Wooyoung only treated you this way – as though you painted the clouds on the blue sky with your bare hands – and you found yourself rejoicing in that fact. Perhaps you’d already made up your mind, and it was simply your denial and cowardice that had held you back this whole time.

“What if-” you began, both men ceasing their banter and turning to look at you. You swallowed nervously, your mouth dry and your heart beating wildly against your ribcage. “What if I wanted… both of you?” You looked between their shocked faces, your voice small as you uttered the next question. “Is that too much to ask?”

“No!” They replied in unison, the intensity of their voices startling you.

Relief rushed through you and you closed your eyes to revel in the moment, the two men back to speaking over each other, going on about how they would do anything make you happy – “happier than a child at Disneyland,” San specified. The squabbling persisted even while they cleaned you up and helped you into your clothes, San shouting back at Wooyoung while he guided you through your cool-down stretches, the other man cleaning up the floor and wiping down the equipment.

As boisterous as they were, you found yourself smiling adoringly at the two men fighting over who would drive you home – matters that were trivial to you, but somehow meant the world to them. In the back of your mind, you knew you had a lot to talk about and discuss to ensure everyone was content, but right now, you couldn’t help but savour the pleasant feeling in your stomach, the soft fluttering of butterflies as two men you thought the world of doted on you. Their eyes were full of adoration, fingers twitching with the urge to hand-pick the stars from the night sky to make into a necklace for you, hoping it would come close to shining as bright as you do.

apply for my tag list here (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡

[sun-flower-children]

hey! first off, i love your blog aesthetic, so cute! 🥺💜 i’m in a big mood for some iida content so is it okay if i can have some headcanons of iida with a fem! s/o who tends to puff out her cheeks (idk how to describe whay that would look like lol) when she’s extremely concentrated on something. one day, they’re having a study session and iida looks up after a few moments to see his s/o’s cheeks puffed up as she’s studying and that’s all he could look at. and he’s just like ‘so cute. why must you be so cute?! 🥺’

hiya! sorry this took so long, life got away from me, but i'd be happy to write out a lil something something for you :) plus this idea is just so sweet i gotta :P I did end up making it pre-relationship bc I love a little pining Iida <3

IIDA x Fem!Reader Study Session

fluff w use of she/her pronouns :))))))))))

It would be the middle of the week after everyone has settled back into a more regular school routine. The monotony was easily invited back by everyone after the busy summer filled with internships drained people in a way they didn't think they could be drained. Everyone had been missing the comradery that Class 1A had even if nobody other than Kirishima had the gall to say it out loud.

The math lessons had begun progressing at an impossible rate and Iida found himself more often than not in the common area of the dorms helping people will various subjects. This became so common in fact that people will bring peace offerings or promises of future favors to gain any sort of aid in their course work. Luckily a few others in the class also pitched in with the tutoring even if it was only for a handful of specific topics or types of assignments.

Iida found himself enjoying the shared space and time with his fellow classmates but still missed what the study sessions used to be. It used to be secret and valuable time with his crush, (Y/N). With this newer update in the class gatherings he found her more and more distant. There would be many a night he would wistfully long for the nights only a semester and summer break ago that would be spent on the floor of his dorm room.

He missed the way she would spend forever setting up the study space; the lighting, the background music, the excessive collection of stationary with the cute mascots that he came quickly to recognize. The little stamps that she would use for both her to do list and stamp his hand whenever he did anything that was particularly pleasing to her ( he wouldn't wash his hands for a possible as he could afterwards)

So imagine his delight when one afternoon (Y/N) walks up to him and mentions in passing how much she missing their one on one study nights. Iida startled himself with how quickly he interrupted her sentence with a neat invitation to study together once more.

" I'd really like that" she smiled " I'll bring snacks"

Iida's heart hummed for the rest of the day. Through the rest of the lessons. Through the rest of the exercises. Through his evening workout. Through dinner. Even Todoroki mentions how much more invigorated he seemed today ( he couldn't help it after all he has finally had a chance to hangout with you.... )

That evening Iida walks back to his room thinking about how he's going to set up his room for your arrival when he hears the sound of speeding foot steps. Before he had a chance to turn around he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Are you ready to tutor the worst math student you've ever seen?"

Iida never though someone giggling could be so cute. He loved the way that she smiled and looked at him. So normal but also caring and with intention. He leads them to his room and helps (Y/N) with their armful of study materials.

They agree to being on reviewing the latest homework assignment to get an idea of where she was. Iida never minded helping out his peers and never liked how self deprecating they were but especially hearing the way that (Y/N) would talk to herself. Just because you aren't naturally talented at one subject doesn't mean that you are automatically garbage at everything. It means that you have to apply yourself and Iida has seen how hard (Y/N) works in other subjects.

After some formal instruction they had split into more individual work of the homework assignment. While (Y/N) is working on their math Iida had pulled out his laptop to work on the floor in tandem with her. Not to mention that he could keep a sneaky eye on her over the top of his screen.

He admired the way her face twisted with confusion when reading a question for the first time before resigning to re-read it out loud. Their intense focus of their proof work had them making some interesting faces. IIda couldn't help but let out a soft chuckle when he saw how much (Y/N) puffed out her cheeks.

She looked up, unconsciously bringing her face back to regular confused expression, and awaited an explanation for the noise.

"I'm sorry I shouldn't have laughed"

"Laughed at what?"

"The face you make when you're concentrated. It's so cute"

(Y/N) paused. Looking away from Iida and looking all over the wall behind him for answers they didn't have.

" I don't make any faces when I'm focused, what do you mean?"

"Nothing, really, it's nothing" Iida insisted.

Going back to their work it was not even ten minutes that passed when (Y/N) was making the same endearing face again. Again, Iida couldn't let the momment pass without another comment. Somethign about the casual nature of the situation, the way that (Y/N) put him at ease, or maybe it's the eucalyptus humidifier in the corner that got him in another state of relaxation.

"So cute"

Without moving her head she sends Iida a puzzled look with her eyes. Iida gently shakes his head and goes back to typing his essay. He knew he was in the deep end for (Y/N). There is no recovery from this without heavy emotional help. He would have to talk to his friends about the best way to approach this subject and how to (finally) confess to (Y/N).

He wanted to spend forever staring at that face after all.

[sequinsmile-x]

A Battle Hero's Welcome

It was only when she was in Paris, long lonely days stretched out ahead of her, that Emily had come to terms with the fact no one had ever loved her for who she actually was.

Emily and Aaron go to an event Elizabeth is hosting.

-x-

Hi friends

This is based on an ask I got about whether I think Elizabeth likes Aaron, and it got very much away from me (as usual). It's got some mommy issues, our idiots very much in love and some smut at the end for good measure. A true Vic special.

Happy Sunday, besties. I hope the week ahead is a good one for you <3

-x-

Warnings: smut, 18+

Words: 5.1k (it REALLY got away from me)

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

Emily fastens the back of her earring into place and steps back to look at herself in the mirror. She slowly looks herself up and down, looking for any potential flaws, anything she could fix that her mother could pick up on, the passive aggressive comments already ringing in her head. Her dress was dark green, a colour that she knew complimented her skin tone. It was floor-length with a slit that came part way up her thigh, the material floating down from the empire waistline, swishing delicately whenever she moves. She adjusts one of the straps of the dress to make sure the brand mark on her breast is fully covered, and critically eyes her cleavage, second-guessing if it was too revealing. 

She hears the front door of her apartment open, closely followed by her boyfriend’s voice.

“Hi sweetheart it’s me,” Aaron calls out, making her smile. He was the only person who had a key to her place, but he always announced himself as he arrived. 

“I’m in the bedroom,” she replies, shifting her attention to her hair, fingering the curls that had been left out of the updo she’d had it put in that afternoon. She turns to look at him when he walks into the room, her teeth sinking into her lower lip as their eyes meet. He was wearing a tux, the gold cufflinks she’d bought him for Valentine’s Day catching the light in her room, and he looked even more handsome than usual, something she hadn’t thought was possible.

“You look beautiful,” he says, his eyes fixed on her as he walks over and closes the gap between them, stamping a kiss against her lips, careful not to smudge her lipstick.

She smiles and reaches to adjust his bow tie, straightening it out for him, “You look pretty damn good yourself,” she says, kissing him before she turns to look in the mirror, tugging at the material of her dress again, “Are you sure this dress looks okay?” She asks, catching his eye in the mirror and indicating to her chest with her hands, “It’s not too…booby?” 

Aaron smirks and clears his throat as he walks towards her, wrapping his arms around her from behind, the material of her dress almost as soft as her skin, “It’s perfect,” he says, kissing her exposed neck, “You’re perfect,” he adds, smiling against her neck, “And I happen to love your boobs.” 

“Aaron,” she exclaims, clearly not in the mood for jokes, or to comment on the fact he’d said the word boobs. She narrows her eyes as she turns to look at him, “I mean it, is it okay?” 

“I’m serious,” he assures her, knowing she was more on edge than she would usually be, a sense of uneasiness surrounding her that only her mother could bring out, “You look beautiful.” 

She groans and leans into his embrace, careful not to press her face into his tux jacket and get makeup on it, “I’m sorry,” she says, blowing out a breath, “She just…drives me crazy. And we aren’t even there yet.” 

“You have nothing to apologise for,” he assures her, kissing her forehead before he pulls back, his hands running up and down her arms as if he was trying to press reassurance into her skin, “It’s just a few hours and then we can come back here.”

“I know,” she says, chastising herself for feeling this way. For letting her mother still make her feel like this even though she was in her 40s. A small part of her had hoped that when she came back from Paris that things would be different, that maybe they could use this as a second chance, but they’d so easily fallen back into how things had always been. “She’s just always been so critical of everything I’ve ever done and I don’t want her to be critical of us,” she says, avoiding eye contact as she looks to the floor, the admittance making her feel exposed, “It means too much.” 

It was the first time Elizabeth would be meeting Aaron as Emily’s boyfriend. She’d been abroad on an assignment most of the time they’d been together and this was the first time Emily would be seeing her mother since Elizabeth had returned to the US. 

“Em, I have met your mother before,” he says, smiling softly as he tries to calm her down, “And I do deal with sociopaths on a daily basis, I’m sure I can handle whatever the ambassador has to throw at me for an evening.” 

In any other circumstances, the comparison of her mother to the sociopaths they caught for a living would make her laugh, but somehow it makes her more nervous. She blows out a breath and clicks her tongue, her cheeks going pink as she admits something she’d held back ever since she’d invited him to this event.

“I…don’t actually know if she knows we’re together.”

Aaron frowns, his eyebrows knitting together as he looks at her, “What do you mean?”

Emily sighs and then clears her throat, “I told her I was seeing someone just after we got together and I just…froze” she says, speaking slightly faster than she usually does, “And every time I tried to tell her it was you I got interrupted like I’d fallen into some kind of sitcom,” she admits, her arms crossing over her chest, “By her having a work call, or Penelope calling, or fuck, even one time because I had to rescue Sergio from the top of the refrigerator,” she shakes her head, “And you know we don’t really talk that much anyway, but I told her you were coming tonight so…she must have put it together. I hope.”

He knows if it was anyone else other than Emily he’d be offended, worried on some level that her mother not knowing for certain it was him her daughter was dating was a sign that she was ashamed of him. But he knows it’s not that, he knows Emily loves him and that, if anything, this had been an attempt to protect him. The difficulty that shaped her relationship with her mother, all of the things neither she nor Elizabeth had ever been able to say, was something he’d known about long before he’d fallen in love with her. 

“I’m sorry,” Emily says again, her voice quiet as it cuts through the silence, and he realises he hadn’t said anything. He pulls her back into a hug, one she gratefully returns, and he kisses the side of her head. 

“Like I said sweetheart, you don’t have anything to apologise for.” 

She hums, not entirely sure that is true, and she smiles tightly at him, “Are you sure all of this is worth it?” She asks, tilting her head as she looks at him, “Surely it would be easier if you were dating someone who could actually have a conversation with her mother about you without freezing up,” she huffs out a breath and rolls her eyes at herself, “Or activating four decades worth of mommy issues” 

It makes him ache that she thinks that, that even after all the months they’ve been together she still saw herself as a burden, like she wasn’t the light of his life alongside his son. The very thing that reminded him of all the good things in the world on the days when they’d be otherwise hard to find. 

“You’re worth everything,” he assures her, leaning forward for a kiss, pulling back before she can deepen it, “Now we should get going, or we’ll be late.” 

She nods, wrapping her hand around his as they walk out of her bedroom, “Want to do some shots before we go?” 

He laughs and wraps his arm around her shoulder, “I snuck some of the mini bottles of liquor from the last hotel room we stayed in just for tonight,” he says, smiling wryly when she looks at him, “They are in my jacket pocket.” 

She stops them and pulls him in for a quick but fierce kiss, using her thumb to rub her lipstick from his skin when she pulls back, “I knew I fell in love with you for a reason.”

___

She’s grateful when they manage to make it an entire hour at the party before they see her mother. It gives her enough time to settle into it, into the role she felt she’d played every day when she was growing up. The socialite that had never quite felt like who she really was. There were times when she really wished she could be who her mother wanted her to be, nights when she’d prayed to a God she was never really sure she’d believe in, begging to wake up the next morning as the daughter her mother had always wanted.

It had never happened, and now she was older, and comfortable with who she was, she was glad it hadn’t. Objectively she knew her mother loved her, but that there was still some part of Elizabeth that hoped even now Emily would become who was born to be. Her love for her daughter somewhat conditional, forever bound to who she thought she should have been. 

It was only when she was in Paris, long lonely days stretched out ahead of her, that Emily had come to terms with the fact no one had ever loved her for who she actually was. Past partners had loved her because of her name, of the status she could provide. Ian had loved Lauren, a part of herself that she still grappled with even now, and her mother loved the fantasy of the daughter she’d never truly had. No one had ever simply loved Emily. 

“Sweetheart, I got you a drink.” 

She smiles as she turns to look at Aaron, taking the glass of champagne he offers out to her. 

No one had ever loved her like that until now. It was still incredible to her that she’d found him. That he’d been right in front of her all along, the answer to the question she’d never dared to ask.

“Thanks, honey,” she says, stepping closer to him but keeping a respectable distance, neither one of them particularly comfortable with public displays of affection, especially in this setting, “You were gone a little while.” 

“I was caught by one of the Senators,” he explains, shifting just close enough that their arms brush, the material of his jacket making her shiver as it touches her skin, “He recognised me from a case we worked on and wanted to chat.” 

She smiles as she takes a sip of her champagne, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say this was your scene, not mine.” 

He chuckles, “What can I say, I’m highly adaptable.” 

She’s cut off from saying anything else as her mother approaches, “Emily,” she says, coming to a stop just in front of her, leaning forward to kiss her cheek, “Lovely to see you.” 

“Hello Mother,” she says, tightening her grip on her champagne glass instinctively. She smiles as she tilts her head towards Aaron, “You remember Aaron.”

“Of course,” she replies, reaching out and shaking Aaron’s hand, “Nice to see you again Agent Hotchner,” She looks them up and down as she carefully clears her throat, “Although, I hope you won’t think I’m being rude when I say I was surprised to see that Emily had invited her boss tonight,” she says, looking back at her daughter with a pointed stare, “I was expecting to meet the boyfriend she’s been keeping from me.” 

Emily sighs, a fake smile etched onto her face as she stops herself from rolling her eyes, well aware that her mother already knew what Aaron’s presence meant, and that she was going to make her say it. She clears her throat as she leans in closer to Aaron, grateful when he wraps his arm around her, his hand on her waist the anchor she needs. 

“I did bring my boyfriend,” she says, her fake smile never slipping, even when Elizabeth raises her eyebrows, “Aaron and I have been together for 9 months now.” 

There’s a moment of silence before Elizabeth hums, a short sharp noise in her throat that reminds Emily a little too much of when she’d been a teenager. Arms crossed and eyes fixed on the floor as she stood in front of her mother’s desk, ready to be chastised for perfectly normal teenage behaviour. 

“Well, in that case I apologise, Aaron,” she says, turning her attention back to him, “My daughter doesn’t tell me very much about her life, you included,” she smiles, “I wonder why that is.” 

Aaron feels Emily tense next to him, her shoulders so tight he can almost sense the knots forming in them. He smiles politely, his mother’s old warnings that you were never to say anything unkind to someone else finding their way out of the recesses of his mind. 

“That’s okay Ambassador Prentiss,” he says carefully, briefly tightening his hold on Emily’s waist, “I know you don’t get the chance to call her very often because of how busy you are.”

Emily isn’t sure she’s ever loved him more, and she covers the laugh that almost escapes with a cough, pressing her lips together when her mother looks at her.

“You should have another drink, dear,” Elizabeth says, raising her eyebrow at Emily, “You clearly have a tickle in your throat,” she looks past them and spots someone else, offering them a quick wave before she turns her attention back to Emily and Aaron, “I should go speak to some other people, I’ll see you both later.” 

They exchange some more pleasantries and Emily keeps her smile fixed on her face until her mother is out of eyesight and then she groans, draining the rest of her glass of champagne in one go. 

“God, she is hard work,” she says, putting her empty glass down on a table next to them.

“She’s seen us now,” he says, rubbing his hand up and down her back, “I’m sure we can go if you want to.” 

She shakes her head and smiles sadly at him, “I’d never hear the end of it if we leave now, it’s easier to stay.” 

Aaron leans in to kiss her, his lips gentle against hers, and when he pulls back he looks over at the dance floor, “Come on, let's go dance for a bit.”

She frowns as he pulls her towards the dancefloor, his hand firm but gentle around hers, “Honey, you hate dancing,” she says, smiling curiously when they make it to the dancefloor, his arms tight around her. 

“But you love it,” he says, kissing her cheek, “And I love you.” 

She smiles at him and cups his cheek, pulling him in for a kiss she knows her mother would deem inappropriate if she saw it, but she doesn’t care. Overwhelmed by affection for him. She stays close when she ends the kiss, her arm hooked around his shoulder.

“I love you too.”

___

Emily breathes out a sigh of relief as they step into her apartment and the door closes behind them. It had a long evening and she was exhausted, wanting nothing more than to get into bed with the man she loved and forget everything else existed. 

“You okay?” 

She looks at Aaron as he turns to face her and she nods, reaching out to place her hand on his shoulder so she can balance herself as she takes off her shoes. He puts his hands on her waist, holding her in place, and she moans in relief as her high heels fall to the floor. 

“I’m okay,” she says, not entirely sure she believes it herself, “Drink?” 

He nods and she smiles, stamping a kiss against his lips as she walks to the kitchen and pours them a glass of scotch each. She smiles to herself as she looks over to see him taking off his own shoes and then picking up hers, placing both pairs in the rack next to the door. Their eyes meet as he looks up at her and he smiles, walking the short distance to the kitchen and joining her there, reaching for the glass of scotch that she passes him. They walk to the couch in silence, sitting close to each other, their thighs touching as they settle down

“I’m…sorry. About tonight,” she says, watching him carefully, guilt for the way she’d handled telling her mother about them making a sharp return, stealing the breath from her lungs as it mixes with how she feels responsible for her mother’s behaviour all evening, “You’d think she’d be happy I’m with a man who loves and respects me,” she says, looking down at the amber liquid in her glass before she laughs bitterly, “Someone who’s kind and sweet and smart. But no…she’d rather just get the digs in where she can.” 

It had started relatively subtly. Elizabeth introducing Aaron as Emily’s boss to her friends before she corrected herself to say he was in fact her daughter’s partner. It had happened more than once, although Emily knew even the first time hadn’t been an accident. It had escalated to more than that as the evening went on, the comments getting less and less subtle until Elizabeth pulled her aside and asked if she’d thought it through. If she’d considered the ramifications of being with a man so different to her, of what it could mean for her future. A conversation about prenups and how he had been divorced before. Comments that she had to consider her money could be part of it all, all of which came to a sharp end when Aaron had found them tucked away, Elizabeth’s demeanour shifting back to polite, but passive-aggressive the moment she spotted him. 

“Em, sweetheart-”

She leans back against the couch and sighs, cutting over him, almost unaware she was talking at all, “I don’t understand why she can’t see that someone could just want to be with me for me,” she says, taking a sip of her drink, “I hate that she can’t just be happy for me, that there’s always got to be something. And I hate that she can still get to me, that she knows what buttons to press.” 

“I’m sorry, baby,” he says, putting his glass down and taking hers too so he can tug her into his side, pulling her close, “You deserve so much better,” he kisses her forehead as she hums in response. He hesitates before he speaks again, already knowing what her response would be, but needing to say it nonetheless, “You do know it has nothing to do with the money right?” He asks, his hand already on the top of her head to stop it from colliding with his chin when she sits up sharply, her eyes wild, “When it comes to it, getting married I mean, I’d sign anything I need to do prove that.” 

“Aaron,” she breathes out, fury directed towards her mother threatening to burn her from the inside out, “Of course I know that,” she says, cupping his cheek, “And…when the time does come,” she says, trying not to think too much about the fact she was referring to them getting married as a definite before they even officially lived together, “I don’t need you to sign anything.” 

He knows they’d need to have this conversation again at some point, when marriage was more than just a hypothetical. When she was wearing the ring he’d already mentally picked out, the one he went to look at in the jewellery store every now and again, ignoring the amused look on the sales assistant's face. He knows she’ll fight him on it, that she’ll hate the idea of it, but he does think a prenup would be a good idea. That it would go some way to hopefully prove to Elizabeth he was in this for the right reasons. 

He also knows now isn’t the time for that, that she’d already been stressed enough this evening, so he simply nods, leaning in to kiss her, “Okay.”

She flashes him a smile and chuckles humourlessly, “You’re still sure I’m worth all of this?” 

Aaron nods and pulls her closer, the split in her dress allowing her to sit in his lap, her thighs bracketing his, “Always.” 

She smiles as she leans in, sighing contentedly as their lips meet. He wraps his arms tightly around her, his palm scorching against the exposed skin on her back. She opens her mouth and licks along the seam of his lips. He immediately responds, tasting the whiskey on her tongue as they deepen the kiss. She gets lost in the feel of him, pulling at his bow tie whilst they make out, desperate to feel his skin against hers. She removes the tie, throwing it somewhere over her shoulder before she turns her attention to the buttons of his shirt, growling in frustration when she can’t open them fast enough. She pulls at both sides of the shirt and hears the top few buttons scatter, smiling against his lips when he pulls back.  

“This shirt wasn’t cheap,” he says, his hold on her, the scratch of his blunt nails against her back enough to show he wasn’t annoyed.

“I’ll buy you ten new ones,” she replies, so close that her nose nudges his, biting at his lower lip before she leans in to kiss him again, swallowing the moan that escapes him. 

He skates his arms up her back, making her shiver and roll her hips against him, and then he reaches for the straps of her dress, tugging them down her arms. She lets go of him just long enough for him to pull the top part of her dress down, the material gathering around her rib cage. He pulls back to look at her, his pants tightening even further at the sight of her. The bra she was wearing was the same shade of green as the dress that had been driving him crazy all night, lacy cups pressed against her skin. 

“I love this colour on you,” he says, leaning forward to lick the valley between her breasts, “Love every colour on you,” he works his way upwards, nipping at her collarbone, smirking against her skin when he feels the breath catch in her chest. She curls her arms around his neck, her hands tight in his hair as she holds him in place, “You’re perfect.” 

She throws her head back as he sucks a bruise next to the healed brand mark, something she knows is him claiming her as his own. A type of machoism she’s sure she should hate but she loves, the idea of being his enough to make her skin fizz. 

They were each other’s, and she knew they always would be. 

His hands are on her back again and he unhooks her bra, once again letting go of her just long enough to slip the straps down her arms and remove it. She smiles at him, her eyes hazy with desire before she kisses him fiercely, her tongue swooping through his mouth before she removes herself from him completely, standing up and smirking at him as she lets her dress slip to the floor. His eyes go wide as she steps out of it, now completely naked, and he clears his throat.

“No underwear?” he chokes out, standing as she backs away shaking her head.

“I didn’t want there to be panty lines in the dress,” she says casually, biting her lower lip as she watches his eyes go darker, his need for her written all over his face. 

“Makes sense,” he chokes out, desire for her burning through him, causing him to shift his hips a little, desperate for some friction. She winks at him and turns around, walking towards her bedroom before she looks at him over his shoulder. 

“You coming?” She asks, smirking at the double meaning before she continues her journey to her room. 

He’s up and by her side in seconds, making her laugh as he wraps his arms around her, somehow out of his jacket in the few seconds it’s been. She knows he’ll be mad that it’s creased in the morning, but it gives her a thrill. The knowledge that she can make him forget his sensibilities even all these months later sends a shiver up her spine. She turns and faces him as they enter her bedroom and she wraps her arms around him, pulling him in for another kiss as she lets him guide her to the bed, falling down onto it when she feels the frame against the back of her knees. 

She leans up on her elbows as she watches him take off his shirt and pants, her eyes travelling over his body as she waits, anticipation making her press her thighs together. She lingers on his scars, on the places where he’d been torn open and sewn back together, saved so he could be here with her. Their first night together they’d both been tentative, both self-conscious of scars the other revered. Evidence of what they had survived, their pasts that were similar enough that they understood each other on a level no one else ever could. 

She chuckles as he almost trips over his pants, her smile not fading as he looks at her once he’s regained his footing, his gaze intense. He walks over, leaning down over her, hovering just far enough away that she has to push herself up to kiss him, her arms looping around his neck as she pulls him down with her, groaning at the feel of him on top of her. His weight relaxing, the anchor she sought out in the middle of the night when she had nightmares, the comfort she needed to be brought back to him. To what she had now. 

He reaches for her thigh, grasping at her skin as he hooks it around his back. He pulls away from the kiss and kisses her cheek, then her neck, his lips and teeth focused on her collarbone again as his hands drift between them. They groan at the same time when he presses his fingers against her, circling her clit before he presses two fingers into her, her heel digging into his back as she moans.

“So wet for me already, sweetheart,” he says, sucking a bruise into her neck as he continues to pump his fingers in and out of her, curling them to hit the spot that made her breathless, her grip around his shoulders getting tighter.

“Fuck, Aaron, please,” she breathes out, “Please.”

Despite her begging, he builds her up slowly. Taking his time in the way he knows she needs, the way he knows will make her forget this evening. Everything but them and what they have together fading away as he switches between biting and them licking at her skin. She rolls her hips against his hand, the feeling building in her stomach, burning as it spreads through her body, a loud moan escaping her as she comes. 

She pulls him in for a kiss, one of her hands in his hair, holding him in place, and she reaches between them with her other hand, smirking when he groans as she pumps him up and down, the kiss breaking as he presses his forehead into hers.

He presses forward, both of them groaning at the familiar stretch. They maintain eye contact, her hand still in his hair as she pushes her hips into his, a silent request that he moved, every nerve ending already on fire, not quite recovered from her orgasm. He starts to move, and she matches his rhythm, her gasp skipping across his face. It’s like time slows down around them, the rest of the world disappearing apart from the two of them, and she has no idea how much time has passed when she hears him start to mutter against her skin. 

“You’re so perfect,” he says, linking their hands together next to her head, “You’re so fucking perfect,” he grunts out, “You feel so good.”

“You too,” she replies, her thighs starting to tremble, “Fuck,” she can feel she’s close again, her vision starting to go fuzzy at the edges. He reaches between them again, always one step ahead of her, so aware of her needs that he could anticipate them. She groans, her head thrown back as she closes her eyes. 

“That’s it,” he says, kissing her cheek softly, “Come for me.” 

She tips over the edge, and he kisses her to cover the scream, following her over the edge as she clenches around him, his groan muffled against her lips. 

They lay like that for a moment, catching their breath, before he rolls off of her, pre-empting her complaint about it by taking her with him, ensuring she was wrapped around his side. He kisses her, and she smiles into it, her nose brushing against his. They lay in silence for a while, both of them catching their breath, basking in the love they had for each other. 

“I’ve got to ask,” he says eventually, knowing he can finally make the joke he’d been wanting to all evening, well aware she’d been too tense earlier for him to do so, “Seeing as you didn’t tell her that we were together, are you going to keep all of the major milestones of our relationship from her?” He asks, smiling when she playfully narrows her eyes at him, “What about when we get married?” 

She shakes her head at him, her teeth sinking into her lower lip at the thought of it. It if was anyone else she’d panic. The mention of getting married when they’d been together less than a year usually enough to make alarm bells go off in her head, enough to make her pull away. But with him it was different. She knew he was it, that she wanted it all with him, and the thought of a happy ever after no longer felt as daunting, or as impossible, as it once was. 

She playfully shrugs and smiles at him, “Actually I was planning on letting our firstborn break the news to her when the time comes,” she says, shrugging again, “I mean, who is rude to a baby?” 

Aaron shakes his head and pulls her into a kiss, “You’ve got it all planned out,” he quips, the words skipping over her face, and she nods, reaching up to trail her fingers through his hair. 

“Yeah,” she whispers, “I do.” 

-x-

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ashnikko demidevil inspired blurbs

I just took lines from ashnikkos demidevil album and made little blurbs with whatever gave me inspo :) femme reader sometimes gender neutral in some spots, everyone is 18+

Content warnings: yandere-ness, stalking, mentions of heat(but not a/b/o), dubcon, master title(?), light angst? But it’s well deserved, blood

I don’t need a man I need a puppy, allergic to you every time you touch me -

Babysitting your friend's new puppy hybrid wasn’t a task you’d originally wanted. She had gotten him fairly recently, only to jet away to an impromptu vacation, leaving you the sole caretaker of the very large hybrid.

The only problem was you were allergic to dogs. Nothing terrible, but if he stayed around you too long, you’d start to get hives. And he understood that, politely keeping his distance as he roamed around your home.

“Getou, I’m home!” You announced after a long day of work, throwing open the front door only to be assaulted by a harsh musk in the air.

“Master!” Within moments of you kicking the door closed you were pounced on by the giant puppy that had been staying with you for a while. Your back hit the door hard but that wasn’t what you were focused on.

“G-Getou! What’re you doing?!” Your face was aflame not only from embarrassment but from the strong waves of heat rolling off his body. Getou had slid to his knees on the floor and shamelessly shoved his face into the crotch of your pants, his nose bumping right at your slit through your clothes.

“Master please...help…” He whined pitifully, rutting his hips against your leg. It was almost comical, the way he was hunched over you trying desperately to get stimulation to his leaking cock dangling between his legs.

Muddling through the murky memories of what your friend had told you about Getou, it took a few minutes to remember that she had mentioned something about him possibly going into heat.

“Are you…” It only took a glance down at his sweaty body covered only in a t-shirt to affirm that he was indeed in heat. He whined again, nearly sobbing as the harsh material of your bottoms rubbed against his sensitive cock. “What do I need to do?” The question made Getou’s head fly up, and the usual smirk on his face was gone, replaced with glassy eyes and quivering lips.

“I-I know you don’t like dogs but- but could you please just touch me?” Rubbing his face against your hip, Getou looked at you again. His hair and the fur on his ears was frizzy no doubt from sweat and his lips looked like he’d been biting them.

“Scoot back, puppy.” Placing a hand on his forehead, you gently pushed him back. The heat on Getou’s face was scalding, washing over him in a bright blush. Begrudgingly letting you go, Getou sat back on his knees, shoulders hunched but still managing to take up a good amount of space.

“Please help.” Balling up the edges of his shirt, Getou tucked the fabric under his chin and presented himself to you. His skin had a pale red flush, chest heaving and abs tight from trying to contain himself. Your eyes were drawn to his cock, leaking a generous amount of precum down the thick shaft.

“Puppy.” You said the word softly, and a warmth settled between your legs at seeing him look at you from under his lashes. The intense pheromones in the air were triggering your allergies and there was only one surefire way of getting rid of them.

“Master!” Getou choked out as another gush of precum rolled down his cock and his tail thumped against the ground as he writhed a little in agony. “Hurry, please!”

“Let’s go to the bedroom, puppy, it’ll be easier to help you there.” You’d thought about taking him to the couch, but the bed would be more comfortable in the long run.

And you didn’t need to utter the phrase twice. Getou leaped from the ground, his long tail swishing excitedly as he grabbed your wrist and ran to the bedroom. Pushing you onto the bed, he stripped himself in an instant.

“I-I’ll try not to be too rough, master.” He mumbled, climbing over you just as you’d started shrugging off your jacket. Nearly crushed by his entire body weight, Getou made sure to slide his cock right against your clothed cunt, rutting hard against you as soon as he could. “Unless you want it like that.”

I don’t need a man I need a rabbit, I need a new toy just to cleanse my palate -

Get a bunny hybrid, they said. It’ll be fun, they insisted. Bunnies are so cute and nice, they repeated over and over. Well yours surely wasn’t.

“Gojo! Get over here!” You were at your boiling point. All day Gojo had been causing mischief, leaving food out, popping out from behind corners and furniture and scaring you, pulling on your hair and clothes, asking never ending questions.

“Yes?” The lanky bunny hybrid with long white ears waltzed into the kitchen, not wearing his trademark dark glasses and leaving his bright blue eyes on display.

“What the fuck is this?” Glaring harshly at him, you pointed to the floury mess smeared on the kitchen counters and wall. It looked like he’d attempted to make some kind of dough but had given up halfway.

“Wasn’t me.” Gojo shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Then who could it be, because it wasn’t me and we’re the only ones here.” Crossing your arms tightly over your chest, you glowered at his careless expression and slouched body. He looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here presented with the mess he’d undoubtedly made.

“Dunno.” He shrugged again, scratching behind his ear and avoiding eye contact with you.

“Gojo, clean it up.” Pinching the bridge of your nose, you took a deep breath.

“I didn’t do it!” Stamping his feet, Gojo shook his head and his ears flopped side to side.

“I’m not playing these games anymore! Just do what I ask for once!” It was a constant back and forth with the two of you, and while you had plenty of sweet moments to outweigh the bad, sometimes it wasn’t enough.

“(Y/N), c’mon!” Gojo whined and threw his head back. Staring at each other for a few minutes, your blood pressure only rose the longer he remained immobile.

“One.” You drew the word out, and Gojo’s head snapped to attention. Waiting a breath, he didn’t move any further.

“Two.” Saying it even slower this time, you could just barely see the twitch of his little puffball tail.

“Th-”

“Alright, I’ll clean it up!” Shooting over to the counter, Gojo huffed and puffed. “Even though it totally wasn’t me.”

“Whatever, the kitchen better be sparkling before I go to sleep.” Leaving the mess behind, you avoided Gojo for the rest of the day and didn’t see him as you got ready for bed. Checking the kitchen one last time, it was indeed back in pristine condition.

Going to sleep without saying goodnight to the pouty bunny you’d seen sulking in his room, you went to sleep alone. More often than not Gojo would sleep in bed with you, but whenever the two of you were snippy with each other he would sleep alone.

A hot, wet tongue between your legs roused you from sleep. You were absolutely sweating beneath the blankets that were drawn up to your chin and there was a Gojo sized lump underneath them.

“G-gojo…” Breathing deeply to try and push the sleepy fog from your mind, his name ended in a high whine as his tongue flicked against your clit. Wrapping his lips around it, Gojo sucked on the bud, keeping your legs spread out across his shoulders.

He got you to cum fairly quickly, having aroused you enough in sleep that when you awoke you were already on the brink. Squeezing his head between your thighs as you came on his tongue, you shuddered at the deep groan he let out.

“Ya know (Y/N),” He started, voice muffled by the blankets before he threw them off and sat up, “I’ve been thinkin’.” Settling between your legs, Gojo kept your ankles on his shoulders as he leaned over.

“Ab-about what?” Your mind was dizzy with pleasure, eyes only just able to focus on Gojo’s face above you. Even though this was the first time you two were doing something like this it still felt natural. Something you’d have to talk about in the morning, but natural nonetheless.

“You’re always so fucking snippy all the time-”

“Hey!”

“I wasn’t finished! You’re snippy all the time and you always get on my back for the stupidest shit.” He giggled at the glare you gave him, a light blush spreading across his cheeks. “But I’ve found the perfect solution to that!”

There wasn’t a chance to question him on what he meant. Gojo lined up his cock and pushed into your cunt, easily sliding in and bottoming out in one go. You hadn’t gotten a chance to look at it properly, but you knew it was easily the biggest you’d ever had.

“This is your solution?” You half panted, wrapping your arms around Gojo’s shoulders and whimpering as the tip of his cock hit your cervix.

“Yeah.” He was breathless as well, biting his lip as he slowly pulled out and lightly slapped his hips against yours. “I figure what better way to change your attitude than to fuck it out of you.” Grabbing onto your ankles, Gojo leaned nearly chest to chest with you.

His forehead brushed against yours, his snowy white hair tickling you. He did a few experimental half thrusts, getting the feel for the angle he was in and making any minor adjustments.

“And luckily for you, (Y/N), I’m a rabbit.” Immediately, Gojo picked up the pace of his hips, jackhammering into you at an insane speed and quite possibly bruising your hips in the process.

“Gojo!” Your voice caught in your throat at the sudden change, your body being folded in half and crushed into the mattress.

Gojo smirked at your shocked expression, dropping one hand to rub your clit. You let out a sharp cry, jolts of pleasure shooting up your spine. Your walls clamped down on him in an instant, making the drag of his cock just a fraction slower.

“I can go all night if I have to.”

Make your man call me daddy -

Was Itadori a little nervous? That went without saying, yes, he was very nervous. This was the first time he’d worn lingerie in public, hidden under his clothes but with the possibility of someone seeing if he bent over the wrong way.

He kept tugging down his hoodie and pulling up his pants, making sure no one saw the lacy thong he’d put on. He had on a bra as well, a lacy little number that was truly just a few tiny pieces of fabric sewn together.

Not to mention the prostate massager currently buried snugly in his ass, vibrating at random with varying intensities. Itadori almost regretted purchasing it as another powerful vibration went through him and nearly made him fall over in the street. But he didn’t want to let you down, so he endured the torture.

“I’m back.” Practically crawling through the threshold of the door, Itadori was nearly in tears at being back in the safety of your shared apartment. He had barely managed to complete all the tasks you’d given him, the little white plastic bag in his fingers crumpled to death with how strong his grip was.

“In here.” You called out from the bedroom and Itadori followed the sound until he got to you. Lounging at the foot of the bed, you looked nearly innocent with your legs crossed and foot swinging daintily.

Itadori didn’t speak as he entered the room, hovering by the doorway for a moment before fully entering and standing in front of you, head down and looking at your sock clad feet.

“How was it, baby?” Your question made him flinch and a hot burning washed over his face.

“I- it was- something.” He sighed, glancing up to see your quizzical expression for a fleeting moment.

“Did you keep it on like I told you to?”

“Of course!” Itadori nodded immediately, already grasping the hem of his hoodie and pulling it off to reveal the bra underneath, the fabric stretched tight against the barrel of his chest.

“Look at your nipples, they’re so cute.” You cooed, reaching up to press your finger onto one. It was perfectly perky, pebbled from the stimulation of rubbing against lace. Itadori shivered and leaned into your touch, biting his lip to stem any too loud moans.

Taking your hand away, your eyes flicked down to his pants and he quickly removed those as well.

“Oh baby, you shoulda told me you came! You made such a big mess!” It wasn’t surprising in the slightest to see the absolute mess of sticky cum smeared across Itadori’s cock, the thong he had on and his thighs.

“Sorry, I just didn’t want the fun to end.” He pouted, fully kicking off his pants and tossing them to the side with his hoodie.

“I bet the toy felt real nice, huh?” Sparing him a lecture, you reached out and swiped your finger through the cum coating the tip of Itadoris cock. He jolted at the contact, letting out a high whine and pressing his thighs together.

“Y-yeah, it did.” He managed to answer, somehow staying steady on his feet through the near overstimulation he was in. Gathering a bit of cum on your fingers, you presented it to him and Itadori obediently bent down, taking them in his mouth and sucking them clean.

“Good boy.” You grinned, running your free hand through his hair and letting him nuzzle into you. “Go pick out which toy you want next, you deserve a reward.” Freeing your fingers, Itadori bolted to the dresser drawer where you kept the toys.

“I choose this one.” In his hands was his favorite toy, a strap-on you’d bought together at a local sex shop.

“Alright, lay on the bed.” Taking the toy from him, you watched him lay down just like you’d taught him: face down in the pillows with his ass presented high in the air. Running a hand over his ass, you smiled down at him. “You’re being such a good boy today, baby.”

“Thank you.” Itadori replied, mouth muffled by the pillows as he tried to make eye contact with you. Quirking your head to the side, you gave him a silent look and he flushed, ears tinging a deep rouge. Licking his lips, Itadori looked away for a moment before shuffling a bit to make better eye contact with you. “Thank you, daddy.”

You don’t ever cross my mind, what’s a sheep to a tiger? -

It was laughable that he thought he was being so secretive, like you couldn’t tell you were being stalked when all you could feel were his eyes watching you at all times.

You’d already changed the locks after you caught him following you home.

Your curtains were always drawn closed, but that didn’t stop him from lurking outside, his shadow a constant presence outside your bedroom and bathroom windows.

You couldn’t even count the amount of unknown phone numbers you’d had to block in the past month alone along with deleting voicemails that only had slightly shaky breathing on the other side.

As far as stalkers went, Okkotsu Yuta wasn’t that great. You’d only briefly met him once at a meeting with other sorcerers and he had appeared weak and spineless before you, barely able to make eye contact despite his vast power.

“Fuck, you again?” You groan, seeing Yuta waiting by your door as you waltzed back from a run to the convenience store.

“H-hello.” His voice is just as meek as ever. You’ve seen him be confident and assured before when he didn’t know you were in the room, but as soon as he saw you it was like he became a totally different person and lost even the will to speak.

“Get a fucking job.” Not in the mood to entertain him, you slid closer to your front door. You weren’t scared about possibly having to get physical with him, you could surely hold your own against a grown man who actively stepped back as you got closer.

Worrying his lip and wringing his hands together, Yutas eyes darted everywhere, from the small plastic bag in your hand to your outfit and finally settling atop your head. His breathing was loud and unsteady and there was a light blush coating his cheeks.

“Are you just going to keep standing there like a loser?” Glaring at him, you sneered as his blush got deeper and there was a subtle squeeze in his thighs. “What do you even want? Gonna try to give me more flowers?”

“No.” Yuta answered immediately, the bitter memory of you stomping on the bouquet he bought you fresh in his mind.

“Then what? What does a little sheep like you want?” Crossing your arms, you tapped your foot impatiently.

“I-I just-” Blinking rapidly, there were a million thoughts going through Yutas head. He couldn’t find the words and his mouth was running dry. He nearly collapsed seeing you sigh and shake your head, about to fish out your keys and walk right past him. “W-wait!”

“What?”

“Do you- I just have to know, (Y/N), do you ever think about me like how I think about you?” Yuta looked so hopeful it was morphing into sick desperation in his features. His brows were knitted together so tightly that you knew there’d be lingering wrinkles there.

“Okkotsu.” Saying his name firmly and squaring your shoulders, you stared right into his eyes with a fierce look on your face. This was the first time you were ever making eye contact and to say it made you sick to your stomach was an understatement.

“Yes?” He whispered, licking his lips nervously.

“I have never thought about you in that way.” His smile fell as you spoke, and you could see his heart break behind his eyes. “In fact, any time I think of you I get sick. You disgust me.”

“Darling-”

“Shut the fuck up, don’t call me that.” You snapped, pushing him back as he tried to reach out and touch you. “Get the hell away from me and leave me alone, you’re pathetic and gross.”

“I love you! I love you so much, please!” Falling to his knees, Yuta reached his hands out to you, hoping you’d take them and soothe his soul from the pain you’d just inflicted.

“I’d rather be swallowed by a curse than have you as a lover.” The scornful look you sent Yuta made him physically wither away, flinching at the red hot anger brewing just beneath the surface. “Besides, I’m pretty sure people in love don’t stalk each other.”

“Darling...please…” There were tears dripping down his face that just made him look worse. Scoffing one last time at him, you shoved your key into the lock and swung open your front door.

“Okkotsu, if I ever see you in this neighborhood again, I’ll kill you myself. Rika be damned.” With those parting words, you slammed the door closed and locked it swiftly, immediately heading to the cabinet where you kept your alcohol. You surely needed a drink or three after dealing with the headache that was Okkotsu Yuta.

Just as you took the first sip, a ding sounded on your phone, an indication of a text.

“Oh brother.” Rolling your eyes, you already knew who it was from.

(Unknown number): I’ll never give up on you, I’ll love you until the very end

Blocked, deleted. Time for another drink.

I’m crazy but you like that -

Breaking up with your boyfriend was the right thing to do. Breaking up with your boyfriend was the right thing to do. Breaking up with your boyfriend was the right thing to do.

But why did it feel like the worst decision you’d ever made?

He was brash, controlling over every part of your life, demanding your undivided attention at all times. He claimed he only wanted what was best for you, but the final straw in your relationship came when you caught him installing a hidden camera in your bedroom. He was far too casual when he said the last one had broken.

So you had no choice but to break it off. Sukuna had taken it well at the time, calmly and silently grabbing the things he had over at your place and leaving with only a curt goodbye. And since then, you hadn’t seen him.

Emphasis being on seen.

His presence was still very much felt in your life. There was mail addressed to him showing up at your place. You’d get random unknown numbers calling you throughout the week, sometimes with voices you didn’t recognize trying to ask you questions and other times it was silent on the other line until whoever called hung up.

But all the strange occurrences were beginning to add up and it was starting to feel like Sukuna had never left in the first place. All the times you came home to a tidy front entryway when you knew you’d left in shambles before heading to work. The way your shower products seemed to diminish quicker even though you hadn’t changed your routine. And sometimes, you woke up in the middle of the night to a shadow just outside your window, darting away just before you could properly get up.

Changing the locks on your front door and adding locks on all the windows you could had given you much needed peace of mind. The strange things inside your house had stopped. There wasn’t anything you needed to purposefully ignore now. You could sit up a little straighter, breathe a little easier.

Waking up in the middle of the night to go pee, your mind was far away from reality. Thoughts of Sukuna were the last things on your mind, clouded with sleep and just ready to melt under the covers again.

Returning to your bedroom, however, you noticed a figure sitting on the bed that wasn’t there before. It didn’t take a genius to figure out it was Sukuna. Floundering back against the wall, a scream caught in your throat.

“The bed’s getting cold, angel. Come lie back down.” Sukuna said, a deranged smile on his face. His eyes were wide, drinking in your shaking form wildly.

“W-what’re you doing here?” You whispered, clutching the doorframe as you stumbled to it.

“I had to see my baby, I’ve been missing you.” Breathing hard through his nose, Sukuna patted the bed. “Come here, lemme look at you. It’s been a while since we’ve been face to face.”

“N...no. No!” Shaking your head, your own pupils were blown wide in fear. You watched every miniscule movement Sukuna made, from his breathing to how his fingers twitched. “Get out of here before I call the cops!”

“Aw, call the cops? But, how will you do that? Your phone is broken.”

“What?” Following Sukunas pointing finger, you gasped when you saw your phone smashed to bits on the floor by his feet.

“Now c’mere.” Patting the bed a little harder, Sukuna’s smile wavered. “You know I don’t like asking twice.”

“Sukuna please- please just leave.” There were hot tears burning your lash line, begging to be blinked away, but you refused to close your eyes. The smile on Sukuna’s face fell and rose again rapidly as whatever thoughts he had swirled in his head.

“(Y/N), I don’t think you understand.” Laughing under his breath, Sukuna stood up and stalked over to you.

“Don’t touch me!” You finally screamed but it was too late to try and fight him off. Sukuna grabbed your upper arm tightly and dragged you away from the door and to the bed. “Let me go, Sukuna! You’re crazy!”

“Crazy? Ha!” He barked, flopping back onto the bed and forcing you to straddle his lap. Slapping a hand onto your ass, Sukuna grabbed your jaw and tilted your face toward him. “If being in love with you makes me crazy, then so be it.” Staring at your face, Sukuna had a softer smile now. It was still unsettling, especially close up, and the way his eyes barely blinked had you on edge. “But don’t pretend you don’t like it at least a little bit.”

Wanna see me switch, get psycho like they say I am-

Your new boyfriend Nanami said he was just a salaryman, and why wouldn’t you believe him? He wore freshly pressed business suits everyday, sometimes carried around a briefcase, had the usual 9 to 5 schedule and always grumbled if he ever had to work overtime. Occasionally he met you for lunch and there he’d demand to talk about anything other than the work he did.

He never gave you the impression that he was anything but that, anything other than what he said he was. Whenever the two of you went out on dates, he was either getting off work or wore long sleeves.

This was the first time you were going to go over to his place for a date. Your relationship was starting to progress more romantically and while he’d seen the outside of your home after dropping you off from a date, this was the first time either of you would be in such a closed intimate setting.

His apartment was in a much more luxurious building than you’d first imagined. There was a doorman that had let you in, someone waiting at the front desk and even the elevator was luxurious with rich dark wood.

“Nanami, I’m here!” You called as you approached the door. Raising your fist to knock, you were surprised to see it cracked open, and there were loud noises just inside. Taking a moment to see if anyone had noticed your announcement, you took a chance and pushed open the door.

The entryway was beautifully decorated with Nanami’s shoes lined up neatly by the door. Just looking at the hallway, you could tell he had hired someone to decorate for him.

“Nanami?” You called again, hovering by the door. Whatever sound was in the other room paused for a moment, only to resume again in a more fervent way. “H-hello?” Sneaking down the hall, you came to the entryway to the lounge room and nearly collapsed.

The bloody, unconscious body was what you noticed first, followed by the blood stains speckled about the hardwood floor and reaching the walls. You saw Nanami second, standing over the body in what was once a plain white t-shirt now stained crimson. Third were the tattoos crawling up his arms, rich blacks and reds embedded into his flesh.

“You’re here early. How’d you get in?” Nanami asked in his usual monotone voice, only slightly breathless as he looked you over. He seemed unfazed by your sudden appearance, happy even, a small smile ticking up on the side of his mouth.

“The- the door was open.” You didn’t know where to look. You couldn’t possibly look Nanami in the eye, not with the way he looked so calm while standing over a body you were pretty sure was going cold. There was dark blood on his hands, nearly mixing in with his tattoos.

“Silly me, must not have pushed it closed all the way.” Chuckling to himself, Nanami straightened up and stepped over the body, taking a few steps over to you only to stop when he saw you scurry back. “(Y/N), don’t act like that.” He sighed like he was talking to a child.

“Tell me what’s going on.” You said, voice shaking more than you would have liked.

“Just doing a bit of overtime, that’s it.” Nanami shrugged indifferently, taking another step toward you.

“I thought you said you were a salaryman. What kind of overtime is this?” As he took more steps toward you, you stepped back until you hit the wall.

“I am a salaryman.”

“For the yakuza or something?!” It was a shot in the dark, really. You had no reason to believe he was in a gang other than the familiar tattoos that you’d seen on the news and the blood everywhere.

“As a matter of fact, yes.” He confirmed it with a straight face and you could tell he wasn’t lying. Nanami wasn’t one to lie or pull punches. Lifting up his hand, Nanami almost cupped your cheek but stopped short when he remembered the blood on his hands. “Let me go clean up, and we can talk about this more.”

As soon as he turned around, you fumbled to get your phone out of your pocket. There was no way you would be staying in this place any longer with him. Not only were you pretty sure he just killed someone, you had no idea what he could do to you.

“You wouldn’t be trying to call anyone, would you?” Nanami asked, turning on his heels by the body. Dropping your phone to the ground as soon as you were caught, you cursed under your breath as he faced you squarely.

“I like you a lot, (Y/N). Don’t mess this up. I’d hate to show you how deranged I can truly be.” The ghost of a smile graced his face and Nanami walked back over to you and grabbed your phone, immediately coating it in sticky blood. “Go wait in the den down the hall, I’ll be by in a moment.”

Slowly dragging your feet to the room in question, you waiting just inside for Nanami to arrive. The den was cozy, a plush warm toned loveseat facing a stone fireplace and a TV. This room, like the others, was undoubtedly decorated by a professional.

“Sorry to make you wait.” Nanami’s voice made you jump as he entered, walking past you and into the room. Sitting down on the loveseat in a fresh shirt and pants and clean skin, Nanami let out a pleased hum.

“Nanami…” Worrying your lip, you didn’t know what to do. You knew you should leave, but there wasn’t a chance in hell that your weak knees would make any sort of movement akin to an escape.

“Don’t be shy, (Y/N).” Spreading his legs, Nanami pat his thigh invitingly. “Come sit on my lap, a pretty little kitty like you deserves the best seat in the house.”

[officialscaramouche]

Hey hey! Could I request the reader overworks themselves and is all tired and stiff but refused to slepe adn keeps pushing so scara steps in and forces them to sleep and relax, like gives them a good massage then helps them sleep?

Anon I loved this prompt!! It was the first thing I did when I woke up, before I even brushed my teeth

pairing: Scaramouche x gn!reader

tw: u may just die of fluff

wc: 1,447

Scaramouche dropped the folder into the box before heading out. He hated working late but what was he to do if the Tsaritsa wanted it before he left. Most of the time she gave a deadline but sometimes she’d want it sooner and that’s fine. He wasn’t incompetent; he could do his work on time. Regardless, he was finished and he couldn’t wait to see you. He passes by your office whenever he leaves simply because he knew you left before him and he always wanted to make sure you didn’t leave anything behind. He hated coming back because you left something, so now he always checked. But something was different this time.

As it was late, nearly everyone had gone home. There were maybe two or three people other than himself that were unfortunately working late, but why was your office lit? He knocked, just to be sure, and pushed the door open. You lay on your desk asleep, drool pooling on your paperwork. He clicked his tongue and shook his head, walking over to your desk to straighten it up. You woke to his stirring, the sound of pens being dropped into your ceramic mug, and stretched up with a groan. “Shit,” you curse, looking at your damp papers. “I didn’t want to fall asleep.”

Scaramouche walked around to you and scooted your chair out, grabbing your hand delicately and guiding you up to your feet. “It can wait for tomorrow,” he said with his usual scowl. “Let’s go home and rest.”

The pressure on your shoulders to pump out more work didn’t go unnoticed by him. He watched you carefully as you sleepily slid into your shared home office and dropped the heavy folder of paperwork on the desk. He rested his chin on your shoulder, wrapping his arms around your waist. “Why don’t you just do that later? It’s my turn to make dinner, so sit down and eat.”

You flipped open the first packet of information and immediately the words began to scramble and jump, making your head sting. “My case manager wants it all done by the end of the week,” you grumbled, massaging your temple. “I haven’t even finished the first set of material he gave me, and he gave me some more today.”

Scaramouche rolled his eyes as he pulled back, crossing his arms. “I hate that mother fucker,” he spat. “I oughta say a thing or two to him.”

“Please don’t,” you sigh. “The last thing I want is for him to take out his frustration on me more than he already has.”

“Fine,” Scaramouche said, turning to leave the room. “But you stop when I’m done cooking. And you don’t touch it again for the night.”

You give him a thumbs up before the door closes behind you.

Scaramouche was intentional with the dinner he made. When he cooked he liked to make healthy foods; it was all that he made when it was just him. But this time he wanted to make something that would put you to sleep on a full tummy. He didn’t need to go get you, as the smell pulled you out on your own. “That smells good,” you sauntered in, peering over his shoulder to look at the pot. “Give me a lot. I didn’t eat lunch today.”

Scaramouche chuckled as he spooned the curry onto your plate. “Of course, baby.”

You took your plate and sat down at the table, your utensils and napkins already there. He came around after a moment with his own plate, setting it on the table before disappearing back into the kitchen for drinks. You ate spoonful after spoonful of Scaramouche’s delicious cooking, your body warm with love and the unmistakable feeling of drowsiness washing over you.

You lean back into your chair when Scaramouche takes your plate to toss in the sink. “That was so good baby, thank you.”

He smiled, undoing his apron to hang on the wall. “You’re welcome, baby.”

“I can wash the dishes in a bit, I’m just so tired.”

Your boyfriend walked up and placed a chaste kiss on your lips. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll do it later. Just go lay down, I’ll join you in the bedroom in a bit.”

You wobble over to your room, being so unbelievably tired. This was the most exhausted you’ve ever been. You were always home first, where you could cook for him or clean the house or go grocery shopping for dinner. But this week you hadn’t been able to get any work done, so you started leaving later, while still getting home with enough time to prepare for Scaramouche. But that wasn’t enough either.

You hated working at home because you know how irritated both you and him get when there’s work to be done at home, and the last thing you wanted was to not get anything done. You stayed the latest you could tonight and you would’ve stayed longer if your boyfriend hadn’t woken you up.

Stripping of your clothes and throwing yourself into bed, the softness of the mattress was already enough to put you to sleep. Scaramouche walked in not too long after, crawling into bed next to you. He leaned over you, kissing the backs of your shoulders, hands reaching up to squeeze the muscle there. “Mmn,” you groan at his touch. “You don’t have to, sweetie.”

He continues with his kisses and squeezes. “I want to, though,” he says against your skin. “My baby’s been working so hard lately. You deserve it.”

He gets all the way up, straddling your bottom as he works his hands into your back. His touch is firm, but not too rough, and he’s kneading out the knots in your neck. His touch kind of tickles, his coarse hands scratching at your soft back.

Then he goes down your spine, gently working out the cracks in each vertebrae as he goes down, smoothing out the muscles that hold you up all day. As badly as you wanted to enjoy the massage, you can’t fight the sleep that takes over under his touch.

For the first time ever, you’re the one who wakes up after him. You jolt awake, realizing you’ve slept longer than normal, and you hurry to the bathroom to get ready. You had another long day ahead of you, and you were already up to a late start. Scaramouche’s side of the bed was already cold and made, and you were a little upset that he didn’t bother to wake you up knowing you had so much to do.

You shimmy into whatever clean clothes you had and throw the bedroom door open and run to the kitchen for a quick breakfast. But breakfast had already been made, and Scaramouche was putting up the last of the dishes. “I was just about to wake you,” he said calmly. “Sit and eat while it’s still hot.”

You brush past him and kiss him on the cheek. “Thanks baby, but I’m just gonna take some fruit and go. I need to get started on my work.”

Scaramouche dries his hands with a rag and flips it over his shoulder, jutting his thumb over to the table. “Don’t worry about it, I did it last night.”

You peek from behind the fridge. “You what?!”

“Yeah, while you were sleeping last night. It’s fine, just sit down and eat please.”

Your eyes sting as the tears approached, and you cried tears of happiness. You were so stressed about getting all of this done, and yet your amazing boyfriend managed to do it all in one night. “T-Thank you S-Scara!!! How did you d-do all of it?!”

He let out a laugh and pulled you close to him, cradling you with an arm around your waist and a hand on your chin. “I’ve been doing paperwork all of my life, sweet thing.” He kissed you and thumbed at the tears on your cheeks. “Now please, eat with me.”

You stuffed your face with rice and grinned. “I hope he doesn’t give me anything more to do,” you spoke through your food. “But if he does, I’ll do it all by myself.”

Scaramouche sipped his tea and looked at you from over the rim. “I sure hope he doesn’t either,” he chuckled, knowing very well that a passive-aggressive note with his stamp right in the middle of the page had just so happened to slip inside your folder. And if “Don’t dump your bullshit reports on your colleagues just because your dick is too small and face too ugly for Signora to notice you,” doesn’t work, then termination would do just fine.

[sunflowervolvimp3]

you’re someone i just want around: VIII

Like wolves we've run wild

Let passion get too much

And let ourselves get burned by the fire

We're walking on wire

But nothing feels higher

Then when I see that look in your eyes

Small Talk, Niall Horan

A/N: here she is!! another part!! you’re probably used to this now, but part 8 got a little long, and will continue in a part 9 but honestly!! who cares!! it just means more vampirerry for all of us 😌 here we deep dive into a few more dates with a dash of some good ole jealousy!! love to see it love to hear it!! and andrea and i would just like to say THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO VOTED IN THE 1D CRAFT AWARDS!!!! we cannot believe ysijwa was even nominated, let alone that it won most unique!!! as a thank you, we’re doing a livestream this sunday!! you can send in questions, we’ll discuss the story, and just have a lil chat so please tune in!! details can be found here!! and please if you like what you are reading here!! reblog it!! leave reactions in the tags (we read every single one)!! send a message to andrea and i!! feedback and interaction is what keeps content creators motivated to keep writing and updating!! and that’s a general rule for all content creators not just us!! we do this for free so a lil love note is always appreciated 💌 alrighty now that that’s out of the way!! let’s dive in!!

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

word count: 30k

content/warnings: confessions of an immortal shopaholic, blair waldorf dark au, the glamorization of the sugar baby lifestyle, harry not understanding the concept of sharing, y/n “eat the rich” y/l/n, harry the walking rosetta stone (tw: google translate), an italian chef (and psychic) who will also adopt someone before dessert is served, A Cinderella Story 6: Fifty Shades of Gucci Grey (rated R), an internal monologue of john mulaney’s “now we don’t have time to unpack all THAT!!!”, and a definitive guide on how to get rid of unnecessary parts of an outfit

Harry is aware that he has a taste for excess. 

He wasn’t always like this, truly.  When he was human, everything about his life had been thoroughly middle class.  He was apprenticed to his father, the town’s blacksmith, and spent the majority of his life living in modesty.  He wore plain clothes that had been sewn by his mother with the cheapest and most durable material she could find.  He spent most of his days at the forge, or dutifully completing chores at home.  He prayed quietly in church, took only the bare minimum of what he needed from anything, and, for the most part, kept his head down.  He’d lived his life with no fancies, no frills, and no fun, in the hopes that all his humble modesty would serve him well in his next life. 

And then he ended up eternally damned, so a fat lot of good that suffering had done him.  All he got from following such a plain mode of life was intimacy issues, a newfound bloodlust, and a broken neck. Therefore, when it came to his afterlife, Harry decided to try a different route. 

And that route, lucky for him, always seems to lead him back to Gucci. 

Harry’s tried a lot of styles and a lot of designers in his two hundred and some years of life, but he’s yet to find anything that speaks to him like Gucci does.  Whether it’s a leather wallet, a blue velvet suit, a sheer pussy bow shirt, or a silk neck scarf; if it has the Gucci label stamped on it, Harry probably owns it. 

Whenever he steps foot in the store, sales associates flock to him, knowing that he’ll drop at least five thousand in one visit.  Harry knows he should feel a tad guilty, but frankly, he thinks he’s earned it— more so than those billionaires he compels into making monthly donations to the “charity funds,” also known as his bank account. 

His methods, however, do bring him a bit of flack from his friends.  While Mitch normally does everything with Harry, the laid back and neutrally good-aligned vampire can only spend so much time in a high-end boutique before claiming that he’s “choking on the cologne of the entitled.” Niall, on the other hand, doesn’t let his teasing nature stop him from joining Harry, but Niall’s affinity for polyester usually stops Harry from allowing him inside the store.  And Xander is a non-starter— the last time Harry tried to bring him, the vampire had spent the entire time cracking scathing jokes about Harry being a sugar baby, to which Harry responded with a comment about Xander being jealous of the salesman fitting Harry.  That little argument turned into a three day battle of neither speaking to the other, and had only been settled when they each agreed that the other deserved to lose an eyebrow for what was said.  

Harry could recount more instances of friction caused by his shopping habits, but needless to say, he either frequents the shopping district of Los Angeles by himself, or with Adam, who is wonderfully indifferent to Harry’s methods of obtaining pocket change, as well as how he spends said pocket change, and possesses the bonus trait of having an eye for beautifully tailored trousers. 

It’s Adam who is by Harry’s side as he walks into the Gucci store for the third time in two weeks, his disinterested expression nearly eclipsed by the confident smirk that adorns Harry’s ruby lips. 

It’s almost like they have a censor for him, Harry thinks smugly, as the associates begin to whisper to each other at the sight of him.  Even if he didn’t absolutely love the brand, Harry would come to Gucci just for the boost to his ego. 

Despite having accompanied Harry before, Adam still leans over to his friend, raising a quizzical brow as his eyes scan over the racks of clothing they pass. “Do we have to go to the counter, or—?”

“Oh, I never have to go to the counter.” Harry chuckles lightly, brushing his icy fingers over a smooth silk shirt styled on a mannequin. “They—”

“Mr. Styles!”

The egotistical simper on Harry’s lips grows, and he shoots Adam a smug look before turning around. “They come to me.”

“Mr. Styles, it’s so nice to see you again.” Mr. Koffman, the manager of this particular location, stops in front of Harry after a brisk walk over, fixing the fit of his suit jacket before extending his hand to Harry and Adam. “How are you?”

“I’m well, thank you.” Harry shakes his hand once, enjoying the usual look of bemusement that flashes through the human man’s eyes at his strong grip and cool skin. “And yourself?”

“Oh, I’m just fine.” He replies, shaking Adam’s hand once without moving his attention from Harry. “We’re thrilled to have you back so soon.  I understand we have a suit in the works for you?”

Adam rolls his eyes the moment Mr. Koffman turns away from him, turning his attention to the rack of jackets to the left and running his fingers over the material. 

“Yeah, I got the call this morning to come pick it up.” Harry pauses, giving Adam a sideways glance as his grin grows. “But I was wondering if I could do one last fitting, just to make sure everything’s set…?”

“Oh, uh—” Harry enjoys the frayed tone that echoes from the manager’s mouth as he begins to scramble, a light sweat breaking out on his forehead. “I’m so sorry, but we have another appointment coming in fifteen minutes, and—”

Harry sighs in mock disappointment, clicking his tongue as he gives a slight nod. “Ah.  I see.” He sighs again and lifts his shoulders in a small shrug, glancing at Adam from the corner of his eye.  The other vampire is watching him with a half-amused, half-exasperated expression, and it takes all of Harry’s willpower to bite back a laugh. 

The light sheen of nervous sweat on Mr. Koffman’s brow begins to drip down his temple. “I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Styles—”

“No, no, it’s alright.” Harry waves off the apology with an unconcerned air, glancing at his own statement watch and sighing again. “If you could just have my suit sent down to the Gucci location on Rodeo, I’d really appreciate it— I know they’ll be able to squeeze me in for a last minute fitting.” Harry smiles at Koffman, whose face fades a shade paler as the creature gestures to his friend. “C’mon, Adam.”

“No, no, there won’t be any need for that!” Mr. Koffman says quickly, checking his watch again as his hand reaches for the handkerchief in his suit pocket.  He dabs at his moist forehead while forcing a smile at Harry, who gives an easygoing smile back. 

“It’s alright, Mr. Koffman, really— if you’re unable to make some room for me, I’m sure they’ll be happy to—”

“You’ve been a wonderful and loyal customer to us, Mr. Styles— we’d be more than happy to make room for you.” The human smiles again, the action more strained than before as he tucks his handkerchief away and clasps his hands in front of him. “Just— Just give me one moment to arrange it with alterations, and move some things around.  Please, feel free to browse,” He gestures to the racks of clothing around them. “And I’ll be back in a few minutes once we have everything ready for you.”

Harry hums in the back of his throat, faking hesitation as he replies in a slow voice. “Well...if you’re sure it’s not too much trouble…”

“No trouble at all.  Not for you.” Koffman, to his credit, manages to make the response sound natural before scurrying away, already dialing a number on his phone as he speed-climbs the staircase leading to the alterations department. 

The laugh Harry’s been choking on for the last three minutes escapes the moment the human disappears, echoing off the marble walls around them as Harry turns to Adam with a glint in his eye. 

Adam, on the other hand, looks less entertained and more annoyed. “Was that really necessary?” He asks in a bored tone, crossing his arms as his eyebrows raise in question. “Why do you need to try the suit on?  You had, like, three fittings.  It’ll be fine.”

“I know, but I want to make sure it’s perfect before I take it home— I’m spending way too much money for it to possibly be defective.  And I want you to see it in all the glory of the mirrored Gucci fitting room.” Harry pats his friend’s shoulder as he steps past him, his attention captured by a pair of red leather and snakeskin boots sitting on a pedestal in the corner. 

Adam snorts once, short and harsh. “Were those the only reasons, Mr. Styles?”

“Well, now that you mention it…” Harry drags a finger over the embroidered side of the boots, his cherry lips rising at the corners. “I do enjoy making Koffman squirm.  He’s so easily bothered by the littlest of things; it’s like an open invitation to cause some trouble.”

“Y’know, if I didn’t know what you really were,” Adam laughs once in spite of himself, shaking his head in disbelief while checking out a pair of plaid trousers. “I’d think you were the devil.” 

Harry’s smile twists into something more sinister as he fiddles with his gold cross, twisting the pendant under the overhead lighting so it glints symbolically in Adam’s eye. “It’s a good thing I’m not, hm?  I’d be unstoppable.”

“We’d all be doomed, that’s for sure.” 

“Oh, absolutely. But world-domination aside, everyone knows the devil wears Prada, not Gucci. Get it together, Prendergast.” 

The clicking of dress shoes against the marble steps alert Harry to Koffman’s return before his sputtering heartbeat does, and the vampire turns his head just in time to see him descend down the spiral staircase. 

“Good news, Mr. Styles!” He beams at Harry as he steps off the last platform, nearly tripping over his feet in his effort to get to his client. “I was able to talk to the girls, rearrange some appointments, and we’ll be able to do a final fitting for you.”

“That’s wonderful t’hear, Mr. Koffman.” Harry tucks his cross back beneath his shirt with a pleased grin, catching Adam’s eye over the mortal’s shoulder. “I wasn’t fancying the drive to Rodeo.”

“I wouldn’t either, sir.” Koffman nods solemnly, gesturing to the stairs with a stubby hand. “But we’re always glad to make accommodations for you here.”

And isn’t that the truth, Harry thinks as he makes his way upstairs, Adam hot on his heels as Koffman leads the two of them to the alterations department.  Part of the reason why Gucci— and this location, if Harry’s honest— holds such a place in his unbeating heart is because it reminds him of an era long gone.  When Harry steps through the gold archways of the store, he instantly transforms into a person worth noting, and is waited on as if he were a lord in Victorian England who was set to inherit twenty thousand pounds.  Now, of course, Harry could drop the equivalent of twenty thousand pounds in one shopping trip, but it was a large sum of money back then, when Harry could only dream of such wealth. 

Now, the immortal’s reality involves him being waited on the moment he enters the alteration department, with one attendant handing him a glass of champagne as another shows him a display of accessories to match his custom suit, which hangs proudly inside a garment bag on the wall.  Adam, for all his eyerolls, still accepts the complimentary champagne and appraises the accessories right along with Harry, who gets a chance to roll his own eyes as an attendant named Mara convinces him to try on a platinum watch.

“Would you like to try one as well, Mr. Styles?” The other attendant, Blair— Harry’s favourite consultant at the store, truth be told— bats her eyes at him as she taps a finger over the Rolex already adorning Harry’s wrist. “Could be nice to switch it up, no?”

Harry offers a polite smile as he readjusts the band of the watch on his arm, tutting in reply. “I’m afraid I’m rather attached to the Rolex brand for my watches, Blair.” He sighs before nodding his head at Adam, who’s become enamoured with the platinum band on his wrist. “Best to focus your energy on that one, I think.  He’ll make you some easy commission.”

“It’s not about commission, Mr. Styles, it’s about finding you something you’ll love.” Blair pouts as she leads him behind the dressing room curtain, her lithe fingers unzipping the garment bag covering his suit with one swift motion. “I thought you’d know me well enough by now to know you’re much more than commission to me.”

The smile on Harry’s face only falters for one second, the flicker going unnoticed by the employee as she carefully removes the suit from the bag.  The last time Harry had been here for a fitting, she hadn’t been working— he remembers because the new attendant they’d sent to deal with him had nearly zipped his suit into the garment bag when the fitting was over.  It had been Blair, however, who had originally measured him for the suit, and Harry remembers her wandering fingers that paused at his inseam a moment longer than needed, how she had showered Harry with praise as he modeled the sample suit.  It had done him good then as he strutted around the alterations department, flexing underneath the chandelier light as she’d complimented his every pose, but that had been nearly two months ago.  Moreover, it had been two brunches, four dinners, three walks, and an antiquing trip ago.  A lifetime ago, really.

“That’s very kind of you, Blair.” Harry finally manages to respond, his fingers pausing at the buttons of his shirt as she hangs the separate parts of the suit on their own hangers. “I’d trust no one else with a suit this expensive, you know.”

“Oh, I know.” A light giggle escapes the girl as she hangs the jacket on the wall, stepping back and admiring the pieces with a keen eye. “I’m glad you decided to go with the light grey fabric; it’ll compliment your eyes so nicely.” When she turns back around, Harry doesn’t miss how the same keen eye skirts over the half unbuttoned fabric covering his torso. “I’ll give you a moment to slip everything on.  If you need anything…” The girl tugs the curtain back just enough to let herself out, her pink lips tugging into a simper. “Just call for me.”

Harry’s smile grows tighter as the curtain closes behind her, and disappears the moment he’s out of her sight.  He’d forgotten, really, the effect he has on most mortals.  It had been something he’d paid close attention to before, delighting in how they all unknowingly stroked his ego as their jaws dropped whenever he’d walked by.  In a way, it’s nice to know that he’s still capable of that— he’s still a narcissist, after all— but it’s a little less satisfying when he’s grown so used to that careful attention from Y/N.  When it comes to stroking, he thinks shrewdly, a smirk slowly crawling onto his face as he strips out of the rest of his clothes, there’s no one better than her. 

Once he’s stripped completely, he dresses in the custom suit, pulling the crisp fabric along his muscled limbs and tugging it into place.  He starts with the silk black shirt, slipping his arms into the sleeves and buttoning the two sides together, excluding the top three holes.  After that, he steps into the grey trousers, tucking the shirt in and taking a moment to admire the black stripe that runs down the inseam of the pants, which— to Blair’s credit— hug his thighs perfectly.  Once he’s satisfied with the lay of the article, he slips the suit jacket overtop, adjusting the sleeves over the dress shirt as he fiddles with the cuffs.

“Now, don’t worry about the cufflinks with the suit, Mr. Styles,” Blair calls through the curtain, her voice grating across Harry’s admiration with an irritating cadence as she seems to predict his need. “They’re just some samples given by the store.  I’ve personally selected some more appropriate pairs that match your style much better.”

When Harry tugs back the curtain, Adam has shifted himself to the plush velvet couch in the middle of the room, his champagne glass already refilled as he slouches back against the cushions.  Mara, it seems, has disappeared from the fitting room, but Blair is standing just to the side, next to a table lined with gold accessories for Harry to try.

“Well?” Harry asks, stepping to the platform that sits in front of the mirrored wall, his jeweled hands tugging at the starched lapel of the jacket.  He regards himself in the mirror for a moment, admiring the fit across his sturdy shoulders, before rotating around to face the vampire and mortal. “What do you think, Adam?”

Adam takes a long sip of his champagne, mulling over his reply for so long that it sparks irritation in Harry’s stomach, which is only soothed by his long awaited comment. “It looks good.” He nods, squinting his eyes as he tilts his head to the side. “A little plain, compared to what you normally wear, but it’s nice.”

“I don’t know if it’s proper to call this plain.” Blair scoffs, looping the tape measure in her hands around her neck as she approaches Harry, her heels clicking against the lacquered floor. “Mr. Styles usually has a preference for something more patterned, true, but there’s something to be said for a sleek, simple suit.” Harry watches the way her eyes flicker down his body, pausing at his inseam with a look that’s less than professional. “And that black stripe along the inside of the pant certainly...draws the eye, does it not?”

Although her words are laced with implications, Harry directs a smirk at Adam as he rakes a hand through his curled locks. “It’s alright, Blair.  Adam’s right, it is a little plain compared to what I normally wear, but every man needs a nicely tailored formal suit in his closet.”

“Exactly.” Blair nods in earnest response as she begins to circle Harry, her detail oriented eyes sweeping over every aspect of the suit.  In the reflection of the mirror, Harry catches the way her eyes settle over the fit of his backside, her heartbeat increasing for just a moment until Harry clears his throat.

“The cufflinks, love?” Harry prompts, raising his arms as he begins to fiddle with the cuffs. “These sample ones are horrid.  You said something about gold…?”

The attendant snaps from her objectifying stupor, her eyes meeting Harry’s in the mirror as a light blush settles over her cheeks. “Yes, I, um, picked some out for you here.” Her heels click again as she retrieves the velvet lined tray that’s studded with jewelry, bringing it to Harry for him to examine. “We have a few variations of the Gucci logo— interlocking G’s, some embossed onto gold coins— but I think this pair we just got in might be to your liking.”

Harry reaches for the cufflinks Blair points to, pinching one between his fingers and lifting it close to his eye to examine it.  It’s a pair of interlocking G’s, but instead of a smooth finish similar to the other pairs before him, these have textured engravings all around the letters.  It takes Harry a moment to realize that the engravings are scales, and the G’s are actually—

“They’re engraved to look like snakes, with black Swarovski crystal eyes.” Blair begins her infomercial-like spiel, holding up the other cufflink for her own examination. “They’re 18K gold with an aged finish, and the attention to detail is just extraordinary.  Even the back is engraved with an Arabesque motif.” She twists the cufflink around in her fingers as Harry does the same, examining the engraving with an approving nod.

“They’re lovely.” Harry murmurs, wrapping his fist around the cufflink to secure it before removing the sample cufflink from his own sleeve.  With one swift motion, he’s swapped one piece of gold hardware for another, fiddling with the fit of the sleeve as he sets the new cufflink amongst the fabric. “S’a nice fit, I think.”

“It’s a wonderful fit.” Before he can reach for the other cufflink, Blair snags his sleeve in her grasp, replacing the sample in a motion nearly as swift as Harry’s. “Beautiful, really.  It’s such an understated suit, which works to its advantage, but the pop of gold on the cuffs will really make everything stand out so much more.”

Harry nods seriously, a pensive look on his face as he examines the sleeves once more before raising his arms. “What d’you think, Adam?  Look alright?”

Adam offers a passive nod as he becomes distracted by the rack of watches again, his fingers draping over another platinum band. “Looks good, man.  But you know that.”

“I know.” Harry flashes a blinding smile at his friend, dropping one emerald eye into a wink as he fiddles with the cufflinks. “But I like hearing you say it.”

“It really is a perfect fit, Mr. Styles.” Blair nearly coos the words as she circles him again, her careful fingers tugging and adjusting the lines of the suit just enough that it can be considered appropriate for her job.  “Gorgeous.  The best we’ve done, I think.” Her fingers dance over his lapel as she adjusts the fall of his open neckline, and a flash of warning ignites in Harry’s stomach as her skin grazes the ink of Harry’s chest. “But the suit is only doing half the work, you know.  The rest is all—” Her touch travels up the lapel and across his shoulder, her body taking a step behind his own as her touch settles on the nape of his neck. “You.”

Although her skin barely brushes the back of his neck, the pin-prick touch bursts into a shudder that paralyzes Harry’s entire body, tensing his every limb.  When it releases, his frame spasms one single time in reflex, yanking itself away from the human’s touch.

The shudder doesn’t go unnoticed by Blair or Adam, although each has their own response based on what they know of Harry.  As his jade eyes harden to stone, Harry catches the cautious movements of Adam, who is slowly pulling himself into a tense and careful posture in the corner of Harry’s eye.  Blair, on the other hand, is merely frozen with her hand still hanging in midair, a confused and bewildered expression painted onto her features.

“Is everything alright, Mr. Styles?” She questions, her self-preservation betraying her as she takes another step forward with her outstretched fingers once again reaching for Harry’s shoulder. “Is something in the suit bothering you?”

Harry gives a rough shake of his head as he leans back from her touch once again, forcing himself to take a deep breath through his nose to collect himself.  When he speaks, his voice is low, raspy, and filled with a quiet fury that exceeds the intensity that would accompany a scream. “I think I’ve mentioned before,” He enunciates each word clearly, his delivery cold in every aspect. “I prefer not to be touched there.”

Despite the tense undercurrent of Harry’s voice, Blair’s expression relaxes once she realizes the cause of it. “My apologies.  I was just trying to adjust the fit.” When she places her hand on Harry’s elbow and tugs at the sleeve, her brow creases at the taut joint, but her voice remains as smooth and slick as ever. “I’ll make sure to keep my hands to myself— or at least, wait for your direction on where to put them.”

The smile that curves over her lips begins to fall as Harry’s face stays as stony as ever, his own mouth dragged down into a frown as the implications of her words settle around him.  Part of him wants to snap right there, to give into the instinct to bare his teeth, swell his chest, and show this emboldened employee what she’s really touching, but Adam’s eyes over her shoulder urge him not to. 

His friend knows how sensitive Harry can get when his guard is at full throttle, especially when that issue stems from anything vaguely related to that particularly haunted place the young woman had carelessly touched. Watch it, Adam’s gaze seems to say as he shakes his head just enough for Harry to notice.  It was an accident. You’re fine. 

Harry inhales deeply once again, grounding himself in his human persona with each rise and fall of his chest. “That would be wise, I think.” He finally responds, straightening his back and turning to face himself in the mirror once again. “Just be a bit more careful.”

It seems that Blair has finally gotten the hint, because every touch of her fingers over him for the rest of the fitting is calculated and precise.  Her hands do drift a little further on his body than what’s necessary, but she makes sure she doesn’t graze against his icy bare skin again.  What Harry finds most curious, however, is that every swipe of her fingers against the fabric grates on what seems to be his last nerve.

They’ve played this cat and mouse game before, always teasing, always touching, and just barely staying out of reach.  But it seems Harry has gotten too lax in his ways, he thinks, as his cold eyes watch the movements of the girl in the mirror, because she’s never been this blatant before, especially in front of another customer.  Does she actually think something could happen between the two of them?  Does she really believe that Harry would drag her behind the curtained partition, meticulously remove the suit he’s just paid thousands for, and trace his own fingers over her supple flesh as if he’s fitting her for himself?

The thought nearly pulls a ridiculing laugh from Harry’s chest, but that laugh is replaced with a pondering thought that irks Harry the moment it flickers into his mind.  He could do that, yes.  He’s certainly done worse, and Blair can probably sense that.  If Harry were in her position, of being the mouse that believes it’s the cat, he would probably think that something was going to come out of all their chasing eventually.  And why hasn’t it?

The answer, of course, comes to Harry a moment after the question does.  Even though Blair is, by society’s standards, objectively attractive, and obviously willing to follow any direction he gives her, Harry is smart enough to not draw attention to himself by hooking up and feeding from a consultant that works at his favourite store.  It had been Niall, he thinks, who summed up a simple yet effective rule wonderfully for him once: Don’t shit where you eat.  Plain and simple.  

But there’s a second answer that grinds at the back of Harry’s mind, festering inside every thought as Blair makes final adjustments, blathers on about accessories and additions, and tries to raise her commission by once again showing Harry watches.  Harry doesn’t want Blair, because Harry has Y/N.  Being touched by Blair feels wrong because Harry’s so used to being touched by Y/N.  And Blair grazing over his neck bothered him so much because he can, apparently, only stand someone’s fingers grazing there if Y/N is the one doing it.

And perhaps festering isn’t the right word, Harry muses, because the warmth that’s spreading through him with that realization feels a lot more like blossoming than anything else.  It flowers within him, lavender weaving through every limb, letting him know that maybe— just maybe— he’s not as selfish as he thinks.  He could be a complete monster, and fabricate a relationship for Y/N while still pursuing other people, but he has, at the very least, one shred of decency hidden within him.  Although he indulges his base desires whenever he’s with her, he at least has the power to resist one of them.

With that in mind, Harry finds it easier to pay less mind to Blair’s lingering touches and sly compliments, and instead focuses on cherry-picking the suggestions he wants to take from her.

“Y’think I should change the shoes, then?” Harry steps down from the platform, drifting closer to the full length mirrors to examine the black leather loafers adorning his feet. “Something more colourful?”

“Not necessarily colourful, no— after all, we’ve worked hard to create a cohesive look.  We wouldn’t want to interrupt that with a sudden burst of fuschia.” Blair laughs once, brushing her hair behind her ears as she hums in consideration. “But something with a bit of gold, maybe?  To match the cufflinks?  We could add some gold hardware to those loafers, or just find a new pair for you…”

“New is always better.” Adam chimes in from the couch, tilting his half full glass to Harry with a wry smile. “Isn’t that right, Mr. Styles?”

Harry points a ringed finger at him, winking once in confirmation. “Right you are, Mr. Prendergast.” He begins scanning the room, his eyes catching every pair of shoes displayed and comparing them in his mind. “Do you have some selections we could look at, Blair?”

“If you give me a few moments, I could certainly run to the back and pull some—”

As Harry’s keen eyes settle onto a pair of boots on display in the corner of the room, he raises a hand, cutting the girl off in one swift motion. “That may not be necessary.” He murmurs, walking over to the pedestal and examining the newest object of his fascination.

The boots are made of matte leather with polished snakeskin over the toes of the shoes, both fabrics shining the darkest black Harry has ever seen.  The leg of the boot is relatively short, and would probably only come to Harry’s ankle, with a black heel that would add an inch or two to Harry’s already tall frame.  But the pièce de résistance that draws Harry’s eye the moment he sees them are the embroidered gold dragons that adorn the outer sides of each boot, their bodies coiled in such a way that Harry almost swears he can see them breathing. 

He slides one finger around the toe of the boot, nearly shivering in how pleasurable the silky surface feels against his skin. “How much?” He mumbles the phrase with a reverent look in his eyes, his voice as delicate as his touch.

Blair’s smile twists into one of apology as words Harry has never heard from her before fall from her mouth. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Styles, but those are actually a custom order for another client.  They’re not for sale.”

Harry hums low in his throat, his fingertips dancing over the gold embroidery. “I’ll add another thousand onto whatever they’re paying.” He says, earning a breath of hesitation from Blair and a sigh of exhaustion from Adam.

“Christ, Harry,” The latter groans, rubbing his eyes in a frustrated manner at Harry’s familiar antics. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re bad at sharing?  Did you skip that part of kindergarten?”

“Kindergarten wasn’t really a thing where I grew up.” Harry reminds his friend, shrugging indifferently before turning his attention back to the torn consultant. “So?  Another thousand?  I think that adds on quite a nice percentage of commission for you, doesn’t it?”

“I— Mr. Styles, I’m not really sure if—” Blair stutters over her words as she quickly strides over to him, the clicking of her heels against the marble floor punctuating each pound of her heart in her chest. “I don’t really think we can do that.”

A short laugh echoes from Harry’s ruby lips as a grin dimples his cheeks, the humour of her words apparent only to him. “You know I don’t take no for an answer, Blair.” He raises his eyes to hers and locks their gazes, lowering his voice to a smooth and convincing octave, pupils dilating as supernatural magic flows into his irises.  When her own eyes respond the same, her face falling slack for just a moment, Harry knows he’s alright to continue. “You didn’t answer my question.  How much?”

“Just under four thousand.” The consultant replies immediately as the compulsion settles into her brain. “They would be around five if you wanted to add on the thousand you mentioned before.”

The smile on his face twists into something more conceited, and Harry steps back from the boots with a satisfied sigh. “I’ll take them, then.” Confidence weaves itself through his voice as he meticulously removes the suit jacket from his body. “Call Mara to wrap them up, won’t you?  While I’m changing, I’ll need you to start pulling some more selections for me.”

Blair blinks the compulsion from her eyes as Harry’s stare dips from hers, her tone thick with confusion as she sleepily takes the jacket from Harry’s hands. “More selections, Mr. Styles?  Of what?”

“Yeah, Harry.” Adam’s words are tinged with trepidation as he subtly checks the time on the watch now hanging off his wrist. “Of what?”

“Cocktail dresses, I think.  Although I’m not opposed to a cute little romper, as long as it has a bit of sparkle and shows off some leg.” Harry says thoughtfully, rubbing over his pillowy lips as he ponders the thought. “But I think a cocktail dress would work best.  Black, maybe.  To keep it classy, but not too classy.” He says, shooting a wicked grin at Blair. “I’d like to see a bit of skin.”

“I’m— I’m sorry,” The befuddlement in the human girl’s voice finally begins to clear up, leaving curiosity-tinged jealousy in its place. “What sort of event is this outfit for?”

Harry’s loafers echo around the marble room as he makes his way back to the changing area, a plan already forming in his head as he speaks. “A dinner.  Semi-formal, so no floor length gowns or anything like that.  Maybe bring some matching heels as well, although...” Harry pauses with the changing curtain clutched tight in his hand. “I think a quick trip to Christian Louboutin down the street may yield better results in that department.”

“Quick trip,” Adam quotes scornfully, downing the rest of his champagne and setting the glass down on the gold side table with a groan. “That’s what this was supposed to be, H, and we’ve been here for an hour!  We were supposed to pick up your suit, and then head back to Niall’s for the barbecue—”

“So text Niall and tell him we’re running behind; he certainly has no problem doing that to us.” A snort sounds deep in Harry’s throat as Blair walks to the ornate desk in the back of the room and picks up the gold-plated rotary phone, dialing a short number with practiced speed. “And, with the amount of times he’s complained to me about my lack of punctuality, he should be used to it by now.”

The other vampire rolls his eyes again, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers with a groan. “Fine.” He relents, reaching into his pocket for his phone. “But you’re buying me this watch as payment.” 

“Fine.” Harry shrugs as he echoes the word, his voice casual and without a care as he slips behind the curtain and finishes undressing.  

Once he’s hung the suit back up on its hangers and redressed in his normal clothing, he retracts the plush curtain once more to find an annoyed Adam hanging up the phone, his newly purchased boots gone from the pedestal, and the heavy gold accessories that had been picked out for Harry being swapped for finer and daintier pieces.

Harry begins to examine the gold chains, humming in thought over the delicate pendants that swing from them. “How’d Niall take it?” He tosses the question to Adam over his shoulder, not particularly concerned about the answer.

“He told me to call you a wanker and rip off your ear, so,” Adam tucks his phone back into his pocket, shaking his head at the Irishman’s harsh words. “About as well as you’d expect.”

Another hum vibrates through Harry’s throat as he sets a mental note to make amends with his friend at a later date. “So do you want to rip off my right ear, or my left?  I have to admit, my left is my prettier ear, so I’d be appreciative if you left that one alone.”

The laugh that leaves Adam is so genuine that Harry knows he can’t be too annoyed at him.  When his friend joins him in overlooking the jewelry, Harry offers him an airy smile in return, pointing out a detail in one of the pendants to Adam’s interested gaze.

“Explain something to me.” Adam starts after a moment, his own hands grazing over a diamond bracelet. “Why go to all this trouble?  A dress, shoes, accessories… what’s the point?”

If it were any of his other friends asking the question, Harry would take a defensive response, spouting off a justified reply about how he looks so good in the suit that it needs to be seen, and that he can’t wear it and have Y/N not match him in clothing that’s sufficiently up to par.  But Adam’s eyes, albeit frustrated at times, have always been kind, and contain a depth of clarity that Harry can’t resist. He’s always been the most level-headed of the group, second only to Mitch, so the monster always feels safe trusting him with his innermost thoughts. 

“S’nice, I suppose.” Harry replies with as casual a tone as he can allow, lifting his shoulder as the sound of a rolling cart heavy with clothing pricks his ears from down the hall. “I’m taking something from Y/N, so… it makes me feel nice to give her something in return, y’know?  Makes me feel a little less guilty, at least, if she’s having a good time.”

Although Adam’s eyebrows raise at the mention of guilt, he makes no other comment on the surprisingly candid confession from his friend. “I get that.” He says slowly, settling down the gold necklace in his hand with a gentle touch. “I’m surprised you get it, but I get it.”

“Yeah, well,” Harry huffs as Blair rounds the corner and enters the room with a rack laden with black garment bags. “Don’t tell Niall I said that, alright?  He’ll never let me hear the end of it, and if he thinks I’m going soft— which I’m not—” Harry tacks on quickly. “He’ll start trying to fuck with me, and then I’ll have to rip off his ear, and it’ll be a whole thing.”

“My lips are sealed, man.” Adam laughs, gesturing over his shoulder to the clothing cart. “Shall we pick a dress for the lucky lady, then?”

A smirk paints its way onto Harry’s face. “Mhmm.  As long as you’re the one modeling it.”

///

A package arrives the next afternoon.

Like any Saturday when she isn’t working or with Harry, Y/N is home alone, trying to unwind from the previous week’s trials and tribulations.  Although she’s worked customer service jobs at home, working a customer service job in Los Angeles is a whole other demon, and she finds herself more exhausted than she’s ever been more often than she’s not.  It’s probably a good thing, she muses to herself over a cup of tea and her new copy of Sense and Sensibility, that she doesn’t have many friends in L.A., because she wouldn’t have the energy to go out with them anyways.  And honestly, she prefers it that way.  She’s learned to get along with her coworkers enough at her job that she doesn’t feel isolated, and sees Harry enough outside of work that she feels she has a shred of something resembling a social life.  Her quiet afternoons at home by herself are really a godsend, in a way.  They give her an opportunity to recharge to be present enough for social interactions during the week.  Being lonely can be a challenge, yes, but being alone is an entirely different thing, and it’s something that Y/N quite enjoys.

Which is why she’s so confused when her doorbell rings at 2:13 P.M. on a Saturday afternoon.

The moment the sound pricks her ears, Y/N pauses her reading, setting her book down on her lap as she sends a confused look towards the front door.  Her eyes slide to her phone next to her, tapping the screen to make sure she hasn’t missed any messages from anyone.  Harry, surely, would at least text her before showing up unplanned, wouldn’t he?

When her phone screen is found to be predictably blank, and the doorbell rings again, Y/N stumbles her way from her couch to the front door, her chain clanging against the frame as she unlocks it and pulls the door open.

A man she doesn’t know raises an eyebrow at her as she looks up at him, and a spark of fear flickers in her stomach before she realizes he’s wearing a UPS uniform and holding a large brown package in his hands.

“Are you Miss Y/N Y/L/N?” He asks, glancing down at the tablet in his hands. 

“Uh— yeah.  Yes, I am.” Y/N replies slowly, tugging the patchwork cardigan she’d stolen from Harry around her frame. “Hi?”

The UPS delivery man gives her a quizzical look. “Hi.” He repeats back to her in a monotone voice, extending the tablet in his hand. “Sign here, please.”

The urge to argue that she wasn’t expecting anything bubbles up in Y/N’s throat, but she tamps it down as she accepts the tablet, using the pen attached to the device to sign her name.  It’s probably from her mother, she thinks, scrawling her signature quickly before handing the tablet back.  Even though L.A. is famously a city without seasons, her mother has probably knit her two new blankets for the winter months, or sweaters, or some other woolen article of clothing that Y/N will have no use for.

The UPS delivery man swaps the tablet in her hand for the package in his, barely sparing Y/N another glance before retreating back down her hallway.  

“Um, thank you!” Y/N calls after him, shifting the surprisingly heavy package in her palms as she nudges the door shut with her socked foot.  

She carries the box to her living room, setting it down on her coffee table before pausing for a moment to double back and relock her front door (although she’s adjusted to living alone, the fear that’s been implanted in her from a young age about living in a big city still has a hold on her).

The box, she discovers upon further examination, has no return address, but it does sound like there’s multiple items inside when shaken.  And then Y/N remembers that she’s an adult, and should probably not be shaking a box when she doesn’t know what sits inside, so she sits back on her couch with a confused pout— until she once again remembers that she’s an adult, and can open a package addressed to herself.

It takes a moment of struggling to tear off the thick tape lining the seam of the box— a moment which would probably have been shorter if Y/N had retrieved a knife from the kitchen, truth be told— but the opening of the package makes the contents no more clear.  When she pulls back the top of the box, she finds sheets of packing tissue paper, which she tosses onto her living room floor without care to reveal the surprises inside.

And what a surprise the black and white box with Gucci stamped on top is.  Nearly as much a surprise as the second larger black and white Gucci box underneath, or the red and black box next to it labeled Christian Louboutin.

Y/N’s not quite sure how long she sits there staring at the packages in shock, but when she finally manages to unfreeze her limbs to take a sip of her tea, the liquid is considerably colder than it had been when she set it down to open the door.  The packages are so unexpected that it takes her a moment to realize that designer boxes typically contain designer items inside them, and maybe unpacking those will bring her greater insight into what the fuck is happening right now.

Of course, that’s not the case.  

Beginning with the smaller Gucci box, Y/N carefully extracts it from the brown container and sets it on her lap, untying the black ribbon encircling it as if she were dismantling a bomb.  When she lifts off the lid to find a matte black leather clutch purse with a gold Gucci emblem as the clasp, she almost thinks that a bomb would be preferable, because surely, there’s been a mistake.  Y/N certainly hasn’t purchased a Gucci clutch for herself, so it’s entirely likely that this was a gift for someone else, and the UPS man had just gotten the address wrong.  Yes, she thinks to herself, ghosting her fingers over the supple leather in shock, that must be it.  It’s a mistake.  And because it’s a mistake, she should back this all up and call UPS to have them fix it.

And then she remembers the UPS man had said her name, and that’s enough motivation to open the Christian Louboutin box next.

Based on the brand, Y/N suspected that the box would reveal a pair of shoes.  It’s still a shock, however, when she finds a pair of black satin heels that shine even in the low light of her apartment, with a satin ribbon death trap of an ankle tie, and signature red lacquered bottoms.

By the time Y/N reaches the third box, she’s moving on autopilot, her fingers robotically untying the black ribbon and lifting the lid without her instructing herself to do so.  The only words she can manage upon seeing the black cocktail dress is a gentle but emotive “What the fuck?”

The dress, she finds as she cautiously lifts it from the box, is made of satin, and is nothing she would ever purchase for herself in a million years.  The neckline dips into a low V, supported by off the shoulder cuffs, and Y/N can already tell by the cut of the fabric that if she were to slip it onto her body, the knee length dress would cling to her form.  And— Y/N shifts the dress into the light as her eyes widen in shock— as if that weren’t enough, there’s a leg slit that runs so high that Y/N flushes at the mere thought of her thigh peaking through.

It’s that detail, coupled with the suspicion that a single item of the package— let alone all three together— costs more than her rent that leads Y/N to the realization that only one person she knows could have sent all of this.

Folding the dress carefully back in the box and setting it to the side, Y/N fumbles to retrieve her phone from where she had left it earlier.  After unlocking it, she flips to her contacts and clicks on the familiar name, raising the device to her ear with a slow motion.

The phone rings four times before Harry’s voicemail crackles through the speaker. “Hi, you’ve reached Harry.  I can’t talk right now, but if you leave a message at the beep, I’ll try to get back to you.” There’s a moment of hesitation in the recording, and Y/N almost thinks she’s missed the beep before Harry’s accented voice returns. “Unless you’re Niall.” 

The expected beep finally sounds, and Y/N swallows hard as she tries to find the words she needs. “Hey, Harry, it’s, um, it’s Y/N.  I just received your package— I mean, I think it’s from you, because I don’t know who else would send me a Gucci dress— which I can’t accept, by the way.  That’s why I’m calling.  So, um,” She sucks in a harsh breath to give pause to her rambling before continuing. “Just— just call me back, alright?  Thanks.”

While Harry is usually attentive to every call and message from Y/N, her voicemail receives no reply, nor does her second phone call, or her third, or the four texts she sends to Harry in between.  By five P.M., she’s given up on hearing back from Harry at all, and is nearly resolved to pack up the box again and march it to Harry’s apartment when his signature sharp rap echoes on her front door.

Despite her frustration at receiving no reply from him, there’s an air of relief running through Y/N as she tightens the cardigan around herself and strides to her front door.  She unlocks it quickly, her greeting already falling from her lips before the door is even open.

“You better have a good reason for ignoring me all afternoon, Harry, because I’ve been wracking my brain to figure out why—”

And then Y/N’s frantic eyes finally settle on the man before her, and the rest of her beration dies before it can leave her throat. 

Harry is leaning casually against her frame with his arms crossed over his broad chest, as usual, and he’s dressed in a grey suit that clings to his body in a way that is so attractive, Y/N didn’t even think it was possible for a man to look this utterly flawless.  The suit fabric looks soft to the touch, more luxurious than anything Y/N could ever dream of, and the black silk shirt that lies underneath looks even softer. The human tries to not let herself focus on the way the shirt is slightly unbuttoned, showing off the inked swallows that decorate Harry’s muscled chest, as well as his usual cross necklace.  However, letting her eyes drift lower proves to be a mistake, as her gaze is immediately drawn to the black stripe that runs down the inseam of Harry’s pant legs, highlighting the muscles of his thighs in a way that makes her mouth water.  Even his shoes, black leather boots embroidered with gold dragons, are attractive in a way that Y/N doesn’t understand.

“Hello, darling.” Harry’s charming voice and dimpled smile pull the girl’s eyes back to his face just in time to see his lips drop into a discouraged frown.

Although Harry is usually greatly fond of seeing Y/N clad in cozy clothes with her hair in a messy ponytail (especially when his own cardigan is part of the ensemble), the look isn’t necessarily welcome at the moment. Yes, she looks adorable in her pastel blue pajama pants with cartoon sheep scattered all over the fabric. And yes, she looks incredibly cute swaddled in an oversized The Nightmare Before Christmas tee along with his patchwork coat. However, given the premise of the plans he’s drawn for tonight, her outfit is far from appropriate. Especially because he’d expected her to be wearing the dress he’d bought her along with the heels and clutch, dishing out a sexy but classy aesthetic rather than the ever-present lonely couch potato one.

He gives her entire body a quick, judgmental sweep, brows cinching. “I— why aren’t you ready?”

The confusion bubbling in Y/N’s mind molds into indignation at his words, albeit a hint of bewilderment lingers. “Ready for what?” Y/N demands, crossing her arms over her chest as she stares at Harry expectantly. “I’ve been trying to call you all day about the dress, and you didn’t answer a single time, so I don’t know what—”

“The dress?” Harry’s brow draws together deeper, his easy going demeanor twisting to match Y/N’s within a moment. “Why were you calling about the dress?  Does it not fit?”

Y/N’s mouth gapes open at the question. “I haven’t tried it on, Harry, I—”

“What?  Why not?”

“Because I can’t accept it!” Y/N exclaims, the suffix of obviously unspoken between them. “It’s way too expensive by itself, let alone with the shoes and the purse!”

Taking a deep breath through his nose, Harry responds in a slow and careful voice. “Why don’t we step inside, love, and continue discussing this while you get ready, yeah?”

Y/N scoffs at the condescension in his voice, but does as he says, stepping back from the doorway and allowing Harry to walk inside before locking the door behind him. “Ready for what?” She demands again, following Harry’s path down the hallway to the living room. “You still haven’t told me!”

“Christ, Watson, I thought if I sent you a dress and heels, you’d figure it out!” Harry replies with a half-joking sigh, a degree of annoyance beginning to work its way into his tone as he touches the ribbon of one of the Gucci boxes. “You’re losing your touch, huh?”

“Okay, well, apparently I’m a little slow tonight, so fill me in, Sherlock.” Y/N matches Harry’s snippy remark with ease, pinching the bridge of her nose as her head begins to throb in irritation. “What’s going on?  What obvious clue have I missed?”

“I sent you the outfit for you to wear—”

“I figured that much out, thanks.”

Harry’s emerald eyes snap to hers in an exasperated flat glance before continuing. “—to dinner.  I made us a reservation at my favourite Italian place, and I thought that the dress and the shoes would be enough of a hint that I could keep the rest a surprise.” He gathers the ribbon with his fingers again, rubbing the fabric between them as his face drops its usual haughty front. “You really didn’t...you didn’t try it on?  Do you not like it?”

The disappointed hesitation threaded through Harry’s thick accent stops Y/N short, worming its way into her aggravated chest and leaving a spark of guilt behind. When she speaks again, her voice is dulled by genuine warmth, less sharp and pointed and more soothing and grateful. “I...I do like it.  It’s a lovely dress; a little more body-hugging than what I would’ve picked, truthfully, but it’s beautiful.” Y/N offers Harry a soft teasing smile before continuing. “I just...I can’t accept something so expensive from you.”

“Why not?” Harry’s brows re-furrow in sheer confusion as he drops the ribbon from his grip, turning to face her fully. “It’s just a dress, Y/N—”

“It’s a Gucci dress.  And purse.  And Louboutin shoes.” Y/N states with a disbelieving laugh, crossing her arms over her abdomen as she drops her gaze to the rug she’d picked out from IKEA. “It’s too much, Harry.  I know you meant well, but I can never...I could never pay you back for this, or give you something as nice, or…”

A disheartened pout tugs at the corner of Harry’s lips as he registers the mortal’s words.  It hadn’t occurred to him that his gift could be perceived negatively; he’d just thought she’d like it. He likes to think their friendship is in comfortable enough territory now that gifts wouldn't be a turnoff, especially because of how much more time they’ve been spending together outside of the bedroom. However, as he stands here now watching her hug herself in the living room of the tiny apartment she’d told him she was so proud to afford, he can see how wrong he’d been in that assumption.  Y/N is independent, and has been from the moment he met her.  A gift like this— so extravagant and expensive— could come off as him mocking her financial status, almost, even if it had originally been bought with good intentions.

Harry worries his bottom lip between his teeth as something that feels a lot like embarrassment begins to boil in his stomach.  She’ll feel like she owes him something, when that’s the farthest thing from the truth.  If anything, it’s long overdue payment for everything Harry has unknowingly taken from her.  

“I don’t care about that.” Voice dropping quieter, Harry takes a step forward, his cool fingers wiggling their way between hers and pulling her arm from her tummy.  Once her hand is within his grasp, he squeezes it gently, his thumb brushing over the back of her knuckles. He talks slowly, keeping his tone level and honest to communicate the real innocence behind his prestigious present. “I don’t need you to pay me back, and I don’t want you to feel bad.  The money thing— that’s not an issue for me.  And I understand if...it makes you uncomfortable…” His gaze flickers to the ground as well before meeting hers again. “I can take it back if you’d like, if it bothers you that much.  But I was hoping…” 

He rubs his finger over his cherry lips pensively, taking a moment to clear his throat before continuing. “Well.  The reservation is already made, I’m already dressed— and looking like a proper stud, if I may say so myself—” He laughs once in an attempt to lighten the mood, his eyes glued to Y/N’s face to see if she takes to the joke. He feels cool relief flood his veins when she scoffs slightly, the edges of her mouth ticking upwards humorously. “And you’ll match me so well in that dress that it’ll probably put me to shame, dove.”

Y/N glimpses up at him hesitantly, squeezing his fingers with a playful air. “You’re really good with words, y’know that?”

“I like to think I’m good at quite a few things.” Harry grins suggestively, cheekily squeezing her grasp right back. “And I hope I can add ‘getting you all dolled up and convincing you to come along to dinner with me’ to that list. So...what do you say?”

Y/N chews on her bottom lip as she mulls over the suggestion, her fingers grazing over the lionhead ring on Harry’s hand.  He has gone to a lot of trouble, she thinks, glancing over his appearance one more time.  His curls are carefully coiffed, his skin is practically glowing, his trusty cross necklace glints alluringly in the buttery lighting, alongside a small gold hoop on his pierced ear, and the way the suit fits over his body, hugging every flexing muscle and annunciating every hypnotizing curve… 

“What time is the reservation?” She finally asks, eyes flickering to the clock on her wall that reads ten after five.

Harry’s eyes follow hers. “Seven.” He says immediately, licking his lips once as he grips her hand in anticipation again. “We have plenty of time to make it, if— if you want to.”

It could’ve easily been the money Harry spent on the clothing that sways Y/N to say yes.  It could’ve been the humiliation of not realizing what he was planning and ruining his surprise.  But in reality, the thing that causes the next sentence to fall from Y/N’s mouth is the quiet weariness in Harry’s tone— a certain shyness that she hasn’t seen in him before, paired with a specific type of subtle raw hope that makes her heart absolutely melt.

“Alright.” She murmurs, nodding her head once as she draws away from his touch. “I’ll go shower, then, and get ready.  Are you alright waiting out here?”

A relieved smile jolts at the corner of Harry’s lips as he easily nods in return. “Yeah, I’ll be fine.  I’d offer to hop in with you, but…” He gestures to himself vaguely as his grin widens with conceited teasing, shrugging one shoulder offhandedly as if what he says next should be obvious. “We wouldn’t want to ruin perfection, now would we?”

The jesting response pulls an eye roll from the human girl. “Uh huh.” She snorts, snatching her phone from the coffee table as she begins to make her way to the bathroom. “I won’t be long.”

“Take all the time you need, sweetheart.” Harry calls after her, slipping his own phone from his pocket.  The click of the door lock pricks his ears, but he waits until he hears the shower running to unlock his device and dial the restaurant number.

“Bella Vita Ristorante, how many I help you?”

Harry exhales hard as he rubs a hand over his eyes, his head falling back to hang off his shoulders as his mind recalculates the evening’s plans, shifting things out of place to mold everything around this minor hiccup. He tries to keep his voice as steady as possible, swallowing down the instinctive bothered bite threatening to elbow through. “May I speak to Vincenzo, please?”

“Yes, of course. Just a moment, please.” There’s a shuffling on the other end of the line, and Harry’s gaze slides to the Rolex on his wrist as he waits, not nearly as patient as he knows he should be.

“Hello?” A familiar rough Italian accent echoes through the phone speaker, followed by a light clearing of the person’s throat. “This is Vincenzo.”

“Ciao, Vincenzo, é Harry.” Hi, Vincenzo, it’s Harry. He answers in Italian on reflex, gliding his hand over his lips once more as he fights the urge to tug on his styled hair. “Come stai?” How are you?

Friendly excitement breaks into the man’s voice the second the vampire makes his identity known. “Signor Styles, sto bene, grazie! Non vedo l'ora di vedere te e la tua ospite stasera.” Mr. Styles, I’m well, thank you! I’m looking forward to seeing you and your guest tonight.

Harry glances at the bathroom door symbolically, exhaling curtly through his nose. His tone comes out apologetic and unsure. “Sì, chiamo di stasera.  Abbiamo riscontrato un piccolo problema.  C'è un modo per spingere la prenotazione da sei a sette?” Yes, I’m calling about tonight.  We ran into a little problem.  Is there any way we can push the reservation from six to seven?

There’s a pause on the other end of the line, and Harry waits with bated breath for Vincenzo’s reply. The waiter’s response flows through the phone with a rueful heaviness that makes the immortal’s stomach plummet. “Siamo molto impegnati stasera, Harry… È un sabato, dopotutto.” We’re very busy tonight, Harry… It’s a Saturday, after all.

A frustrated sigh falls from Harry’s lips as he scratches at the nape of his neck, once again itching to yank at his curls but forcing himself to refrain the impulse. “Lo so, Vincenzo, e mi dispiace chiederti il ​​favore, ma devo. Sai che te lo devo e ti lascio una generosa mancia.” I know, Vincenzo, and I’m sorry to ask you such a favour, but I have to.  You know I’ll owe you, and I’ll leave a generous tip.

When Vincenzo replies, the hesitation in his voice is gone, replaced by reassurance and familiar fondness. “No, no, Harry, non mi devi niente. Per te, non è un problema. Gli amici aiutano gli amici per gentilezza, lo sai. Mi assicurerò che il tuo tavolo sia pronto per le sette.” No, no, Harry, you don’t owe me anything.  For you, this is no problem.  Friends help friends out of kindness, you know that. I’ll make sure your table is ready for seven.

Harry heaves a grand sigh of relief, a wide smile cracking his face in half. His head swings forward as a light laugh falls from his ruby lips, all tension washing out of his strong shoulders in one swift wave. “Grazie mille. Ti devo, lo fare.” Thank you so much.  I owe you, I do.

His friend’s casual demeanor filters through the phone with a dismissive click of his tongue, and Harry can practically see the older man waving his hand passively. “Senza senso. Ci vediamo più tardi, sì?” Nonsense.  I will see you later, yes?

“Sì. Grazie ancora. Ciao, Vincenzo.” Yes.  Thank you again.  Goodbye, Vincenzo.

As Harry hangs up the phone, he feels a weight lift off his chest.  He knows that it wouldn’t have been a problem if Vincenzo had been unable to move the reservation; all it would’ve taken is a few words of persuasion at the host stand, and Harry would’ve been able to waltz right into the restaurant.  But Vincenzo has been kind to him— has been such a good friend, really— and Harry would hate to tarnish that relationship.

With the new reservation secured, Harry tucks his phone back into his suit pocket, turning his attention to the gifts he’d brought Y/N that are still in their boxes.  He removes the satin dress from its packaging, meticulously folding it over his arm as he snags the clutch and heels with his hands and carries them to Y/N’s room.

Harry nudges the door to the bedroom open with his foot, hesitating in the door frame as Y/N’s familiar honey and lavender scent fills his senses, and the vampire’s gaze slinks over a place he’s spent countless hours in as she’s slept soundly next to him.  There’s been a few changes, he observes— warm satisfaction begins to bloom in his chest when he sees the tapestry on the wall has been replaced with the framed Monet print from the antique mall, her half emptied overnight bag is lying on her chair still from her last overnight stay at his condo, and the comforter on her bed hasn’t been fixed back in its usual place.  Harry sets the Louboutins on the ground before tugging the comforter back into order, draping the dress onto the bed and smoothing the creases that formed.  After he lays the clutch down next to the dress, Harry steps back and admires his choices.  It was good that he’d gone with the black satin, he thinks, brushing a hand over the shining fabric with a fulfilled expression.  It’s simple, yet elegant, and matches him perfectly, which brings a flutter of pleasure to his dormant chest like nothing else.

With the dress sufficiently laid out, Harry turns on his heel to leave, and his quick movement blows an unfamiliar scent around the room.  Harry inhales deeply, wrinkling his nose in response to the thick fragrance of carnations and cedar that settle into his senses.  While cedar isn’t one of his favourite scents, he doesn’t usually mind it, but the overpowering presence of carnations nearly gags him, and Harry twists back around to find the source of the offensive stench.

It only takes a second for his eyes to settle on the cause, a new addition to Y/N’s bedroom that he hadn’t noticed when he first walked in.  He takes one stride across the small room to her bedside table, picking up the object with a gentle grip.

The picture frame is made entirely of glass, but has a decorative gold edge lining the small rectangle as both decoration and protection of delicate hands from sharp corners.  In the center of the frame is a photo of three girls dressed in navy blue caps and gowns with red and white sashes around their necks, their arms thrown around each other as their posture curves, and bright smiles on all of their faces.  Although she looks years younger, her hair is longer, and her eyes more naive, Harry recognizes Y/N on the left right away.  The identities of the other two girls, however, stump him.

Of course he wouldn’t recognize them on sight, as Harry has never met any of Y/N’s hometown friends, but his ruby lips drop into a frown when he realizes that he can’t even conjure a name for either of the girls.  No first initial, no general idea— just nothing.  They’re ghosts to him.

Harry traces a finger down the younger Y/N’s face, searching for any part of the woman he knows now in the girl who existed then.  The acne on her cheeks that she’s covered in makeup for the photo match the pattern of light scarring she has on her face, small marks that Harry’s traced in the dead of the night as he listens to her breathe.  Her eyes, while younger, do show a faint glimmer of that stubbornness that he’s been so prone to witnessing.  But it’s her smile, Harry realizes, that is the most different.  While the size and shape of it are the same, there’s a dullness to it that digs into his mind, scraping against his every perception of her.  This is around the time she’d have been with her ex, he remembers, dragging a finger down the edge of the frame.  But what else was life like for her there?  She had friends, obviously, friends who still care about her enough to send her this framed photo drenched in their carnation and cedar scent.  Life couldn’t have been all that bad.

He sets the framed photo back down on her bedside table, scanning the room with a keen eye more closely than he had before.  If he tore through every book on her wall of shelves, would he find any inscriptions written to her from a person in her past?  Notes that had been slipped between herself and others in high school science class, still pressed between yellowed pages as bookmarks?  What if he dug into her bedside table drawer?  Would he find more pictures, letters from those she’d left behind?  It’s strange to think that with all the time Harry has spent in this room, there’s still so many secrets buried within its four glossy walls.

Harry settles his gaze onto the silk dress once again, worrying his bottom lip between his sharp teeth as he does so.  Y/N had been worried that a Gucci dress wouldn’t be a good fit for her, and while Harry had thought she meant she couldn’t wear a designer brand, maybe she’d meant she didn’t want to.  Maybe her hesitation didn’t lie in just the cost of the outfit, but in her not wanting something so extravagant.

Sucking in a short breath through his teeth, Harry clears his mind of the thought.  Y/N wouldn’t have said yes if she didn’t want to, he assures himself, quickly adjusting the hem of the dress on the bed.  And besides, it’s just for a few hours.  She’ll be out of the dress soon enough, and into…

Harry turns back to her vanity, swiping the overnight bag from where he’d spotted it on the chair.  A pair of sweatpants already lies inside, but Harry still tugs open Y/N’s dresser and snags another pair, as well as a comfortable t-shirt for her to sleep in.  He packs two pairs of fresh panties as well, one high-waisted cotton and another a cheeky pretty lace (the latter is definitely for selfish reasons, if he’s being honest) along with Y/N’s favourite pair of fuzzy slipper socks, because he knows how her feet get cold on the tile of his kitchen floor in the mornings.  

The image in his head brings a smile to his face as he grabs a few hair ties from her vanity and throws them into the bag, along with her half empty bag of makeup removers.  She always gets a chill in the morning in general, so she normally emerges from his bedroom with one of his sweaters tugged around her tired body, half mumbling incoherently until Harry slides a cup of coffee into her hands.  In truth, sleeping next to his icy body probably does nothing to help the mortal, but Harry just tries to wrap her in an extra blanket to help remedy the situation.

Just as he’s tugging the zipper on the back shut, he hears the creak of the bathroom door, followed by the soft steps of Y/N’s feet against the runner rug down her hallway.  Harry straightens up just as the bedroom door is nudged open, and whatever sharp comment was on the tip of his tongue dies away as he sees Y/N.

She’s already done her hair, having styled it into soft curls that are pinned back from her face with two gold clasps on either side of her head, and if Harry were in a more comprehensive mindset, he’d be pleased that the gold will match the adornments on the clutch.  But Harry isn’t in a comprehensive mindset, due to the fact that Y/N’s body, still damp from her shower, is wrapped in only the smallest blue towel Harry has ever seen.

After Y/N shuts the door behind her, she turns around and sees Harry standing in her bedroom with a bag in his hand, and she clutches the towel tighter to her chest in surprise. “Harry—” Her heartbeat stutters as she locks eyes with the creature before her, her cheeks immediately flushing with heat. “What are you doing?  I said to wait in the living room!”

“I know.” He licks his lips slowly as his eyes flicker down her figure and back again, the bright emerald darkening to jade when he meets her gaze once more. “I was just laying out your outfit.  Although now that you’re here, wearing only that—” He gestures to the towel with his free hand as the edge of his lips curl. “Why don’t we just cut out the middleman and have a quick shag?”

Y/N scoffs in response, pushing her way past her lover to her dresser drawers. “I already showered, H, and I even put effort into my hair, so we have to go out.  Can’t waste it, y’know?” With her hand wrapped around the handle of her dresser, the human girl pauses, her gaze drifting curiously from Harry’s face to the bag clutched in his grasp. “What’s that?”

It takes a moment for Harry’s attention to turn from Y/N’s glistening cleavage to the object she’s nodding towards. “Oh, I— uh— I packed an overnight bag for you.” He clears his throat as he sets the bag on the bed, taking a step back from the item like it’s a ticking bomb. “It’s not— I’m not insinuating that you have to stay over if you don’t want to, of course. And you don’t have to use it, but I just thought that if you decided to, you’d want something comfy to sleep in.”

“How is it,” Y/N laughs softly, her curls bouncing as she shakes her head in disbelief. “That you can go from saying you want to fuck me to telling me you packed me an overnight bag, all in the span of one minute?”

Harry presses into the inside of his cheek with his tongue as he chuckles, dimples winking awake and eyes glimmering all at once. “S’easy, really, when you look like that.  It makes me horny—”

“Everything makes you horny.”

“—but I’m still a gentleman.”

A low hum echoes from Y/N’s throat as she opens her underwear drawer, surveilling the contents before she begins to rummage for what she’s looking for. “Alright then.  Would the gentleman be so kind as to step outside so I can finish getting ready?”

Y/N hears two quiet footsteps behind her before she can feel Harry’s cool breath on her neck, her damp skin prickling at the sensation.

“Do I really have to step outside?” He groans lowly as his lips graze the shell of Y/N’s ear temptingly, and she shivers when his teeth follow behind. “S’nothing I haven’t seen before.”

There’s a nagging temptation in the back of Y/N’s mind to twist around on her heel, drop her towel to the ground, give into Harry’s half-hypnotic seduction, and let him drag her back to her bed to take care of the heat that’s beginning to swell between her thighs.  But she knows she’s already pushing the seven P.M. deadline, and if she allows herself to take that detour, she’ll never make it on time.

“Yes.” She mumbles, suppressing a whine as Harry’s lips move to the pulse point on her neck, smudging open kisses down her heated skin. “I just need to do my makeup and get dressed, and then I’ll be ready to go.”

A disappointed sigh rustles across the shell of her ear. “Alright.” Harry murmurs defeatedly, smudging one last kiss to her jugular before stepping back from her intoxicating cloud of flowers and sugar that, if the burn in the back of his throat is any indication, is doubly intense from her shower. “I’ll just be outside then, doll.  Take your time.”

Y/N keeps her back to Harry, clutching her towel with a clenched hand until she hears the click of her bedroom door shutting behind him.  She knows that if she looks at him again, and sees that stupidly suggestive smirk on his face, she’d give him whatever he wants— which, considering she’s already trying to do that by going to this dinner, is a bit of a problem.  Once he’s gone, however, she’s free to heave an exhale of relief as she searches for the undergarments she’s pictured in her mind.

While Y/N was in the shower, she’d been trying to picture what she would wear with the expensive dress that Harry had purchased for her.  She only has one strapless bra— a nude coloured cotton contraption, which she’d purchased at a Target last minute for a dinner party a neighbour had thrown back home a few years ago— and she didn’t think that pairing the cheap article with a Gucci dress was going to work.  Some of her friends back home, however, had just mailed her a little care package earlier in the week, and one of the things they’d included was a strapless bustier with a note reading “Here’s to getting L.A.’d!” tucked inside.  They’d meant it as a joke, of course, but as Y/N extracts the lace garment from her drawer, she sends a silent thank you to her friends and their strangely omniscient humour.

Y/N releases her grip on her towel, drying the rest of the dampness from her body quickly before tossing the fabric over the back of her closet door.  After selecting a matching pair of black lace panties, Y/N slips the undergarments on, fidgeting with the bustier to get it to sit right.

A gentle knock echoes from the other side of her bedroom door just as she gets the clothing settled. “How’s it going in there, love?” Harry’s voice floats through the crack in the door, half muffled through the barrier. “Have you got the dress on yet?”

“Not yet,” Y/N calls back, sitting down at her vanity as she analytically surveys her makeup. “Patience is a virtue, Holmes, don’t you know that?”

On the other side of the door, Harry lets out a long sigh, crossing his arms and tapping his fingers along the inside of his elbow. “Yeah, well,” He leans his back against the door, sliding one ankle over the other as he lets the wood support his weight. “‘M not very virtuous, Watson.  I think you can attest to that.”

Harry glances over his shoulder at the wooden door, a smug smile peaking onto his lips as he hears the blood rush to Y/N’s cheeks from inside the room. “What?” He taunts, satisfaction laced into his accent. “Cat got your tongue?”

Pressing his head back against the wood to hear better, Harry is met with the sound of a makeup brush sweeping against Y/N’s silky skin, so quiet that human ears could never detect it.  He focuses his attention a little harder to try and picture the steps of her getting ready routine as she performs them. 

A rustling of fabric that sounds a lot like lace pricks his ears, taking his attention with it as Y/N grumbles a reply. “You’re such an ass.”

“Ah, nevermind, then.  Tongue’s still there, and as sharp as ever, I see.” Harry chuckles lowly as he listens to the nearly silent stroking of mascara over Y/N’s lashes.  

He likes that, he realizes, as he raises one hand from its crossed position to rub over his pillowy lips while he waits.  He likes hearing the muted sounds of Y/N getting ready— the bristling of makeup brushes against her skin, the hushed hums that leave her mouth as she debates over what colours to use on her eyelids, the muffled spritz of her perfume bottle against her neck.  The notes of poppies and vanilla mix with her natural scent of lavender and honey, and Harry’s eyelids flutter when the fragrance rolls under the door and envelops him completely.

It takes a harsh bite of his tongue and digging his fingernails into his clenched palms for Harry to restrain the moan fighting to break through his tightened jaw.  Months ago, when he first smelled Y/N in that club, he’d sworn that she smelled more delicious than any aroma he’d ever encountered, but now… Harry wants to laugh at the naivety of his past self, and probably would, if unclenching his jaw didn’t mean letting a growl fall from his throat.  Now, he’s convinced Y/N’s scent is an aphrodisiac created just for him.  All it takes is one small inhale, and his entire body responds.  Even now, as he presses his pounding head back against the panel, he can feel his mouth flooding with venom, his abdomen tightening, and a subtle throb beginning to bulge his—

“Harry?” Y/N’s voice breaks through the cloud of arousal dulling Harry’s senses. “Can you help me zip up the dress?”

The vampire swallows the excess venom in his mouth in an attempt to clear the lump in his throat. “Uh, yeah.” He replies, his voice strained as he struggles to regain control of himself.  He clutches the door handle in his icy hand, pushing the barrier open with restrained strength. “Yeah, I can.”

When he steps into the room, he expects to see Y/N facing the door, her hands clutching the loose dress to her chest the way she’d clutched her towel earlier.  For a moment, there’s a flicker of excitement in Harry’s belly that beats back the desire rolling around inside him.  He’s been waiting to see her in his dress for only a day, but it feels like an eternity, and he pastes a charming smile onto his face as he lifts his eyes to meet Y/N’s.

What he’s greeted with, however, is the smooth expanse of the girl’s exposed back, a clear line of tantalizing skin running from the nape of her neck to the curve just below her backside, only broken up by a thick band of black lace with satin ribbing.  

While he was able to control himself in the hallway, the inside of Y/N’s bedroom— with her mouthwatering scent surrounding him and her exposed skin in his line of sight— is an entirely different story.  Harry can feel the way his canopy green eyes darken, and it’s a good thing Y/N is facing the wall, or else she’d see the shards of crimson that he can’t stop from flitting across his irises.  With every step he takes towards the human, he becomes more aware of just how mortal she is— how her heart pounds louder with each passing moment, the shallowness of her breathing as he gets closer, the heat radiating off of every inch of her skin.  Even with his centuries of experience behind him, it’s nearly too much for Harry, whose every instinct is screaming at him to lock the door and ravage the girl in front of him in every way he can.

Harry doesn’t stop walking until the front of his chest brushes against Y/N’s back and his breath is hitting her neck.  He unhurriedly skims his palms over her bare shoulders, feeling the goosebumps that form underneath his icy touch as his hands run down her arms and back up again.

“This…” His voice is thick with desire as one hand travels down the trail of Y’N’s spine, eliciting a shiver from her before grazing the edge of the black lace. “This is new.  I haven’t seen this before.”

“I…” Y/N’s speech falters as she feels Harry’s freezing digits trail down the small of her back as his other hand continues to stroke across her shoulder, barely touching the base of her neck with each movement. “I got it from my friends back home.  They, um—” She sucks in a harsh breath as Harry’s hand inches its way towards her throat. “They sent me a package.”

Harry hums low in her ear, the sound vibrating throughout her body before settling in her warming tummy. “Did they?  How thoughtful.” With his palm finally at her neck, he squeezes it once, applying the slightest bit of pressure to her jugular as his lips brush against the top of her ear. “I should send them a thank you note.”

The feeling of Y/N swallowing beneath his grip sends another wave of desire crashing over Harry, and he bites back a low growl as the fingertips of his other hand find the golden Gucci emblem zipper at the back of her dress.  When he does, he tugs the metal tag up slowly, the sound of the zip barely audible over Y/N’s ragged breathing. 

“S’a shame, really.” Harry murmurs in her ear, letting his teeth graze her earlobe just hard enough to catch her breath. “A crying shame.”

“What—” Y/N’s heart pounds out of her chest as Harry squeezes her neck once more, applying just a smidge more pressure than he did previously. “What’s a shame?”

Harry’s lips trail down her jaw, smearing a single kiss along the dip where it curves to meet her neck. His fingers squeeze her one last time before releasing. “That this pretty little piece your friends sent you is going to end up ripped to shreds on my bedroom floor.” 

The blunt reply incites a squeak of surprise from Y/N as Harry tugs the zipper completely to the top of the dress, settling the seam flat against her flushed back before stepping away.

“Fits like a glove.” Harry murmurs as his hands return to his sides, fixing the fall of his own suit that was disturbed during his previous actions.  He raises a single finger and makes a twirling motion as he dimples a smirk the human girl can’t see. “Give me a twirl, will you, dove?”

Y/N inhales a deep breath as steadily as she can, using the moment to calm her racing pulse before turning around to face Harry with a flustered complexion. 

The dress, made of black satin, has a sweetheart neckline that sits off her shoulders, and hugs tight to the curves of her body all the way down to the hem, which sits just above her knees.  It could be considered conservative, really, if it weren’t for the leg slit running so far up her thigh that Y/N is a little worried about flashing her underwear every time she takes a step.

Harry, however, seems to share none of those concerns, as he hungrily drinks in the sight of her with a satisfied grin and lust swirling through his jade irises.  She’s kept her makeup fairly neutral, save for the bold red lipstick adorning her lips, and while Harry feels a prick of sadness at the realization that he’ll have difficulty kissing her throughout the evening, the idea of smearing said lipstick across her face afterwards erases the feeling completely.  And the dress… “Y’look so fucking gorgeous in that dress, angel.” He hums lowly, rubbing his thumb over his lionhead ring absentmindedly. “So much better than Adam did, and without all the complaining, too.”

Y/N stares at her lover with a blank expression “What—?”

“Does it feel alright?” Harry strides around the mortal girl, examining the fall of the fabric with a keen eye. “I took a guess on your size, though I think I did pretty well. I've licked every inch of your body to the point where I practically have it memorized, so it was relatively easy.” He gives her a cheeky grin as his hand grazes her waist. “But Gucci sizing can be a bit tricky.”

“It— yeah.  It feels alright.” Y/N tugs on the hem of the dress as she feels heat crackle across her ears, shooting him an accusing stare as she touches the thigh slit. “This is a little much, but other than that…”

“That’s my favourite detail, actually.” Harry laughs lightly as he walks to her bed, taking a seat on the edge before reaching for the Louboutin box. “But it’ll feel a lot more natural once you have the heels on.”

“Uh, yeah, about those…” Y/N eyes the offending shoes as Harry extracts them from the packaging, doubt painting itself all over her face. “Those look like six inch deathtraps, and I don’t really trust something that uses a ribbon to attach itself to my ankle, so I think I’ll take a raincheck on the heels.  I have some flats I can wear instead.”

Harry scoffs, a snort echoing from the back of his throat as he shakes his head. “You’ll be fine, love.  I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.  You may not trust the shoes, but you can trust me, can’t you?” He unravels the ribbon from one of the shoes and pats his knee expectantly. “C’mere.  I’ll make sure I tie them nice and tight, yeah?”

Y/N nearly chews on her bottom lip before she remembers the lipstick she’d carefully applied earlier. “Alright.” She relents, walking over and lifting her foot to rest on his bent knee. “But if I snap my ankle in half, you’re paying my hospital bill.”

“And I would do so gladly, except it won’t be necessary.” A quiet chuckle rolls out of Harry’s lips as he grips her calf gently, fitting her foot into the sole of the heel with one smooth motion.  Once it’s sitting nicely, Harry diligently wraps the satin ribbon around her ankle, stopping midway up her calf before tying it tightly into a neat bow. “See?  Nice and secure, darling.  You’ll be alright.”

Y/N’s cheeks boil as Harry presses a single kiss to the slope of her knee before setting her foot gently on the ground. “Next one, please.” He smiles up at her with a twinkle in his sea glass eyes.

That twinkle, however, darkens the moment Y/N hikes her other bare foot onto his knee, gripping his shoulder for support as she teeters on one heel.  The leg that she’s lifting is the side of the dress with the thigh slit, and she can tell from the expression on Harry’s face that he has quite the view.

Just like he did previously with the zipper, Harry takes his time slipping Y/N’s foot into the second stiletto.  He trails his fingers all the way up her calf and back down before reaching for the ribbon, and is more meticulous in his motions as he ties the satin around her calf.  

Y/N swivels on her other foot as she tightens her grip on Harry’s shoulders, fisting the fabric of his suit between her fingers. “Thanks, H.” She clears her throat as Harry’s cool hands keep their grip on her lower leg, massaging the muscle beneath his fingers with careful and concise motions. “That’s, um, that’s good, I think.”

Harry hums in response, letting her know he’s registered her words, but he doesn’t release her from his grip.  Instead, he bends at his hips, making sure that Y/N can still grasp him for support as he connects his lips to the smooth skin of her calf.

He smudges his mouth all along the area up to her knee, each kiss sloppy and open-mouthed as he inhales more and more of her intense fragrance.  His nose nudges along the tender and dimpled flesh of her thigh, her scent growing stronger the higher Harry gets, and it burns his aching throat with lust and thirst.  He can feel the heat radiating from her core, and he wants nothing more than to burrow his face between her legs and lose himself completely in her taste.  But he’s already come so far, and put so much work into this night; he can’t let it all go to waste because his self-control is particularly weak at this moment. 

With that in mind, he sucks in another long breath, sponging one last kiss to the top of Y/N’s kneecap. “Does it all fit nicely?” He asks, voice gravelly with desire as he squeezes her calf. “The dress, the shoes… is it all alright?”

“Y-Yeah.” Y/N whispers, releasing the fabric of Harry’s jacket before it creases, smoothing it with her palms. “It all fits good.”

“Mmm.  Perfect.” His lips twitch against her skin as he drags another searing breath into his lungs. “Anything I give you always fits so fucking good.”

Another flash of heat rises to Y/N’s cheeks, and she nods weakly in response, not trusting her ability to form words. A quiet hum is the only comprehensible noise she can manage. “Mhmm.” 

Harry straightens up the slightest bit, giving her an expectant look as he releases the grip of one hand on her calf to lightly touch the shell of his pierced ear. “Sorry, pet.  Didn’t hear you quite clearly.” He says, his voice taking on a sterner tone. “Did you agree?”

Although embarrassment begins to crawl up Y/N’s spine, it quickly mixes with irritation.  She knows what he’s getting at, and she can’t afford to let herself give in. “Yeah.” She mumbles, keeping her response as short as she can.

Despite the edge beginning to creep into Y/N’s voice, Harry can’t stop himself from pressing the matter.  He never can, really, when he’s in a mood like this.  When his mouth is filled with venom, when his head is throbbing so much that he can hear a steady drumbeat vibrating through his skull.  He can’t stop.

“M’gonna need to hear you say it, I’m afraid.” He raises his ringed hand to the human girl’s chin, gripping it between his thumb and forefinger as he regards her with a firm and conceited gaze. “Speak up, minx.  I know you have no issue with being loud.”

All it takes is that one reminder for all of Y/N’s resolve to fall away, her entire body flooding with warmth as she lets out a trembling sigh.  She swallows the weight in her throat down as much as she can, pinning her eyes to where Harry is gripping her calf with a strong hand. “Everything you give me always fits so good.” She whispers, her voice higher than it was a moment before.

Harry squeezes the backside of her knee once. “Look me in the eyes when you say it.”

Y/N’s entire body feels as if it’s on fire as sweat begins to bead across her forehead, but her mouth is as dry as a desert. She swallows thickly once more, gathering all the composure she can muster. “Everything—” Her voice cracks once, and she clears her throat as Harry’s thumb sweeps across her chin in an encouraging manner. “Everything you give me always fits so good.”

When she completes the task, Harry gropes her knee once more, but this time the action is a show of satisfaction rather than demand.  He trails his fingers up her bent leg to her thigh, only stopping to dig his fingertips into the crease where her backside begins to plump. “That’s my good girl.”

Delicately setting Y/N’s heeled foot back on the ground, Harry rises from the bed, both of her hands grasped in his own to help her remain steady.  Once he’s eye level with his lover once again, he leans forward and stamps a chaste kiss onto her forehead, his lips already tugging into a small grin before he pulls away.

“Y’ready to go, then?” He questions casually, smoothing the thumb of his right hand over her knuckles as his left hand snags the Gucci clutch from the bed, along with Y/N’s phone.  He unclaps the clutch and settles the phone into its silk lining before handing the bag to the human girl.  

Y/N clears her throat once more as she takes a shaky step towards her vanity, grabbing the lipstick she’d applied before and tossing it into the bag, clasping it shut with a final snap. “I suppose so.” She chews on the inside of her cheek as she shoots Harry a nervous glance. “I might need you to carry me down the stairs of my building, though.”

Harry laughs once as he grabs the overnight bag he’d packed with one hand and reclaims Y/N’s left hand in the other. “Don’t worry, pet.  I’ll make sure Cinderella doesn’t lose a shoe.  Or break an ankle.”

“Thanks, Prince Charming.”

“Considering I’m the one that got the dress, I think the Fairy Godmother role fits just a smidge better.”

///

Although it takes careful steps, more than a few stumbles, and Harry’s hand wrapped securely around her waist, Y/N manages to make it down the multiple flights of stairs in her apartment building to Harry’s car waiting below.  After the ten minute car ride into downtown L.A., the majority of which is spent with Harry’s hand sitting perfectly still on Y/N’s exposed thigh, the vampire pulls the car in front of a large restaurant with a line of well-dressed parties winding down the sidewalk.

The restaurant itself, Bella Vita, is one that Y/N’s heard of in passing, but has never experienced firsthand herself, probably because it holds a reputation for being the premier Italian restaurant in all of Los Angeles.  Shock covers her features as she stares out the car window at the grand glass double doors, but only for a moment; after all, could she have expected anything less from Harry, who seems to indulge in luxuries the way most people do chocolate?

When the passenger side door swings open, the surprise returns as Y/N glances up and sees a blonde man she doesn’t know dressed in a suit holding the door open.  The breast of his outfit is embroidered with the restaurant name, but it’s not until Harry, who has already vacated the driver’s side and is behind him, flips the valet his keys.

“Thanks, mate.” Thinly veiled irritation works its way through Harry’s voice as he steps in front of the valet, clapping his large hand over the employee’s shoulder. “I got it from here.”

The valet nods curtly, releasing his grip on the door as Harry extends his hand to Y/N.  The mortal girl grasps it within her own, eager to receive the help he offers as she swings her exposed legs out of the low car and onto the ground. 

“There we go, love.” Harry’s voice softens as he pulls her to stand, giving her a moment to find her balance on her own before sliding his arm around her hips. “Y’alright?”

“I’m fine.” Y/N nods in confirmation as she folds her arms in front of her body, grasping the Gucci clutch in tight hands while she appraises the packed high-end restaurant. “I see why you insisted on the dress now.”

A low laugh rumbles from Harry’s chest as he shuts the car door with his free hand. “I told you, you need to trust me more.  Have a little faith.” He extends his palm towards the valet, shaking his hand quickly and smoothly while sliding him a bill. “Thanks, Leo.”

Leo retracts his hand from Harry’s icy grasp with another respectful nod of his head, slipping the bill into the inside pocket of his suit. “Of course, Mr. Styles.  Enjoy your dinner.”

Y/N watches as the valet hurries to the driver’s side of the car, sliding in and starting the engine with ease as Harry begins to lead Y/N to the door. 

“So…” She quirks an eyebrow as Harry confidently bypasses the long line of people waiting to be seated. “You’re Mr. Styles here, are you?  Do you come here that often?”

Harry lifts one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug, releasing his grip on Y/N’s waist to open the large glass door for her. “Every once in a while, I suppose.” He quips, the answer as non-committal as most things Harry says.  Once Y/N steps into the restaurant, the vampire follows closely behind, clutching her warm hand in his own as he leans down to whisper in her ear. “But I wouldn’t say it’s too often—”

“Harry!”

An older man that looks to be in his mid-seventies emerges from behind the corner, dressed in a fine suit and with an animated grin on his tan, weathered face.  He waves off the host at the stand who had been about to approach the two new guests, his arms already outstretched towards Harry.

“Vincenzo!” Harry responds with equal enthusiasm as he lets go of Y/N’s hand to clutch Vincenzo’s between his palms.  He leans forward and pecks two air kisses onto the employee’s cheeks as the older man does the same. “È così bello rivederti. Come stai?” It’s so nice to see you again.  How are you?

Y/N’s eyes widen in utter shock at the fluent Italian that easily slips from Harry’s ruby lips, watching as Vincenzo takes a step back from him with the same excitement as when he first turned the corner.

“Sto bene, grazie. È meraviglioso anche vederti.” I’m well, thank you.  It’s wonderful to see you, too.  Vincenzo’s attention lists over Harry’s shoulder to Y/N, who is still standing behind him with her mouth half open in bewilderment. 

“Grazie ancora per aver riorganizzato la prenotazione per noi.” Thank you again for rearranging the reservation for us.  Harry reaches back and intertwines his fingers with Y/N’s again as another Italian phrase slips off his tongue with practiced ease. “Ti devo un favore.” I owe you a favour.

“Te l'ho già detto, non mi devi niente. Gli amici aiutano gli amici.” I’ve already told you, you don’t owe me anything.  Friends help friends.  Vincenzo raises an eyebrow as he gestures to Y/N, who’s still a half step behind Harry as he carries out the conversation. “A proposito di ... chi è questo, Harry?” Speaking of… Who is this, Harry?

“Perdonami, sono stato scortese.” Forgive me, I’ve been rude.  Letting go of Y/N’s hand, Harry drifts his palm to the small of Y/N’s back, rubbing his thumb over the satin of her dress as he gently guides her forward for a proper introduction. “Vincenzo, sono Y/N, la mia ... amica.  Y/N, questo è Vincenzo, il titolare del ristorante.” Vincenzo, this is Y/N Y/L/N, my… friend.  Y/N, this is Vincenzo Genovesi, the owner of the restaurant.

Y/N’s ears prick up when she hears her name, and she smiles shyly in greeting at the older man. “Hi.” She wants to offer a more formal presentation, but is unsure if he speaks English or not, so she simply extends her hand to shake his. 

Vincenzo’s smile grows as he grasps her hand in his own, bringing it to his lips and planting an innocent kiss to her skin before taking a polite step back. “È così bello conoscerti.  Sei così bello!”

With a gentle squeeze to her love handles, Harry lowers his mouth to Y/N’s ear, his lips barely grazing her sensitive skin as he speaks. “He says it’s lovely to meet you, and that you’re very beautiful.” He translates, and Y/N can feel the way he’s smiling into her hair.

A shiver rolls down her spine as his cool breath meets her neck, but she manages to ignore the sensation, and instead sends a grateful smile in Vincenzo’s direction. “Oh… Thank you.  Grazie.” She tacks on, and although she tries her best to mimic Harry’s Italian accent, the way the immortal’s body tenses against her side as he represses a laugh tells her that she didn’t pass the test.

Vincenzo, however, waves off Harry’s amused expression, flipping his hand airily in his direction before taking Y/N’s again. She finds out that he indeed does speak English, and it comes out with a thick accent that holds so much genuine kindness, she immediately takes a strong liking to the aged gentleman. “Wipe that grin off your face, cretino, at least she’s trying!” He pats Y/N’s hand reassuringly, shaking his head with a disappointed scoff. “The last time he brought someone here, they spent the entire time doing a Godfather impression.  And it wasn’t even a good one!”

“How many times do I have to apologize for bringing Niall until you let me forget it?” Harry sighs in exasperation, his hand snaking around Y/N tighter than before. “I’ve already forbidden him from coming back.”

Shaking his head with a hearty laugh, Vincenzo pats Y/N’s hand once more before stepping back to the host stand and grabbing two leather-bound menus from the shelf. “I will never forget, Harry.  But don’t worry; I’ve still reserved your favourite table in the back of the restaurant.  Come, bella donna,” He tucks the menus underneath his arm as he gently loops Y/N’s arm through his own, tugging her from Harry’s grasp as he begins to lead her away from the entrance. “Let me escort you to the table, yes?”

Y/N allows Vincenzo to lead her, but glances over her shoulder to meet Harry’s amused gaze as he trails behind them, large hands tucked into the pockets of his slacks as his eyebrows poise teasingly.  The table in question, she discovers, is tucked away in a private corner of the restaurant, framed by a plethora of flora and candles that reflect back on the stone walls.  

Although Vincenzo releases her arm to retract Y/N’s chair, Harry beats him to it, pulling the seat out smoothly and waiting until Y/N is seated comfortably to push the back of it in.  He brushes his cool hand over her shoulder, nudging a loose curl away from her bare neck while offering her a dimpled smile.

As Harry takes his own seat across from her, the older Italian man gives him a knowing look, his eyes glinting with mirth. “Solo un amica, eh?” Just a friend, eh?

The vampire half rolls his eyes, nodding his head slightly as he lays the cloth napkin over his thigh, voice stubbornly flat. “Sì. Solo un amica.” Yes.  Just a friend.

Vincenzo sets a menu down before each of them, clicking his tongue in unconvinced disbelief. “Non guardi un amica come l'hai appena guardata.” You don’t look at a friend the way you just looked at her.

Flipping his menu open with disinterest, Harry makes a bored sound in the back of his throat, waving off Vincenzo with a leisurely gesture. “Vorrei la carta dei vini, Vincenzo, non la tua opinione non richiesta.” I’d like the wine list, Vincenzo, not your unsolicited opinion.

A laugh echoes from the older man’s belly as he shakes his head in amusement, taking a step away from the table. “Certo, Signor Styles.  Lo farò portare subito dal cameriere.” Certainly, Mr. Styles.  I’ll have the waiter bring it right away.  

Turning his attention back to Y/N, Vincenzo takes her hand and kisses it once more. “Bella donna,” He begins, heaving a long sigh. “It was lovely to meet you.  And if this one ever gives you trouble,” he gestures to Harry with a nod, giving her a playfully wink,  “I have five grandsons that would die for the opportunity to dine with a woman as beautiful as yourself.”

Harry’s face hardens at the comment, but Y/N laughs at the joke, squeezing Vincenzo’s hand before releasing it. “Thank you, Vincenzo.  It was so nice to meet you… Next time I come, you’ll have to teach me some Italian.” She adds, glancing at Harry as the curiosity of what they discussed before burns a hole in her belly.

The moment Vincenzo leaves the pair to their own devices, the mortal girl leans forward, the inquiry already falling off her lips. “Speaking of Italian…” She runs her finger around the stem of her empty wine glass, cocking her head to the side. “What were you and Vincenzo talking about?”

Harry waves off her question just as he did Vincenzo’s comments. “Nothing important.  Don’t worry,” a sly grin works its way onto his lips as he smoothly changes the subject, “he wasn’t offering to set me up with his granddaughters, if that’s what you were worried about.  It seems he only wants you in the family.”

“Who wouldn’t?  I’m a delight.” Y/N remarks, a wry smile raising the corners of her lips. “But seriously, Harry— where did you learn to speak fluent Italian?”

The answer rolls off his tongue as easily as the language did. “Italy.” He states simply, as if it should be obvious.

And it’s not a lie; he really did learn in Italy.  It just happened to be during the early 1900s, when he had been bouncing around between Florence, Venice, and Rome.  He’d liked Italy, actually, and would’ve stayed there longer, but then an Archduke was assassinated, and Harry had to return to Britain to fight in what was then called “the War To End All Wars.” Harry had figured that he might as well, given that he could shrug off bullet wounds as easily as a knick, and could use his blood to help heal other soldiers when travesties struck. The Italian, it turned out, had come in handy as he fought his way through Europe, but considering the bloody conditions under which he did so, Harry much prefers using it to woo a lovely girl in an expensive restaurant.

“Italy.” Y/N repeats the word in a deadpan voice, crossing her arms over her chest as she leans back in her chair, kinking an eyebrow stubbornly. “When were you in Italy?”

Ah, Harry thinks, habitually rubbing his thumb over his ruby lips.  It seems a little white lie is necessary. “During uni.  I did a semester abroad.”

For a moment, he thinks that Y/N doesn’t buy the fib.  Her other eyebrow quirks upwards to meet its partner, but her gaze remains as suspicious as it has been since she first asked the question.  When she finally opens her mouth to speak, there’s a small, irrational part of Harry that thinks she might prod for more. 

“What do you mean, ‘a semester abroad’?” She questions, and Harry is about to over-explain when her posture suddenly relaxes, her arms returning to her sides as an easygoing laugh falls from her mouth, a seemingly entertaining realization dawning on her. “Wait, you grew up in England!  You already lived abroad!”

A breathless and relieved chuckle rolls out of Harry as his shoulders drop, the tension rolling out of him as he leans forward. “I suppose that’s true, hm?” He hums, reaching for Y/N’s warm hand and tugging it onto the table to intertwine her fingers with his own. “I really just went a few doors down the neighborhood, didn’t I?”

“You really did.” Y/N sighs wistfully, drifting her thumb over the back of Harry’s knuckle without a second thought. “I’m jealous, though.  I wish I had gone away for school, even just to a different state.  I could’ve been living in Washington, or Oregon, or New York.  It would’ve been so nice.”

The corners of Harry’s lips weigh down into a frown as he considers the possibilities laced into the comment. “I suppose, but…” He casts his gaze towards their knitted hands.  Hers looks so much smaller wrapped inside his. “If you did, then you might not have moved to L.A.  And then we wouldn’t have—”

“Good evening, Mr. Styles, Miss Y/L/N.” A waiter that Harry hasn’t met before appears beside the table with a wine menu clasped in one hand and a basket of bread in the other.  

The server is younger than others Harry has seen before, but Harry knows Vincenzo hires his staff carefully, and that he wouldn’t send anyone too inexperienced to take care of Harry.  From the sweat beading his brow, the vampire can tell that Vincenzo has given the waiter a speech about Harry’s status with the restaurant owner, and the thought brings a small spark of satisfaction to him.  However, that satisfaction disappears the moment he sees the waiter’s eyes linger on Y/N a moment longer than needed. He nods kindly to both of them, but the immortal can’t evade the small spark of irritation that zips down his spine at the employee’s subtle interest in his companion.  Shifting in his seat, Harry tightens his grasp on Y/N’s hand, but keeps his demeanor neutral and polite.  It’s not like he can blame the poor boy, really.  Not when Y/N’s silky lips are sheathed in such a breathtaking shade of red.

“My name is Luca, and I’ll be your server for tonight.” He shifts his attention back to Harry as he sets the bread basket on the table before extending the small leatherbound menu to him. “Here’s the wine list you asked for, Mr. Styles.  I’ll give you some time to look it over, and then I’ll be back in a few minutes to take your order.”

Although his right hand is closer to the server, Harry reaches for the menu with his left in order to maintain his grasp on Y/N’s. “Thank you, Luca.  I appreciate it.”

Luca nods once as he takes a step back from the table, clasping his hands behind his back. “Prego, signore.” You’re welcome, sir. 

Harry’s eyebrow jolts up in mild surprise. “Oh, parli italiano?” Oh, you speak Italian?  He asks, the flip in language gliding down his tongue without so much as a second thought. Harry hadn’t expected it, given that the young man’s natural accent is as American as can be. 

Pausing on the ball of his foot, Luca nods as colour begins to rise to his cheeks. “Sì, signore, la mia famiglia è italiana.  Mia nonna mi ha insegnato a parlarlo quando ero giovane.” Yes, sir, my family is Italian.  My grandmother taught me to speak it when I was very young.

“Tua nonna è una signora molto intelligente, allora.” Your grandmother is a very smart lady, then.  Harry’s mind drifts back to his own upbringing, when his mother would gather him and his sister around the table on Sunday nights, reading them Latin passages by candlelight.  The memory brings a sad smile to his face. “Grazie per il menu. Lo daremo un'occhiata.” Thank you for the menu.  We’ll take a look at it.

Luca nods again, but there’s hesitation in the motion as his eyes drift to Y/N once more, flickering from her own gaze back down to her crimson lips. “Is there anything I can get you before I go, miss?  Some water, perhaps?”

Y/N sends a bright smile to the young man, nodding her head as a strand of her curled hair loosens from its pin. “Yes, please.  And thank you.”

“Due acque, Luca.” Two waters, Luca.  Harry interjects, clearing his throat quietly as he catches the human boy’s eye, giving a curt jut of his chin that signals he’s done ordering for the time being. “Grazie.”

Y/N reaches for the basket of bread the moment Luca has scurried away, her eyes lighting up as she hears the first slice crackle open. “Ooh, garlic bread.” She thrums happily as she takes a small bite while being mindful of her red lipstick, setting the rest of the bread on her side plate as she chews slowly and indulges the flurry of delicious flavors. She talks lightly over a semi-full mouth, careful as to not give Harry an unpleasant eyeful. “So what’s on the menu for drinks?  I’m assuming you’re, like, an expert on wine, right?”

Harry’s lips twitch as he bites back a laugh at the hint of annoyance in her voice. “What makes you say that?”

“You shop Gucci like it’s Target, you speak Italian, you’re a regular at this place…” Y/N’s eyes sweep over their private corner of the restaurant before sending a teasing glance to Harry. “Being a sommelier on the side just seems like something to add to the list of things you’re infuriatingly good at.”

Despite the small jab, a satisfied smile settles on Harry’s lips as he squeezes Y/N’s hand. “You really are good at stroking my ego, aren’t you, dove?  I suppose we can add that to the list of things you’re infuriatingly good at?”

The familiar comment brings Y/N back to the night the two of them met, in a dark and deafening club that’s the complete opposite of their current location.  She twists her fingers within Harry’s, flipping their hands to examine his palm as memories float through her mind like movie scenes.  How Harry had looked when he first walked over, the soothing and seductive tone of his voice, how she’d done her best to match his flirtatious compliments… how he’d kissed her in his car before taking her back to her apartment.  She should’ve known then, Y/N thinks, that she wouldn’t have been able to let someone like Harry be just a one night stand. 

“I guess I’ll allow you to add it.” Y/N murmurs teasingly as she clasps their hands together once more. “But, unfortunately for me, wine knowledge is not on that list, so… you pick something.  I trust your taste.”

“Alright, then.  No pressure for me.” Harry jokes, snapping his gaze from her hypnotizing irises to peruse the menu once more. “Would you like red, white, or rosé?”

The human hums as she considers the question, pursing her lips in thought, as if the answer she gives is life or death. “Red, I think.” She replies, watching as Harry’s brow furrows in thought while shifting his eyes to the red wine list. 

A moment later, Luca appears again with two glasses of ice water balanced on a tray, which he sets down on the table before each of them.  While both of them offer a murmur of thanks, it’s only Y/N’s show of gratitude that incites a darkening of his cheeks.

Another thread of irritation flares down Harry’s spine, but he forces himself to dampen it down with a reminder that if he were the one waiting on Y/N— rather than being the one sitting across from her— he’d probably be doing the exact same thing. “Penso che abbiamo preso una decisione, Luca.” I think we’ve made a decision, Luca.  He says with a tight smile, snapping the wine menu shut and handing it back to the young man. “Prendiamo due bicchieri del tuo cabernet sauvignon, per favore.” We’ll have two glasses of your cabernet sauvignon, please.

Luca nods as he accepts the menu, his eyes flickering to Y/N’s ruby lips yet again. That’s three times in the last ten minutes...not that the vampire’s counting or anything. 

“Ovviamente. Li prendo per te che scrivi.” Of course.  I’ll get those for you right away. The server answers politely before tucking the menu under his arm and hurrying off.

“Okay, I’m sorry,” Y/N says the moment the waiter is gone, her eyes alight with amusement as she pulls her hand from Harry’s to take a sip of her ice water. “But I can’t ignore it.”

Clearing his throat as he reaches for a slice of garlic bread, Harry slinks his head to the side before answering. “Ignore what?” He asks offhandedly, taking a bite of his bread and chewing it slowly.  Had Luca’s fascination with her crimson smile not gone unnoticed?  Or had Harry’s aggravation begun to show on his face?

“The Italian.” Y/N admits, setting her glass down and sitting forward as she rests her bent elbows on the table, propping her head upon her interlocked fingers. “I feel a bit left out, and, truthfully, a little jealous.  I want to learn.”

A playful laugh echoes from Harry’s throat as he taps a ringed finger against the table. “I can’t exactly teach you an entire language over one dinner, sweetheart.  I’m good, but I’m not that good.”

“Hm.  I know.  It’s tragic.” Y/N sighs, giggling quietly at the way Harry’s laughter cuts off completely and is replaced with a wounded sound of protest. “But what about some important phrases?  Just so I’m not in the dark all evening while you play Roman Holiday?”

Harry prods the inside of his cheek with his tongue. “Alright.  Why don’t we start with Mi dispiace?”

“Mi dispiace.” Y/N repeats slowly, trying her best to wrap her red lips around the Italian diction. “What does that mean?”

“It means ‘I’m sorry’, which one could say in reference to, oh, I don’t know…” Harry shrugs lightly, matching the motion with a theatrical dejected sigh. “Insinuating that your date is without certain… talents?”

Although Y/N laughs again, she reaches across the table and wraps her hand around Harry’s, trying to tamp down the mirth in her voice when she replies. “Mi dispiace.” She repeats again, giving Harry her best attempt at puppy dog eyes.

“That’s passable, I suppose.” Harry props his chin up in his palm, rubbing his thumb over his pillowy lips in thought. “And then we have ti perdono— I forgive you.”

“How kind of you, Mr. Styles.” Y/N simpers, biting her tongue between her teeth to hold back more sounds of glee. “Give me another one.”

Harry regards her with a thoughtful air, his hand sliding from his mouth to his hair to tug on his styled curls before traveling back down to rest on the table. His voice comes out a tad deeper, a vein of sultriness running beneath it that she just barely detects. “Sei molto bella con quel vestito.”

One of the words tweaks Y/N’s memory from earlier, but she still traces a finger over Harry’s initial rings as she locks eyes with him expectantly. “What does that mean?”

Swiping his tongue over his lips, Harry peers at her through his thick lashes as he encircles his free hand around the stem of his water glass. “You look very beautiful in that dress.”

A pleasurable flush rolls through Y/N’s belly at the compliment.  No matter how many times Harry pays her a positive comment, she somehow always still feels a rush with each word that falls from his soft lips. “Thank you.” She mumbles shyly, tucking her thumb between Harry’s ring and pinkie finger. “I mean— grazie.” 

“Try saying it back to me.” Despite the encouraging words that are said under the guise of teaching, there’s an undercurrent of command that turns the satisfaction in Y/N’s tummy to anticipation. “Molto bella.”

The mortal’s eyes flicker between Harry’s own emerald irises and his mouth as he curls a ringed finger over her hand, stroking the icy digit over her heated skin. “Molto bella.” She repeats, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Fantastico, tesoro.” The praise slips easily from his lips as he lets himself bask in the warmth her flesh brings to his. 

“‘Tesoro’,” Y/N repeats, a tinge of confusion settling onto her face. “What does that mean?”

“It’s, uh,” Harry scoffs to himself in realization, unaware he had even let the term fall from his mouth. “It— well, it means ‘treasure,’ but it’s kind of the Italian equivalent of ‘darling’.”

The vampire can hear the way Y/N’s heartbeat spikes, sending a new wave of blood to warm her cheeks. “That—” The human girl mimics the way he’d cleared his earlier as she reaches for her water glass. “That’s pretty.”

“It is, yeah.  You’ll probably be hearing it often.” Harry continues to drag the pad of his finger down the ridges of his lover’s knuckles as a fond smile crescents his Cupid’s bow. “And here’s another one you’ll be hearing often— piegarsi.”

Y/N pauses with her water raised halfway to her lips. “And what does that one mean?”

Harry waits until her mouth has reached the rim of the glass and she’s taken a sip of ice water. “Bend over.” 

The response is instantaneous, just as he’d imagined. The mortal chokes on her water, coughing up a storm as she quickly lowers the drink from her mouth, half bending over the table and yanking her hand from his as her cheeks light with fire. “Harry!” She gasps once she regains her breath, glancing over her shoulder to see if anyone else at the restaurant overheard his lewd statement. 

“What?” He asks innocently, but quickly gives into snickering, his body curling over the table as he cackles. “I’m not wrong!  You really will be hearing it often, so you should know what it means!”

“That doesn’t give you the right to say it in public!” Y/N exclaims hotly, shooting him a look of irritated disbelief that’s exaggerated to hide the boiling that’s working its way into her stomach.

Still chuckling every few moments, Harry reaches for her hand once again, interlocking their fingers and bringing her palm to his mouth. “Alright,” He kisses her heated palm while gazing at her through half lidded eyes. “Alright, I’m sorry.  Mi dispiace, tesoro.”

Y/N purses her painted lips, but sighs in defeat after a few moments of Harry’s moony eyes boring into her own. “Fine.  I forgive you.  Ti perdono.”

Although the annoyance has faded from Y/N’s complexion, Harry still keeps her hand flushed to his lips, stamping kisses to a new area of skin with unpatterned frequency.  He’s not certain if her warmth is just her or the residual embarrassment, but he doesn’t care.  It’s just nice, he thinks, his eyes crinkling in the corners as he smiles at Y/N from across the table.  It’s comfortable.

“I have your glasses of cabernet sauvignon, Mr. Styles.” Luca interrupts from beside Harry, who had been so focused on the feeling of Y/N skin against his that he hadn’t noticed the waiter’s return. 

Harry gently lowers Y/N’s hand from his mouth, setting her palm down on the table with care. “Grazie.” Harry says casually, straightening his posture to allow Luca to set the glasses down. 

Y/N does the same, offering the young server a thankful smile once again. “Grazie.” Her voice rings sweetly from behind her lips, her confidence more stable thanks to Harry’s miniature Rosetta Stone lecture. 

“Prego, signorina.” Luca matches the Italian easily, his eyebrows raising in hopeful shock. “Parli anche italiano?” Do you speak Italian, too?

The human girl’s eyes flick to Harry as her mouth falls open without sound, and the immortal reads the distress signal easily. 

“No, lei non—” He cuts himself off in the middle of the address to Luca when he remembers that Y/N doesn’t like being spoken for.  Harry redirects his attention back to her questioning eyes. “I mean— he asked if you speak Italian.”

Y/N gives Harry an appreciative smile before turning back to Luca, the expression turning apologetic. “No, I don’t.  I wish I did, though.”

“It’s a fairly easy language to learn.” Luca tucks his tray underneath his arm as he regards the girl timidly. “And your accent is wonderful already.”

Harry hides his smirk behind his wine glass, stifling the laugh that’s threatening to sound.  The server must be entranced by her beauty, he thinks, because that’s the most blatant lie Harry has heard in a long time.

Y/N, however, accepts the compliment with ease. “Thank you.  It’s not true, but I appreciate the effort to be kind.”

The tips of Luca’s ears redden as he laughs breathlessly. “Are you, um, ready to order?”

“Oh, uh—” Y/N drops her gaze to the unopened menu in front of her before offering an rueful glance at the waiter. “I still need a few minutes, I think.”

“That’s alright, take your time.  I’ll be back shortly.” Luca assures her, turning to Harry and giving one last nod of acknowledgement before leaving them again.

Despite already having the menu of the restaurant memorized, Harry slides the leatherbound cover open, dragging a ringed finger down the smooth pages as he feigns searching for a dish. “You know…” He flits his gaze to Y/N’s face as an amused grin begins to tug at the corners of his mouth. “That’s really not fair of you.”

Y/N looks up from her own opened menu the moment Harry speaks, a bemused shadow falling over her face. “What’s not fair of me?”

Harry reaches for his wine glass as he laughs gently, shaking his head before taking a small sip of the smooth cabernet. “Being so charming to Luca.  The poor boy looks like he’s going to pass out each time you speak to him.”

Her cherry lips curve into an exasperated smile as she rolls her eyes. “I have no idea what you mean.” She states, turning her attention back down to the cursive menu. 

“Oh, you don’t, do you?” Harry replies dryly, quirking an eyebrow as he sets his beverage back down on the table. “So you’re not noticing how his eyes are glued to your mouth every time you say something?”

“Nope,” Y/N pops her lips on the last consonant sound of the word as she reaches for her own wine glass. “Because it’s not happening.  We’re just talking, H.  He’s the waiter; he has to look at me.”

“Right.” Harry drags the word out, completely unconvinced. His own eyes glue to Y/N’s lips as they wrap around the edge of her glass, his throat growing slightly parched as he studies the way they curve in a manner that he deems practically flawless. “So do you think the way he’s staring at your tits is also in his job description, then?”

Y/N snorts at the snarky remark, lowering her glass to rest just in front of her chest. “You’re the one who picked out a dress with such a low neckline.” She unwraps her index finger from the wine glass to point it at him in an accusatory manner. “Why did you get it, then, if you didn’t want my tits out on display?”

Harry takes a swig of his own wine as he fights back a laugh at her bold statement. “Let me fill you in on a little secret, mi amore.” He says, lowering his voice and setting down his delicate glass with a muted thud. “The main reason I got it…” The vampire watches the way Y/N’s breathing hitches when she feels the snakeskin tip of his boot brush against the back of her bare calf beneath the table. “Is because I’m curious to see what it would look like as a crumpled heap at the bottom of my staircase.”

The toe of his boot travels higher up her leg, circling around the bend of her knee before just barely grazing the soft flesh of her lower outer thigh.  Y/N does her best to control her breathing, but the effort is in vain when the cold metal zipper presses against her dimpled skin. 

“Harry…” His name leaves her crimson lips in a warning tone as she glances around the restaurant, eyeing the closest couple five tables away. 

“‘M excited to see it later, y’know? Been thinking about ripping it off ever since I zipped you into it.” Harry drags the toe of his boot back down her leg, coasting it lightly against her ribbon-wrapped ankle in small and concise motions. “But I suppose I’ll just have to be a bit more patient.  At least I’ll be seeing you like that; poor Luca could only dream of it.”

The human girl clears her throat quietly, taking another measured sip of her wine as she wills herself to steady. “The only thing poor about Luca is that he’s going to come back to the table and I still won’t know what I want.” She shifts her attention back to the open menu, ignoring the eye roll she receives from her lover across the table as she looks over the Italian in front of her. “I don’t know what any of this is.”

“Let me help, cara— which means, ‘dear,’ by the way.” Harry says in an amused voice, dropping his gaze to the cursive menu. “Do you want fish?  Pasta?  Red meat?  Chicken?”

“Maybe pasta.” Y/N murmurs in reply, running a finger down the booklet page as she reads over the Italian descriptions.  Her eyes catch the prices next to dishes, and she nearly gasps, but bites back the sound of surprise at the last moment.

“Alright…” Scanning down the pasta list, Harry bookmarks a few dishes he thinks Y/N may like. “You’d enjoy the ‘Spaghetti Cacio e Pepe’, I think.” He muses, rubbing a finger over his chin in thought. “Or the ‘Gnocchi al Vostro Gusto’.  That’s kind of like pasta— it’s a potato dumpling, and you can choose if you want a meat or gorgonzola sauce.”

“That sounds good.” Y/N finds the mentioned items on the menu, her eyes sweeping over the Italian descriptions to try and pick out the words Harry mentioned. “I think I’ll go with the last one, with the gorgonzola sauce.” Taking a sip of her wine to seal her decision, Y/N poses a question to Harry. “What are you thinking of having?”

“I’m not sure…” Harry lifts his shoulder in a careless shrug as he continues to scan the menu. “I have a few favourites, and those are always solid choices.  The lamb is quite good here; I haven’t had that in a while.”

As Harry peruses his decisions, Y/N begins to chew on the inside of her cheek, narrowly avoiding her habit of biting her lips and ruining the raspberry lacquer she’d painted on earlier as an idea forms in her head. 

“Harry,” She begins, waiting until he raises his jade eyes to meet hers before continuing. “When Luca comes back over…” The girl chooses her words carefully, doing her best to voice her question in the most understandable way. “Could you order for me?”

Just as she suspected he might, Harry rests his menu back down against the table, giving his whole attention to Y/N as his brows furrow. “You want me to order for you?” He asks, confusion threaded through his accent as his mind flips back to their first date, when Y/N had nearly skinned him alive for attempting to do just that. “Why?”

She shifts in her seat under his hot gaze, her own eyes dropping to her lap as her cheeks sear. “It’s— It’s in Italian, so it’ll probably be easier if you say it.”

Harry shakes his head in disagreement as he tries to reassure his date. “No, doll, it’s alright if you say it in English.  Luca will get it.  And if worse comes to worse—” He cracks a smile, tapping a bejeweled finger against the booklet. “Y’can just point.  He’ll get the gist.”

Despite the solutions offered, Y/N continues to shift around, her foot bumping against Harry’s boot as a soft sigh falls from her lips.  She’d hoped Harry would’ve just accepted the request on her first try, but he seems determined not to repeat his mistake from their first date, which means Y/N has to get a lot more honest.

“No, H, I want…” She purses her lips as she twists her fingers around the stem of her wine glass, gently swirling the dark liquid inside. “I want you to order for me.”

The smile on his face darkens into a befuddled expression. “I mean, I can,” Harry says slowly, closing the menu and sliding it onto the table as he appraises the girl across from him. “But I’m a little confused on your reasoning.  Last time I tried to order for you, you said I was trying to make decisions for you—”

“And you were,” Y/N can’t help but to defend herself, flashing a stormy look at Harry from beneath her lashes. “That’s why I’m telling you what I’d like now.”

Harry’s mouth gapes open as he stares at Y/N with a blank expression.  A scoffing laugh finally falls from his lips as he shakes his head again, reaching for his wine and bringing the glass to his lips. “You are the most confusing woman I’ve ever met, d’you know that?”

Y/N lets a beat of silence fall between them as she rethinks her question and how best to phrase it in a way that still lets her feel like she’s living in the twenty-first century. “I mean I— you said that it was polite, right?  At that brunch.  Your mom taught you it was a sign of respect.” Her eyes fall to the opal ring sitting on his pinky, sparkling in the candlelight like it always does.

Harry lowers his glass, watching Y/N with a guarded gaze. “Yeah.” He murmurs, licking his lips once as he places his cup back on the table. “She did, yeah.”

“And you’ve gone to a lot of trouble tonight— the dress, the reservation, everything— and I just— I wanted to—” The more Y/N tries to articulate her thoughts, the more tangled her thoughts become, and she sucks in a harsh breath of frustration. “I don’t know what I’m trying to say.”

Although Harry has a suspicion about her meaning, he doesn’t try to finish her sentence.  The last thing he wants to do is make Y/N feel like he’s trying to speak over her. “It’s alright.” He says instead, snaking his hand across the table to weave her fingers through his. “Take your time, tesoro.”

Heeding his advice, Y/N takes a moment to just focus on the feeling of Harry’s cool fingers wrapped around hers, and allows her thoughts to gather themselves together on their own.  When she tries again, her speech is hesitant, but less frustrated than before.

“I think I… understand you more now.” She mumbles the words, keeping her eyes glued to the shining stones that adorn Harry’s rings. “When you do things that I’m not used to… I know you’re doing them out of kindness, and not because you think I’m incapable.” Raising her stare to meet Harry’s entrancing emerald eyes, Y/N takes a deep breath before continuing. “You’ve done a lot to make me comfortable, and I appreciate it, so… I want to do something for you.  It’s no Gucci dress—” Y/N laughs breathlessly, her cheeks flushing again as her intent flickers away from Harry’s own for just a moment before— to his relief— returning. “— but you were taught it was a sign of respect, like opening a door, or pulling out a chair.  So if you want to order for me… you can.” She finishes in a quiet voice. “If you’d like to.”

A slow smile spreads over Harry’s strawberry lips as Y/N wraps up her speech. “Really?” He asks, his voice hushed with delight. “And you won’t accuse me of treating you like you’re incapable?”

Y/N’s eyes flash to him in a darkened glare, but her tone holds a jesting bite. “Not unless you piss me off.”

A soft exhale of air leaves Harry’s nostrils, the beginnings of a laugh. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He quips in return, catching Luca’s eye over Y/N’s shoulder as the waiter approaches the table again.

Although his body is turned towards Harry, Luca’s eyes canvas Y/N once more, the action bolder this time as his irises spend longer resting on her cleavage after observing her tinted pout.  The lengthened look grates against Harry’s nerves, and he clears his throat in a slightly irritated manner to call the young man’s attention back his way.

“Oh, uhm—” Luca’s ears redden as he turns back to Harry, clearing his throat as he steadies himself. “Sei pronto per ordinare, signor Styles?” Are you ready to order, Mr. Styles?

“Sì,” Harry replies curtly, tapping his thumb against Y/N’s soft hand. “Y/N vorrebbe gli Gnocchi al Vostro Gusto con la salsa al gorgonzola, e io prendo il filet mignon, cotto raro, per favore.” Y/N will have the Gnocchi al Vostro Gusto with the gorgonzola sauce, and I’ll have the filet mignon, cooked rare, please. He says smoothly, and he can’t deny the satisfied pleasure that curls inside his belly when he sees the gentle eyes Y/N gives him across the table.

Luca nods once as he takes the menus from the two of them, careful to keep his eyes away from Y/N’s mouth as he gathers her leatherbound copy and scuttles off to submit their orders to the kitchen.

“Okay.” Y/N says reluctantly, squeezing Harry’s hand within her own with a sigh as she watches the waiter disappear. “I will admit, I did notice his eyes drifting a little low there.”

“Sorry, what was that?” Harry asks, eyes widening in dramatized disbelief.  He wills himself to keep a triumphant grin off his face, but knows he doesn’t quite succeed. “Did you just admit I was right?  Did that just happen?”

“Oh, shut up.” Rolling her eyes, Y/N shakes her head as she takes another bite of garlic bread, her tongue poking from her mouth to catch a crumb at the corner of her lip. “If you’re going to act like such a child, I’ll take it back.”

Harry brings her knuckles to his mouth, brushing them against his lips in a tender motion. “I’m just trying to savour the moment, angel.” His cool breath crawls over her skin, eliciting a shiver from the human girl that he adores. “Who knows when I’ll get to experience it again.”

“Never, if I have any say in it.”

“Should we ask Luca to weigh in on this little debate, too? You know, since he’s practically as acquainted with you as I am.” 

“Bite me.”

The monster’s dimples wink at the irony of her insult, and his voice carries a knowing edge that only he can decipher. “Don’t I always?”

They fall into their usual rhythm after that, easily discussing what each of them had been up to throughout the week during their gaps away from the other.  Those gaps, Harry realizes as he listens to a work story from Y/N, are becoming shorter and shorter. He’d swung by Y/N’s cafe for lunch on Thursday to order a mediocre at best sandwich, and indulge in a far from mediocre makeout session in the back of his car.  And watching Y/N hurriedly tighten her ponytail while she stumbled away from his Cadillac, cheeks flaming as she nearly ran to the employee entrance around the back of the building before her break ended, had prompted Harry to call her that night for a long overdue phone sex session.  

Even after they had both helped the other reach climax, and post-orgasm photos had been sent (Harry had received a picture of Y/N stretched out on her bed, her face visibly heated and chest sweaty as she wore nothing but his “enjoy health” t-shirt, and in return, he’d sent a snapshot of his cum-covered abdomen, fingers resting delicately at the edge of his butterfly tattoo), the vampire and human had stayed on the line as they both caught their breath.  Harry had followed the nude photo with a picture of him posing with a glass of water and a thumbs up, smiling grandly amidst his colored cheeks and sweaty curls, captioning it “Make sure to hydrate after a workout!” The energy it took to take the self-timed photo was worth it when he’d heard Y/N’s laugh tumble out from the opposite end of the line. 

It’s the same carefree laugh that she’s trying to stifle now, her hand pressed over her mouth and nose as her eyes send an apologetic glance at Luca setting her plate of gnocchi down in front of her.

“Thank you, Luca,” She manages to choke out, wiping her eyes with the edge of her thumb to stop the saltwater threatening to rush down her heated cheeks. “It looks delicious.”

Harry nods in agreement as the waiter sets his own dish in front of him, his mischievous smirk still shining at Y/N from across the table. “Grazie.” He says as he curls his lips around his newly topped off wine glass.

Y/N bites her tongue to hold back the continuous laughter that’s on the verge of bursting from her chest like a dam.  With every moment Harry keeps his eyes locked on hers, the human girl has to press her lips harder and harder together, and barely manages to wait until Luca has left them again to release the wave of giggles that crest out of her chest.

“Something amusing?” Harry raises an eyebrow as he sets his glass down, hardly able to hold back his own laughter as couples seated away from them begin to take notice of the boisterous sounds.

“You—” Y/N sucks in a ragged breath, half snorting once more as she manages to calm herself enough to take a small sip of wine.  The liquid soothes the raw ache in her throat that is practically raw from the convulsed snickers. “You did not say that to him!”

“I did.” Harry answers smugly, adjusting the napkin covering the light grey fabric stretched over his lap before picking up his knife and fork. “He was too certain that no girl had ever faked it with him just because of a leg shake.  I couldn’t let him live in that delusion; it’d be a crime, really.  Just plain cruel.”

“Oh, right, like telling your friend that all the girls he’s been with have been faking it isn’t cruel?” She gently sets down her wine glass at the edge of her plate as she voices the retort, shaking her head in disbelief. “Poor Niall.”

“Not Poor Niall!  I was trying to help him!” Despite the claim, Harry can’t stop himself from chuckling out the words. “How’s he going to fix his ways if he doesn’t know anything is wrong?”

“Alright, so riddle me this, then, Dr. Phil.” Y/N picks up her fork, spearing a piece of gnocchi and holding the chunk above her plate as she issues her challenge to Harry. “How did you become the expert in whether or not a girl is faking it?  Do you have a lot of experience with that?”

“Not in the slightest.  I think you know that much.” Just as he did before, Harry begins to slide the tip of his boot up Y/N’s calf, relishing in the slight hitch in her breath and stutter of her heart. “If I’m an expert in anything, it’s how to make someone cum until their legs actually shake.  That’s why I can tell the fake from the real.”

Y/N takes a deep breath through her mouth, closing her eyes for a moment as she forms a coherent reply. “I guess I do know that.” She relents, opening her eyes just in time to see the simper that’s growing again across Harry’s face as he continues to rub up and down her leg with his shoe.  Y/N lifts her fork, carefully slipping the sauce-covered gnocchi into her mouth. “But Niall doesn’t— holy shit.” The mortal gasps as the flavours burst across her tongue, the perfect mix of savoury and salty and drenched in decadence.

“It’s good, innit?” Harry pokes his cheek with his tongue as he slices off a corner of his steak, checking the rarity of the meat before bringing it to his mouth. “There’s a reason this is my favourite restaurant, and it’s not just Vincenzo.”

“It’s fucking delicious.” Y/N can’t think to censor herself as she meticulously chews and swallows the bite, savouring every second before poking another gnocchi onto her fork. “I understand the price now.  It’s still outrageous, but I get it.”

Harry watches the way Y/N’s lashes flutter as she chews her bites, and the satisfaction growing in his belly increases. “High quality is worth paying for.” He states, slicing off another portion of steak. 

Y/N nods slowly, swallowing the food before pointing the prongs of her fork at Harry’s plate. “How’s your filet mignon?” She asks, spearing another bite of gnocchi onto the utensil. “Worth the price point?”

Dragging the bite on his fork through the sauce that’s pooled on his plate, Harry beckons her forward as he extends the piece towards her. “Open your mouth and find out.”

There’s something about the way that Y/N immediately obeys the command— setting down her own fork and leaning across the table to wrap her lips around Harry’s— that sends a shiver down his spine.  With her mouth closed, she slides the cut of beef off the silverware and leans back in her seat, chewing thoughtfully with a contemplative look on her face. 

A drop of sauce is smeared from the bite, dripping from the edge of her mouth, and although it goes unnoticed by Y/N, it’s all Harry can see as he watches her savor the bite of food.  He leans forward more, collecting the droplet on the pad of his thumb, which he brings to his mouth and licks off casually before settling back in his chair.

“Like it, tesoro?” He asks, an expectant look glinting in his eye as he slices off another bite for himself. 

Y/N cocks her head to the side as she swallows, trying her best to focus on the flavour and not the way Harry had been so careful not to smear her lipstick as he touched her. “I like the sauce.  It’s sweet, but has a bit of a kick to it.  The steak, however…” She wrinkles her nose the slightest bit. “It’s a little too rare for my taste, I think.  I’m not really a fan of anything bloody.”

Harry curls his tongue inside his mouth as he allows himself a single laugh. “No?” He questions, spearing a piece of meat and sliding it past his lips. “I can’t say the same.  I like my steaks cooked rare.  The bloodier, the better.” 

“I bet you’re one of those weirdos who orders blue steak, huh?” Y/N asks, taking a gulp of her wine to wash out the taste of the meat. “Like, still cold in the middle, and looking practically raw…”

“Oh, no.  Not at all.” Harry’s chuckles increase, and he has to hide them behind a false cough to stop himself from drawing more attention. “It tastes much better if the meal is warm.”

Although Y/N doesn’t grasp the full meaning behind his words— and thank God she doesn’t, Harry thinks, because she’d probably run screaming from the restaurant— she hums in acknowledgement as she swirls the wine around her glass.

“But you’re enjoying your meal, right?” Harry changes the subject swiftly, deciding he’s indulged his one-sided humour long enough. “I have no problem sending it back if it’s not to your liking.”

The human’s eyes widen as she swiftly sets down her glass, shaking her head at the question. “No, no, it’s delicious!  Probably the best thing I’ve ever eaten, honestly.” She collects another bit on her fork, twirling the potato dumpling through the gorgonzola sauce before motioning to Harry. “Wanna try?”

When Harry nods in response, they slip back into their former position, both of them leaning forward in their seats to meet in the middle of the table.  Y/N slips the fork into his mouth, feeling the resistance as Harry’s white teeth meet the strong metal of the cutlery. 

Just as had happened to her a few moments prior, a small droplet of sauce gathers at the corner of Harry’s mouth as she pulls her fork away.  Y/N collects the sauce with her thumb as Harry had as well, but before she can sit herself back in her chair, Harry captures her wrist within his cool hand. 

Keeping his canopy green eyes locked with hers, the creature slips her thumb into his mouth, licking the remnants of the bite off the digit with his slick tongue.  His boot continues its climb up her leg, just barely reaching her thigh again before traveling back down to plant itself firmly onto the floor of the restaurant.

A quiet gasp leaves Y/N’s mouth as Harry lulls his tongue around her thumb one last time, and the barely audible sound raises his strawberry lips into a hint of a grin as he extracts the finger from his mouth.  With his hand still wrapped around her wrist, Harry brings her open palm forward and plants a delicate kiss to the center of her hand.

“That’s quite good.” Harry finally says nonchalantly, attentively setting Y/N’s hand back down on the table and releasing her wrist from his grasp. “I’ll have to try it the next time we come.”

Y/N struggles to regulate her breathing as she retracts her hand from the table, setting it down in her lap as her fingers involuntarily clench into her heated thigh. “Um, yeah.” She wisps, clearing her throat once as she reaches for a slice of garlic bread. “Yeah, it’s, uh, it’s really good.  The sauce is— it has a nice balance to it, I think, with the thyme…”

“I agree.” Harry wipes his wet finger off on the napkin laying over his thigh. “You’ve got quite the mouth on you, don’t you, pet?”

“You would know.” Y/N huffs snidely, cheeks blazing as she reaches for her wine again to extract a heavy gulp of the liquor.  

In the moments of silence that fall between them, Y/N allows herself to canvas the restaurant, observing the interactions of those around her.  True to Vincenzo’s promise of a private spot, the couples nearest to them are all at least five tables away, and partially hidden from view because of the positioning of their corner booth.  However, Y/N’s sharp eyes don’t miss how every formally-dressed staff member, from servers to busboys and hosts, cast their eyes in Harry’s direction each time they pass by.  Some even whisper to their coworkers as they turn the corner, their gazes always lingering on Harry with a mix of awe and wonder.

“Have you noticed how all the staff here watch you?” Y/N asks as she catches the eye of a passing waitress, who offers her a tense smile before sliding her stare towards Harry. 

“Do they?” Harry replies curiously, raising his wine glass to his lips as he lightly shrugs. “I’ve never paid much attention to it.”

“I think Vincenzo’s given them all the update on the prestigious British bachelor, Harry Styles.” Y/N pokes fun, tilting her head to the side thoughtfully as she contemplates Harry with an observant eye. “Or maybe they’ve all just noticed the ridiculous amount of designer labels you insist on wearing.” She teases him with a playful grin, tapping a finger against the Gucci cufflinks on his sleeves. “I feel a bit like a celebrity.”

A modest laugh breaks past Harry’s lips as he lowers the glass, keeping his ringed fingers twisted around the stem. “In my experience, I’ve found you’re treated best when you treat the staff best.  I tip well, so I receive better service.  When I receive better service, I tip more.  It’s a bit of a cycle, isn’t it?” He asks rhetorically, the tip of his boot once again exploring the soft skin of Y/N’s bare leg. “But I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.  I thought I’d test the waters tonight and see how well you like the high life before I arrange anything more… extravagant.”

“More extravagant?” Y/N laughs at the idea, propping her elbow on the table and plopping her chin in her hand as her eyebrows raise. “What could possibly be more extravagant than a Gucci cocktail dress, Loubotin heels, and a fifty dollar pasta dish?”

The answer rolls off Harry’s tongue immediately, slathered in a jesting, matter-of-fact tone. “A trip to the Bahamas, obviously.”

Although Y/N’s eyes widen slightly at the comment, it’s not long before she giggles softly, the wine beginning to twist its way through her system.  Harry can smell the way her lavender and honey scent is intertwined with the dark, fruity notes of the liquor, but even if he couldn’t, it would be obvious in the way she draws towards him with a tender smile on her face.  Despite the dewy appearance of her skin amidst the lulled candlelight, it’s the genuine warmth behind Y/N’s eyes that makes Harry feel like her gaze could thaw the ice from his long-frozen limbs.

It’s that warmth that brings Harry to reach over the table after Luca has cleared their bare plates and refilled their glasses, dragging his hands across the linen tablecloth with his palms turned upwards.  He just can’t ever seem to stifle the need to touch her.

The motion is a quiet question in itself, and Y/N gives the desired answer when she fills his empty grasp with her own palms, automatically tangling her bare fingers with Harry’s jeweled digits. For a moment, Harry just sits there, thumbing over her fragile knuckles in the way he’s grown so accustomed to doing, basking in the heat that congregates in his chest and gives him the feeling that he’s glowing.  He almost hates to break the perfect silence between them, which is so understanding, but he’s been thinking about his words too carefully to swallow them back.

“Thank you for agreeing to let me take you out.” He says, his voice gentle and low, a far cry from his usual cocky drawl. “It’s…It’s been a really long time since I’ve done something like this with anyone, let alone had this much fun doing it.” He takes a quiet breath through barely parted lips. “It’s nice.”

His ears prick with the sound of Y/N’s hummingbird heartbeat thrumming in her chest, the pattern bringing an ache to his tummy in an entirely new way, but the ache is quickly soothed by the soft smile that adorns her crimson lips.

“It’s…It’s been a while for me, as well.  Which you know.” She laughs airily, but is too entranced by the vivid color of Harry’s eyes to tear her gaze away. “I’m having fun, too.  I’m glad— I mean—”

Harry continues to rub over her knuckles patiently, keeping his touch as gentle as she is, making sure to gift her an instance to collect her thoughts.

“I’ll admit, I was… worried at first.  When we started to go on actual dates.” The mortal takes a deep breath through her nose, but it hardly calms her down as she inhales the vanilla and tobacco scent of Harry’s cologne. “We were doing so well with just sex, y’know?  And I was worried that adding more would… ruin it.”

The faint grin playing on the edge of Harry’s mouth disappears, and a chill runs through his bones at the possibility of what they have dismantling at the seams. “But it hasn’t… Has it?”

The seconds Harry spends waiting for an answer is agony, but the relief is instantaneous when Y/N replies in a bashful voice. “No.” She whispers, her gaze faltering down to her lap before raising back to him. “It hasn’t.”

“I feel like…” Harry worries his bottom lip between his teeth, nearly forgetting to be mindful of his strength so as to not break his skin. “I feel like it’s made things better, even.  Like… like we work better together, yeah?” He clears his throat gingerly as nerves begin to dip into his dormant veins.  He knows he’s treading on dangerously thin ice, and he’s never been more at risk of plunging into the freezing depths below, but he can’t make himself return to shore.  Not now. “Not that we weren’t working well before, because we were.  We were working really well— incredibly well.  But I just feel like tacking on this little bit of extra stuff makes everything more fulfilling.”

A wry smile breaks across Y/N’s face. “Right, because who doesn’t love getting wined and dined before getting their back done in?” She jokes easily, and Harry snorts in spite of himself, grateful for how she always manages to save him from making an ass of himself.

“I just really like spending time with you, I guess.” He squeezes her hands within his own before the sincere moment disappears. “It feels natural.  Really natural.”

“It does.  And while we’re confessing our innermost confessions over garlic bread…” The mortal purses her lips as a sparkle appears in her eyes, glinting at Harry like the North Star. “I want you to know how grateful I am for what we have.  I was feeling really lonely and out of place when we met, and running into you…” Y/N hesitates for a fraction of a instant, just long enough for Harry’s own breathing to catch. “It really helped me get back on my feet.  It’s just nice to have someone who I mesh with so well, especially after such a big move and everything, so…” A new wave of heat works its way over the apples of her cheeks. “I suppose this is a bit of a ‘thank you’.  Thanks for coming up to me that night at the club.”

Harry’s lips quirk at the corners as the tender confession settles into his chest. “Thank you for letting me chat you up.  It was a two way street, love.  Although—” His signature smirk begins to make a reappearance. “It’s not like I had to try very hard— you practically drooled the second you laid your eyes on me.”

Y/N’s mouth drops open indignantly as she yanks her hands back from his, rolling her eyes heavily while smoothing the hem of her dress. “Alright, that’s enough.  Moment over, dickhead.  Go back to sipping your wine and looking hot in your suit in silence.”

Although Harry obeys her order and picks up his wine glass with nimble fingers, his eyes grow teasingly large over the rim, accent dripping with faux shock. “You think I’m hot?”

“I’d hope you know that,” Y/N says cooly as she grasps the stem of her own glass. “I don’t let just anyone choke me.”

It’s Harry’s turn to cough on his liquor as he registers the comment, and he struggles not to spill the dark liquid down the front of his brand new suit as he barks out a laugh.

“Well, for what it’s worth,” he says after he swallows the drink, setting his glass back down on the table firmly. “I don’t let just anyone use my jacuzzi whenever they want.”

“Right, right, because you allowing me to use your hot tub is equivalent to me letting you wrap your fingers around my throat.” Y/N snorts, drumming her digits against the table top. “Practically identical.”

Harry snakes his hand across the table and cards their grips once more, squeezing her fingers playfully as he taps against her knuckles. “It’s not like you complain while it’s happening.”

“Only because it’s hard to talk when my air flow is restricted.”

“Really?  Because you still manage to moan just fine.”

Harry delights in the way her eyes hurriedly dash to the other diners, her heartbeat stuttering in her heaving chest.  He likes that he can still get a rise out of her with his crude jokes, even after all he’s said to her.

“Christ, Harry, lower your voice!  Don’t let anyone hear you!” Y/N protests, cupping a hand over her sizzling cheek.

“No one can hear me, love.” He chuckles lightly as he reassures her with another squeeze of her fingers. “S’why I always request a private table.”

“Oh, so you have a pattern, then?” She quirks an eyebrow at the comment. “Do you bring women here that often to discuss choking?  So much that you need a private table?”

Although there’s a mocking air to her words, Harry’s laugh cuts off. “No.  I don’t.”

Y/N hums in the back of her throat as she raises her wine glass to her lips. “I don’t believe you.  I think I’ll ask Vinzenco on our way out.  He seems like an honest man.”

Cool relief flushes through Harry’s body, but he hides it behind an incredulous gasp. “So what I’m hearing is that you’re interested in him.  Do you want Vincenzo to choke you instead?” His face breaks into a look of exaggerated disbelief tinged with fake disgust. “He’s married, you tramp!”

Y/N can’t help but laugh when Harry yanks his hand away from hers, pretending to wipe it on his napkin while gagging, as if touching her is a horrendous act. 

“I hate you.” She giggles, shaking her head slowly. 

“I promise you that no matter how much you hate me, Vincenzo’s wife would hate you tenfold.” Harry shakes out his hand before setting it back down on the table. 

“Don’t worry.” Y/N rolls her eyes at the exaggeration. “I don’t plan on breaking up a marriage tonight.”

“How gracious of you.” Harry murmurs, but he leans forward with a mischievous glint in his eye as he shamelessly canvasses Y/N’s body. “You could, you know.  Vincenzo is only a man.  Look how you had Poor Luca drooling tonight.  You in that dress…” He settles his eyes on her prominent cleavage. “Y’look like Aphrodite, almost.”

Despite the heat that flashes over Y/N’s entire body, she keeps her voice dry when she responds. “I don’t know about that; this isn’t much of a grecian look.”

“Well…” A grin creeps onto Harry’s face, igniting his jade irises with humour. “You look like Aphrodite if Aphrodite was a twenty-first century sugar baby.”

Y/N’s mouth drops open before she spits out an indignant reply. “I’m not a sugar baby!”

“Sorry, who bought you that dress?”

“That doesn’t count—”

“And who do you call ‘daddy’?”

Harry can hear the way blood rushes to her cheeks, and it sends a delicious shiver down his spine. 

Y/N, however, glares up at him through her thick lashes, her hands twisting the cloth napkin in her lap. “You’re a prick.”

“I’m simply stating facts, darling.” Harry sighs lightly, ducking one of his hands underneath the table and reaching to give her bare knee a squeeze.  He revels in the way she jumps at his touch. “And I’ve got videos of you whimpering that over and over to prove it.”

“If you keep this up,” Y/N says, forcing her voice to stay steady as she nods to his grasp on her skin. “You won’t be getting any more of them.”

“Is that so?” Harry’s hand travels further up her leg, the metal of his rings icy against the heated flesh of her inner thighs. “Guess you won’t be getting any more videos of me playing with myself either, then.  Fair’s fair.”

The whimper that falls from Y/N’s lips is so quiet that if Harry were human, he wouldn’t have been able to detect it. “Harry—” 

“You don’t like that, do you?” He taunts lowly, continuing to rub over her thigh as he leaves a trail of goosebumps in his wake. “The idea of me taking that away? Of never seeing me lose myself for you on video ever again?”

Y/N clears her throat thickly. “N-No.”

“I didn’t think so.” With his free hand, Harry lifts his wine to his lips, taking a long sip as his darkened eyes stay locked to hers. “So you’d better behave for me then, hm?”

Despite the electrifying way her entire body is starting to fizzle, Y/N still manages to choke out an amused scoff. “You’re starting to sound like a cheap porno, H.  Be careful.”

“Careful?  You want to be careful?” Harry asks, eyebrows poised as he digs his fingertips into the meaty flesh of her thigh. “Alright.”

In one fast motion, Harry snakes his hand completely up Y/N’s dress to cup over her lace-covered cunt, running the pads of his fingers over the dampening cloth.  He hooks one finger into the side of the lace and gives a sharp yank, and although Y/N’s not sure how he does it, or how Harry attained the sudden rush of strength needed to do so, she feels the delicate fabric rip right down the center. 

Before she can even process what’s happened, the act is over as quickly as it started as Harry settles back into his seat, eyebrows cocked in a conceited fashion as he watches her assess the new issue. 

“You’ll have to be careful now, won’t you, minx?  Gonna have t’keep your legs closed like a proper good girl— which I know is hard for you whenever I’m around.” He teases, his hand still clenched under the table as the other raises his glass to his strawberry lips. “Otherwise we might have a little mishap, hm?”

Y/N’s breath stutters in her pounding chest as she clenches her thighs as tight as she can. “You didn’t.”

Raising his hand from beneath the table, Harry opens his palm for just a moment, flashing her the scrap of black lace that had once been her panties before coasting his hand beneath his jacket and tucking the article into his pocket. “Didn't I?”

“Harry!” Y/N hisses, her voice dangerously low as she leans over the table. 

“Yes?” He replies innocently, wrapping his hand firmly around his glass. “Something the matter?”

Y/N gapes at the man across from her in disbelief. “You’re such a dick, you know that?” 

“I promise you, I’m well aware.” Harry laughs lightly as he polishes off the last of his wine. “But it’s not like you don’t like it.  You wouldn’t bounce on my cock if you didn’t.”

Sucking in a harsh breath through her teeth, Y/N clenches the tight satin of her dress in her fists. “God, I’m going to fucking kill you.”

“Yeah?” Harry quirks an eyebrow with a cocky smirk. “Good luck trying to catch me without flashing your entire arse to the kitchen staff.”

“I swear on my life, I’m going to rip off your—” 

“Ciao, Harry! Bella donna!” Vincenzo’s voice cuts over Y/N’s thinly-veiled threat as he approaches the table with arms wide and a smile pasted onto his face. “Come trovi tutto? Possiamo portarti dell'altro vino? La carta dei dolci?” How are you finding everything?  Can we get you more wine?  The dessert menu?

“È tutto delizioso, Vincenzo, grazie.” Everything is delicious, Vincenzo, thank you. Harry drawls, his grin growing as he turns to Y/N with a condescending tilt of his head. “What do you think, tesoro?  Are you in the mood for dessert?  Or have you had enough?”

Y/N’s mouth is too dry for her to answer, especially with the way Harry’s irises twinkle suggestively at his own words, so she finishes the last dregs of her wine before shaking her head tightly. “No— no dessert for me, thanks.”

Vincenzo heaves a dramatic gasp as he turns his full attention to her. “Bella donna, what is this?  Surely you want to try our dessert?  Even just some homemade gelato?”

“Oh, no, Vincenzo, thank you, but I don’t think I could squeeze any more food into my stomach.” Y/N fights to keep herself from sounding flustered, but she knows it’s a losing battle when she hears Harry mutter something about how wonderful she is at squeezing under his breath.

Vincenzo clicks his tongue with a shake of his head, twisting his astonished gaze back to Harry. “Harry, per favore, sicuramente puoi convincere il tuo appuntamento a mangiare un boccone di dessert? È sulla casa.” Harry, please, surely you can convince your date to have a bite of dessert?  It’s on the house.

The vampire presses his tongue into his cheek as he appraises Y/N again, the clenching of her abdomen drawing his eye more than anything else. Harry uses the tip of his boot to once again trail up the back of her calf beneath the tablecloth, giving her a wicked grin. “You’re sure you don’t want anything else, tesoro?”

Y/N jerks her head once more as a shadow crosses over her eyes. “No, thank you.” She reiterates in a strained voice.

With a casual shrug of his shoulders, Harry twists to face Vincenzo again, voice surrendered. “Grazie per l'offerta, Vincenzo, ma sembra che stiamo bene. Accettiamo solo il conto, per favore.” Thank you for the offer, Vincenzo, but it looks like we’re fine.  We’ll just take the check, please.

The restaurant owner sighs in disappointment, but nods in acceptance. “Va bene, va bene, solo l'assegno. Ma la prossima volta che torni, mi amore,” Vincenzo shifts his attention back to Y/N, who meets his smile as best as she can. “Dovrai provare due dolci per compensare la mancanza di uno stasera, vero?” Okay, okay, just the check.  But next time you come back, my love, you’ll have to try two desserts to make up for the lack of one tonight, yes?

Harry leans across the table and whispers the translation low in her ear, his cool breath sending a shiver down her spine as it rolls over her body.

“Yes, Vincenzo.  Next time.” Y/N promises quickly, clasping her hands tightly around the hem of her tight dress as the thigh slit begins to ride up.

Vincenzo motions over his shoulder for Luca to bring the check, chatting happily to Harry in Italian throughout the whole transaction.  Y/N stays quiet the entire time, instinctively hiding her boiling cheeks behind her hands each time one of them casts a glance her way.  Despite the nerves wreaking havoc in her belly, Harry continues to make casual conversation as he swipes his credit card, laughing and joking with Vincenzo like he has all the time in the world.  By the time the restaurant owner bids them both goodbye, Y/N’s certain she’s sweated well through the thin fabric of her dress from her nerves.

Harry, however, looks perfectly at ease as he tucks his wallet back into his suit jacket. “You handled that well, doll.  ‘M proud of you.” He says easily, rubbing a finger down the condensation dotting his glass of ice water. 

“I’m glad you’re enjoying this.” Y/N hisses at him, clenching her thighs together as another waiter passes dangerously close to their table. “How am I supposed to walk out of here without anyone noticing?”

“Like this.” Harry rises from the table and extends a hand to Y/N, who eyes it warily from her seated position. “C’mon, love, you’re going to have to trust me.” He goads her with a sigh, wiggling his fingers until Y/N gives in and settles her palm inside his.

Making sure his own body is hiding Y/N from the line of sight of anyone else, Harry helps pull his lover from her chair before removing his jacket with one swift motion.  He settles the rich grey fabric over her bare shoulders, draping the article in such a way that it covers the deep thigh slit that exposes her bare skin. 

“How’s that?” Harry asks lowly, voice tender as he fixes the collar of the jacket around Y/N’s delicate neck. “S’that better?”

The moment Harry’s familiar and intoxicating cologne fills her senses, all the irritation evaporates from Y/N’s veins, leaving behind only the quiet thrum of attraction that’s intensified by the man’s fragrance. 

“Yeah.” She whispers, the cadence of her voice nearing shyness as Harry tugs a lock of hair from underneath the collar of the jacket. “It’s a bit better.”

“Good.” The vampire leans down and stamps his lips to the girl’s forehead, letting his mouth linger for a few seconds before straightening up. “I promise I won’t let anyone see anything.  And even if someone does see something, as long as you’re with me, nobody will say a word.”

Y/N nods gently as Harry grasps her hand in his own to lead her out of the restaurant and back to his car. “Alright.  I trust you.”

That warmth from earlier begins to spread through Harry’s chest again the moment she utters the words. “I’m glad to hear that.” He snakes his hand inside the jacket, brushing his fingertips against her breast before dipping his hand into the pocket.  When he withdraws it, the lace of her ripped panties is visible for only a moment before he tucks it into the back of his slacks with a smirk. “These are mine now. A little spoil of war for my trophy case.”

Despite his protective stance around her as he begins to weave the two of them through tables, Y/N scoffs at the action. “I still can’t believe you did that, you asshole.”

“Oh, I’m an asshole?” Harry glances over his shoulder as he quirks an eyebrow teasingly. “Alright, then.  I can just drop you back off at your apartment, if you’d like.  Go back to my place alone tonight. Gonna have to unbutton my trousers on my own, and peel this nice shirt off by myself, and crawl in between my sheets rather than in between your thighs. Such a shame.”

Y/N can’t stop the whine that echoes the back of her throat. “No, H—”

“That’s what I thought.” Harry steps back from her just enough to tug open the glass front door of the restaurant, his eyes already settling on the valet.  When he speaks, however, it’s just for her to hear, and her alone. It sends a current of anticipation through her veins as it washes across the shell of her ear, his breath smelling of sweet grapes and notes of cherry from their wine, thick with the tangy scent of liquor and cooler than usual from the chilled beverage. Despite that coldness, his next promise settles into her exposed core with a familiar heat that she knows only he can resolve.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’m not done with you just yet. It’s gonna be a long night.” 

[yourlocalfictionalenthusiast]

IN LIFE, IN DEATH...

PART TEN

:Masterlist:

A/N: And that’s a wrap! Ahh, writing this series has been so fun and I’m so glad that so many of you have liked it so much. Thank you guys for staying until the end and hopefully for upcoming stuff 👀 I hope you enjoy the finale of In Life, In Death... <3

(Also the song mentioned in part six and this part is ‘She Is Love’ by Parachute) <3

-

December 1994

Luke groaned as he woke up, squinting hard to try and adjust his eyes to the amount of light in the room.

Even before he could see clearly, he knew he must've fallen asleep in the studio judging by the soreness in his back and neck that he always got when he slept on the old couch. It couldn't have been more than six in the morning, and Luke could still feel the tiredness in his bones. So he tried to turn away from the light and hopefully fall back asleep, but there was something keeping him firmly in place.

His heart skipped when he looked down and saw that you were laying right next to him with your head on his chest and an arm thrown across his stomach. When he realized that his own arms were wrapped around you, his heart broke out into a full-on tap dance.

Waves of confusion ran through his still-foggy brain until he saw his guitar case propped up against the piano and his backpack on the floor with his clothes spilling out of it.

Then the events of last night quickly came back to him.

How he had gotten home late from rehearsal and his mom was waiting in the kitchen with his latest report card and her signature lecture at the ready. One minute he was standing there yelling, packing all he could fit into his bag, and the next, he was halfway to the studio with the rain soaking him head to toe.

He had expected it to be empty when he finally got there, but he was flooded with relief when he saw you. All the frustration slowly melted out of him the longer he laid there with you, leaving him feeling exhausted and shivering despite how warm he felt.

The last thing he wanted to do was talk about any of it, but when you asked, the words came out of his mouth before he could stop them.

He remembered rambling and crying again, the sound of your voice and the feeling of your fingers in his hair warming him up even more. Then finally, he remembered falling asleep with his chin tucked on top of your head, the smell of your shampoo filling his senses.

Without thinking, Luke reached down and carefully pushed a piece of hair away from your face, tucking it behind your ear and smiling to himself when you shifted into his touch. Then taking in a sharp breath as the realization ran through him all the way down to his toes.

You were his best friend.

The person he wanted to see at the end of a long day. Whenever he was full of anger or lost in confusion, all he had to do was look at you and everything suddenly made sense again. With your pretty smile and laugh, and your way of flipping that little switch inside him that made his head all fuzzy and the ground start spinning under his feet.

You were his best friend, and he was in love with you.

-

2020

All you felt was a mixture of anxiety and nausea as you stood on the Orpheum's street corner, biting the tips of your fingernails.

The entire plan hinged on Willie and Teddy getting everything done in time, and considering that they had betrayed you all before, you couldn’t help but expect the worst.

“Look, don’t worry. Willie said he’ll get us on that marquee.” Alex said nervously as he kicked pebbles across the sidewalk.

“This is going to work, right?” Reggie asked.

“It has to.” Luke mumbled, wincing seconds later when another shock hit them.

Two sharp pops cut through the air behind you and you all whipped around to see Willie and Teddy standing just a few feet away. Willie was watching you all carefully with concern written all over his face, his eyes lingering on Alex longer than anyone else. Teddy stood at the edge of the group, practically burning a hole in your face with his guilty stare.

“Are you guys okay?” Willie asked.

“Yeah, nothing we haven’t felt before.” Alex laughed awkwardly. “How’d it go?”

“Well, when the opening band wakes up, they’ll find their bus two hundred miles out of Vegas.” Willie said with a proud smile as he did a spin, showing off his stolen jacket with the band’s name across the back.

“With absolutely no chance of getting back in time.” Teddy added.

Luke gave Willie a fistbump and pointed up to the office above the Orpheum. “That means there’s probably a promoter up there freaking out right now.”

Willie grinned, sarcasm laced in his tone. “Nah, man. This is Hollywood. I’m sure he’s being very professional.”

You laughed and then Alex slowly inched forward, clearly struggling for the right words to say to Willie. You gave his arm a quick squeeze before following Reggie and Luke down the street to give them space. Before you even got halfway down the sidewalk, Teddy poofed next to you.

“You know, If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you don’t want to talk to me.” He joked.

“Teddy-”

"I just-I didn't want to leave things the way we did." He rambled. "I'm sorry, I should've told you everything that night in the diner-"

"Teddy, It's okay." You said. "You told me before Caleb could put the stamp on me, and you didn't know the details about the plan until after it was too late to help my friends. Plus, I know how much you're risking helping us now."

As soon as the words left your mouth, you felt some of the weight fall off your shoulders. You weren't sure why since the situation was still a little painful and awkward. But being around Teddy always made you feel a little like that kid who started working at the diner with Cece all those years ago. Besides, they were so alike that you found it hard to stay mad at him.

You held out your hand for Teddy to shake. "Despite everything, I'm glad we met."

“Likewise, Gorgeous,” Teddy said with a relieved smile as he grasped your hand. With a subtle wink, he nodded over towards where Luke was standing at the end of the street. “He’s a lucky guy.”

"What? How did you?-" You sputtered as he stepped away. You never told Teddy about Luke, or at least you didn't think you did.

Teddy just smirked in response before disappearing into the air. At the same time, you saw Willie skate away out of the corner of your eye, leaving Alex alone on the sidewalk.

You all phased next to him and Luke squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. "You okay, man?"

"Yeah. I'm good." Alex smiled slyly as he gestured to the office. "Looks like this show needs a new opening act though."

You grinned. "Let's go see if we can help with that."

-

When you got back to the studio, you found Julie pacing back and forth in the middle of the room as she wrung her hands together.

When you all poofed in, she immediately jumped into a load of questions, losing her breath halfway through and flailing her arms around.

"Whoa, just sit down," You laughed excitedly. "We'll tell you everything."

Julie took a gasping breath and plopped backwards onto the couch then stared at you all with expectant eyes. "Well?"

"It worked!" You announced. "Everything's fine."

"You should be getting the call...now!" Alex pointed to Julie’s phone on the table just as it started buzzing. You all cheered and Julie shushed you as she answered the call.

You heard a woman's voice say something through the phone and Julie gave a thumbs-up as she started jumping on the couch. You watched in amusement and mild horror as Luke and Reggie lifted Alex up into the air and spun him around.

Once he was back on the ground, Luke and Reggie made a beeline for you, each of them grabbed one of your arms and flipped you upside down over their shoulders.

You all spent the next twenty minutes laughing and screaming and Alex even got a little teary-eyed but you pretended not to notice. Then Julie called Flynn and ran off excitedly to decide her outfit for the night, leaving the four of you alone to plan out the setlist.

“Okay, so I’m thinking we start with Stand Tall.” Luke said excitedly as he wrote the words down in his songbook.

“Sounds good.” Reggie said, suddenly quiet.

“’Sounds good’? Guys, I wanna hear ‘That sounds awesome!” Luke reached out and nudged Reggie’s shoulder. “I know this isn’t the way we imagined any of this. But we need to be all in tonight. This is our second chance to play the Orpheum!”

“I get it.” Reggie sputtered. “But it’s hard. Do we even know what’s on the other side when we cross over? Do we still get to hang out together?”

You shifted your weight as the happy little bubble surrounding you popped. You had been so wrapped up in the excitement of finally playing the Orpheum that you almost forgot what tonight was really about.

“You guys are the only family I have.” Reggie’s eyes were glued to the piano as he played with his fingers. You reached out and locked his arm with yours in an attempt to comfort him.

“I don’t know what’s gonna happen either. But it’s not like we have a choice.” Alex said.

Suddenly, Reggie’s arm fell out of yours as all three boys fell back, clutching their sides.

“I’m pretty sure we do.” Reggie groaned. “And it rhymes with ‘Hollywood Ghost Club’.”

The garage doors creaked open and Julie appeared with a bright smile and a blue garment bag in her hand. When she saw your expressions, her smile fell. “What’s wrong?”

“We just got hit pretty hard by one of those jolts.” Alex said. “But we’re fine.”

“Oh, good.” She nodded, though she still looked on edge. “I’m nervous.”

“That makes two of us.” You said. “But we made it this far for a reason. We got this.”

“Can you ride there with me? I'm gonna need more pep-talk material for the drive there cause I still think I might puke.” Julie tucked her hair behind her ears.

“Of course, and don't worry, we’ll leave the windows open.” You joked, making everyone laugh.

The sound of a car horn cut through the air and Julie looked outside. "That's my dad. Are you ready, (Y/n)?"

You nodded. "Yeah, uh, give me a second. I'll meet you in the car."

As Julie disappeared behind the doors, you turned to the boys and sighed as you tried to soak up this moment. For all you knew, this could be the last little window of time you had alone with them before tonight.

Julie was a huge part of the band of course, but these were your boys. The ones who you started this all with, who had been by your side for everything.

From the look on all their faces, you could see that they were thinking the same thing.

Without saying a word, you launched yourself at Alex. He made a surprised noise but recovered quickly, throwing his arms around you and holding you tight.

"And I'm the emotional one?" He jokingly muttered in your ear and you pinched his side, making him jump back. "Rude."

As soon as your arms were open, Reggie stepped forward and hugged you so tightly that you were thankful to not need oxygen anymore because he was definitely crushing several vital organs.

You laughed and gave him one last squeeze before pulling away, locking eyes with Luke instantly.

Alex cleared his throat awkwardly and grabbed Reggie's shoulder, steering him over to Luke's songbook to 'check out the setlist again'.

"And then there were two." Luke joked.

You laughed and stepped into his waiting arms, making him laugh. You soaked up the feeling of comfort and familiarity for a minute before pulling away.

"This, uh, is for you," Luke said as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. You knitted your eyebrows together in confusion as he handed it over. "I wanted you to have it in case...well, you know. If tonight doesn't work."

"It will." You said, trying to ignore the fact that it very well could happen. "You're not getting rid of me that easily, Patterson."

"I wouldn't dream of it." He quipped back, his voice sounding softer and less teasing than you would've expected. You pulled back from him and because you didn't know if you would ever get another chance, you stood on your tiptoes and planted a kiss on his cheek.

You moved away too fast to see his reaction but the gesture made the other two boys smirk at you as you dashed out of the doors, making a beeline for the car pulling out of the driveway.

-

The back rooms of the Orpheum were a maze.

You had left for a few minutes to walk around the venue and clear your head, trying to wring out the last of your nerves.

By the time you found your way back, you expected to find the rest of the band rushing to get ready in the dressing room. But all you saw was Julie anxiously pacing as she had been earlier, a habit she seemed to have inherited from both you and Alex.

“You okay?”

She snapped her head up towards you and sighed. “Yeah, just a little worried. The guys aren’t here yet.”

You looked around the room and then at the clock, frowning. The show was in less than half an hour and that was already cutting it close. Part of you wanted to go check on them but Julie seemed to need you more at the moment.

“Okay, well, give them another ten minutes. I'm sure they'll be here. They wouldn’t miss this…again.”

You ran your palm across the front of your pocket, feeling Luke's note next to your parent’s photo, and hoped you were right.

But then more and more time passed until the stage manager came to escort Julie to the stage.

"Just a second!" She calls out and then turns to you. "(Y/n), something's wrong. They were getting those jolts pretty hard before we left. They must've run out of time."

You shut your eyes tight as the words sunk in. All you could bring yourself now was, ‘This isn't what was supposed to happen.’

The world fell out from under your feet and you had trouble even standing up straight as you imagined what must've happened to them. Your best friends, your brothers, your family was gone and there wasn't anything you could do about it.

The guy knocked again, this time a little harder and with a nervous tone. Julie chewed her lip as she looked between you and the door and you could almost see the cloud of grief settling over her.

As hard as it was, you tried your best to shove your feelings down and marched up to Julie. There would be time to fall apart later, but you knew that this what they would want you to do. "Let's go do this for them, okay?"

She took a deep, shaky breath before hesitantly nodding. You followed closely behind her as she walked out the door though the halls until she reached the stage. You waited beside Flynn in the wing as Julie settled behind her microphone and addressed the crowd.

There were scattered claps from around the venue and then she took a deep breath before singing the opening.

After the first few lines, you took your cue and materialized at the center of the stage. The crowd gasped and cheered the way they always did, but you kept your eyes shut tight and focused on the music.

Just as the song started picking up, you heard a familiar pop in the air and then the sound of drumming. You whirled around to see Alex mounted onto a drum set at the back of the stage, twirling his drumsticks around and smiling like he had never been gone at all.

Once you got over the initial shock, you wanted to cry with relief. They were okay, they were here. Alex winked at you goofily, and you ran towards Julie’s keyboard.

She had started bouncing on the balls of her feet, both of you finally getting into the song now that they were coming back. You followed suit, dancing around the base of the drum set as yours and Julie’s voices came together.

Then Reggie appeared on the other side of Julie and you ran to his side. You bumped his shoulder with yours and he grinned, moving to stand back to back.

The song was ramping up to the chorus when a staticky noise cut through the air, not loud enough for the crowd to hear but enough to make you all look over to the other end of the stage.

You could see Luke's form fading in and out, a look of anguish on his face, and the pit in your stomach opened up again. The crowd was on the edge of their seats as Alex's drumming paused and Luke finally materialized to sing the opening of the chorus.

You didn't even know you were moving until you suddenly found yourself across the stage next to Luke, unable to stop smiling as you sang.

Julie joined you, throwing her arms up in the air happily and jumping around. Reggie appeared by her side, flashing the crowd a winning smile.

Alex stood up and gripped his mic as he sang this solo. You looked back at him and flashed him a proud smile, then whooping loudly when Reggie sang his lines.

You all went down the line hitting your notes until the chorus kicked in again and your heart felt so full you almost couldn't stand it. This was what you were so close to achieving before you died, it was all you had wanted for years, and you knew that if you hadn't died, that night would've changed your life. But this night was something even more special. Because you were all here, all together.

Even if it was just for one last song.

Julie caught your attention and nodded towards the platform that spread out into the crowd. You followed her to the center and stood back to back as everyone cheered.

The guys joined in on either side of you, Alex grabbing one of your hands and Luke holding the other. You all bowed to the audience before taking your cue and vanishing, leaving only Julie on stage.

You landed in the wing, feeling a little lightheaded and overwhelmed from all the emotions you had experienced in the last five minutes. The elated smile fading from your face when all three boys poofed by your side only to fall to the floor instantly.

“It didn’t work.” You said miserably as Julie emerged into the backstage area. She grabbed Flynn and whispered something to her, pointing in the direction of her family. Flynn nodded and disappeared into the crowd while Julie ran to your side.

You hauled Alex onto his feet, letting him lean on you to stay upright while Luke and Reggie trailed behind Julie as she led the group back to the dressing room. Once everyone was inside, they collapsed on the couch or the floor, loudly groaning in pain.

“What happened? Why didn’t it work?” Julie asked tearfully.

“I guess playing here wasn’t our unfinished business.” Alex said hollowly.

“Point Caleb.” Reggie muttered as he clung to the side of an armchair.

You stood frozen next to Julie as panic spread through your whole body, both of you flinching in sympathy as the shocks continued.

“You have to save yourselves right now.” Julie begged. “Join Caleb’s club. It’s better than not existing at all!”

“She’s right.” You managed to say, your voice shaky and almost giving out. Your stomach flipped at the thought of them having to work for an evil club owner forever, but the alternative was worse. “You guys need to go now! For me. For us.”

“We’re not going back there.” Reggie shook his head.

Luke pulled himself up and stumbled forward a little so that he was right in front of you. “No music is worth making if we’re not all making it together.”

You sighed sadly, thinking back to your conversation yesterday. “So no more regrets?”

Luke let out a deep sigh and then reached up and cupped your cheek with his right hand. “Just one.”

You furrowed your eyebrows in response and Luke blinked hard as if he was trying to find the words. "I never told you why I left that night."

"Luke, don't." You gave him a weak smile. "I get it."

"You do?" He asked.

You struggled to get the words out. "Yeah, I mean it was bound to happen eventually. We just got too close and it was weird for you. I understand t-”

"What?" Luke asked, cutting you off with a confused look. "No, no, that's not it at all. Read the-"

Before he could finish, you heard Julie gasp loudly from a few feet away. You looked over to see her stepping back from Alex with an awestruck look on her face as she gripped his forearms.

Wait, what?

Before you could even begin to process what you were seeing, Reggie was reaching out to Julie, who grabbed his wrist and hauled him up to his feet. The three of them stared at each other for a few seconds before Julie turned to you and Luke.

“Guys, come here.”

Alex reached out and pulled you into his side while Luke threw an arm around Reggie’s back and Julie brought you all in closer to her. At first, nothing happened. But then there was a faint buzzing sound and the boys lifted their wrist towards the ceiling and you all watched in awe as the stamp floated away in the blink of an eye.

“Whoa.” Reggie said, his eyes still glued to the ceiling. “I don’t feel as weak anymore.”

“Yeah, me neither.” Alex agreed. “Not that I ever was that weak in the first place.”

You rolled your eyes and let your head fall over on his shoulder. “What do you think that means?”

Luke smiled. “I think it means the band is back.”

It was quiet for a second before Alex looked at you all shyly. “You guys think we can try that hug thing again?”

You laughed as you huddled together again, sniffling and laughing. Then Julie yelled out that you had played the Orpheum and then you were all jumping around, still tangled in each other’s arms.

Eventually, you all broke apart and while the boys started chasing each other around, you turned to Julie. She looked into your eyes and immediately flew into your arms, muttering into your shoulder, “I always wanted a big sister.”

The words warmed your heart and you squeezed her extra hard, grateful that you actually could now. “Well, I’m honored.”

“My family's probably looking for me so..." Julie stepped back from your arms with the biggest smile you’d ever seen on her face, you jokingly bowed to her and she copied the gesture before disappearing behind the door.

You wiped the last of your tears out of your eyes and turned around to find Alex and Reggie were talking in whispers and wearing knowing smiles. When Alex saw you looking, he cleared his throat and nudged Reggie’s shoulder.

“Hey, Reg.” Alex said cheekily, not taking his eyes off of you for even a second. “I was going to check out the next band. You wanna come with me?”

“Sure!” Reggie started strolling towards the door, stopping only for a second to nudge your shoulder and whisper ‘don't do anything I wouldn’t do’ in your ear.

Alex fixed Luke with a pointed look over his shoulder and Reggie gave him a dorky wink before they poofed away. You smiled fondly at the space where they were just standing and awkwardly turned towards Luke.

“Hi.” You said, laughing awkwardly.

“Hi.” Luke muttered back as he stepped forward until he was close enough to grab your hand. “About what I was saying earlier…”

You opened your mouth to say something but he shook his head and pointed to your pocket. “Read it. Please.”

You tugged the note he had given you earlier out of your pocket and carefully folded it open to see that it wasn’t a note at all. It was the love song that Julie had found that day in the garage, the one that he didn’t want anyone to see. You struggled a little trying to decipher Luke's handwriting. The ink was a little smudged and the song was clearly unfinished but it was the most beautiful thing you had ever read. And he had written it for you.

"I didn't leave because we got too close," He said. "It was the opposite, (Y/n), I left because I was scared to lose you, and I know that doesn't make sense because I kind of did w-"

You carefully tucked the paper back in your pocket with one hand and grabbed the back of his neck with the other, pulling him down and closing the last bit of space between you.

Luke's brain short-circuited for a second before he started kissing back, grabbing your waist with enough force to nearly knock you both backwards. It was dizzying and a little desperate, yet weirdly familiar, as if you'd been kissing him your whole life.

Most moments with Luke felt like they were happening in slow motion, but this time it was like a high-speed movie montage of your whole lives. The stolen crayons, the time capsule, the pre performance pep talks, the smell of cinnamon, the ferris wheel, his jacket, the movie nights and songwriting sessions. All of it had led up to this moment.

"I love you." Luke said immediately after you pulled away. "God, I love you so much. I'm such an idiot. I'm sorry."

“Hey, it’s okay.” You laughed, blinking another wave of tears out of your eyes. “I should’ve told you forever ago instead of skirting around it.”

“And what is it that you should’ve told me?” He said teasingly and you rolled your eyes. You had gotten so used to Luke being so shut down or nervous around you that you almost forgot how much of a little shit he could be.

“That I love you too.” You said, unable to stop smiling.

Luke leaned down and captured your lips in another kiss, this time threading his fingers through your hair as he cupped your cheeks in his hands. “I’m never gonna get tired of hearing that.”

You bit your lip to keep another laugh from bubbling up as you looked up at him, feeling completely overwhelmed in the best way possible. "So...what now?"

"I don't know." Luke admitted. "But I know one thing."

"What's that?"

"That no matter where we go, or what we do," He pushed a piece of hair behind your ear. "In life, in death... I'm yours. Always."

-

The End

-

In Life, In Death Taglist:

@ifilwtmfc @instabull @wanniiieeee @tenaciousperfectionunknown @charliegillespiewife @merceret @itismeasmolpotato @lilostif16 @dangerouslyclose @iainttakingshitfromnobody @givemebooksorgivemedeath @sunsetcurvedotmp3 @askgeoff @mayleenicole5676 @puppy11148 @vampire7595 @wackyworrieruniverse @reallysparklychaos @lovelydaydreams15 @rachmmb @musicismyescape27 @stackie4ever​ @spidermankenobi

(Strikethrough means I can’t tag you)

JATP Taglist:

@caitsymichelle13 @sunsetcurvej​

Let me know if you want to be added!

[biaswreckme]

looking for something right | jjk/knj

Summary: When Jungkook needs to find a new apartment with a roommate to share expenses, he thinks that the universe must be either laughing at him or conspiring in his favor. Because when he finally finds an ad that fits his budget, his roommate is the tall and handsome man from the coffee shop.

Pairing: Namjoon/Jungkook

Member: Namjoon, Jungkook, Jimin, Yoongi

Length: 3568 words

Genre: smut, fluff

Type of AU: roommates au, university au, coffee shop au (kinda) (yes i used all my favorite tropes and aus in one fic)

Rating: 18+

Triggers/Warnings: heavy pining, slightly dom!Namjoon, slightly sub!JK, dry humping, handjob, dirty talking

Project: @thebtswritersclub​ April project with the theme Bloom 🌸

A/N: A huge thanks to my lobely beta-readers @taegularities​​ AND @voiceswithoutlips for help in revising and editing ♥ and also @voiceswithoutlips for the conversation that inspired the smutty scene :3

cross-posted on AO3 too!

Jungkook had seen him around campus before, more specifically in his favorite small coffee shop just outside the university that was much cheaper and actually catered to students’ financial range when it came to prices. He always had a book with him - usually a tome so big Jungkook thought he could do some real damage to someone with it -, reading and taking notes in the margins, which Jungkook thought was an atrocity, but the other boy didn’t seem bothered or apologetic.

He must be an early riser, because he was always there before he arrived, a steaming cup of hot coffee on the table and a bottle of water next to a small open pencil case and sticky notes. He looked too well-put together to be an undergrad, so he assumed he was a grad student. Philosophy maybe? Or something that demanded a constant consumption of large books. And maybe - just maybe - Jungkook shouldn’t have been spending so much on coffee when he could be brewing it at his apartment, but his apartment didn’t have the tall boy - man? - to discreetly look at while having his morning drink.

What his apartment did have was Jimin, his close friend and dance major that moved from Busan at the same time as him. They’d been sharing a place for some time now, but things were about to change. Jungkook knew this had been coming, but the day Jimin came home announcing that he’d been accepted for a scholarship abroad and that he would need to move soon came as a shock. He was extremely happy for him, but they would need to rush the process of moving out and Jungkook finding a new place or roommate.

They opted to let the apartment go, and so Jungkook began his search for a new place to share. He’d looked at listings, visited some places that were out of his budget, and then he found it. It was a small poster at the coffee shop’s cork board from a guy named Namjoon; the place was a block away and it fit perfectly into his budget and what he wanted for the location. It seemed too perfect; there had to be a catch, right? He texted the number - who calls anyone these days anyways? - and arranged to meet him at the coffee shop the next day before classes.

The catch. Oh, there was a catch.

He entered the place as usual, and the only person there was the tall man with a book on the table, steaming drink in his hand. He looked up at Jungkook who froze for a second, nodding his head and going to the counter quickly, barely mumbling his order to the barista trying to not freak out at the eye contact. So he avoided it for the next few minutes, until he heard his name being called out. What? How did he know his name?

“Jungkook?” the man repeated.

“Yes?” he took a deep breath and turned around at the sound of the deep voice.

“I’m Namjoon,” he introduced himself, standing up and motioning for Jungkook to join him at the table. No, no, no. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be him. The universe had to be joking. “Nice to meet you.” He reached out to shake Jungkook’s hand.

He was touching him. And he smelled so good. And his voice was so deep. Jungkook felt like a schoolgirl with her first crush, sighing at the very sight of Namjoon, whose name he now knew. He nodded in response and looked at the counter, trying to take a break from that smile, pretending he was checking if his order was ready. It was not.

“So, you’re interested in the apartment, right?”

“Ah, yeah… my friend and roommate right now, Jimin, you might have seen him around campus? He’s an amazing contemporary dancer, so he got this incredible and super rare scholarship to go study at this academy... I forgot the name,” he shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts and stop his rambling - to no avail, “anyway he’s moving too soon and I need to find a new place but everything’s so expensive. Yours fits the budget and is so close to uni and I couldn’t help but check you out, I mean, check it out…” He closed his eyes in embarrassment at the slip up, hearing Namjoon’s soft chuckle.

“Alright. What are you studying? Undergrad or grad school?”

“Media. Photography, film making, this stuff. I’m into it. I mean. Excuse me,” he was saved by the barista calling him, and as soon as he got back to the table, he took a sip, burning his tongue - but at least it stopped him from babbling for a second. “Undergrad still,” he complemented.

“Cool. I’m in grad school for social studies, so I’m a TA, but I also work with music production,” Namjoon began, but upon Jungkook’s raised eyebrows and brown eyes rounding up, he continued. “I wanted to get a better grasp on understanding society, so I can write better lyrics and try to integrate that into the music writing itself, you know?”

Jungkook nodded, fascinated. So he was cute and smart. And captivating. The interview didn’t really seem like one; it was so easy to fall into conversation with Namjoon that he did not notice time passing, and soon enough they were cut short, remembering they still had classes to attend.

“Alright, Jungkook. You don’t seem like a serial killer, so how about you visit the apartment to see if you like it?”

Jungkook choked on the last sip of his drink, and he really wanted to answer that he did not need to see the apartment to know he liked him, but he managed to catch himself before letting it out. He knew what Namjoon was seeing right now: his eyes wide open in shock, maybe even a light blush on his cheeks? His ears certainly felt hot. Dear lord, he needed to get a grip on himself.

“I’m not a serial killer, I promise. I’m a law abiding citizen. When are you free? I have classes the whole day today, but I’m free around lunchtime.” Jungkook wanted to dig a hole and hide right in there. Did he sound too eager?

“The sooner the better, but wait,” Namjoon stopped midway while getting up, looking very serious all of a sudden, “I forgot a very important question that might change my mind.”

Jungkook inhaled deeply, dreading the question that was about to come. Did he seem too forward and let the other man know he was into him? Would that be a deal breaker?

“Can you cook?”

“Ah… yes?” Jungkook was caught by surprise, confusion stamped on his face again. “Yes, I can. The basics at least.”

“Oh great! I can’t cook to save my life and I can’t really afford to live on take out anymore, so… we can work something out with that for sure!” He laughed, those dimples adorning his cheeks appearing again.

Soon Jungkook would learn that not only could Namjoon not cook, but he was actually a disaster and walking hazard in the kitchen. The man didn’t even know to properly hold a cutting knife to chop some vegetables or kimchi for a simple plate of fried rice. They attempted cooking together one time and that was enough for Jungkook. That was his kitchen from now on, Namjoon would be responsible for other chores but he himself would do all the cooking in the kitchen. Namjoon was even forbidden from boiling water on an electric kettle; that was the level of disaster-waiting-to-happen that he was.

The apartment was cozy and filled with books and musical equipment, and soon enough Jungkook’s filming materials were sharing the same space. It warmed his heart to come home in the evenings after class and see how his camera bag would be sitting beside Namjoon’s headphones, or how his black chunky sneakers rested beside the other man’s boots at the entrance. Whenever he put on or took off his shoes - which was almost every single day of the week, mind you - he would get a fuzzy feeling in his stomach. He would tilt his head quickly to try and shake the thoughts away, not letting himself hope too much. He had no idea or indication if Namjoon even liked men, and he had no idea why he was even wishing for something more.

He was not exactly sure if he could pinpoint the precise moment in time when his adoration had turned into real infatuation with Namjoon. Maybe it was the fact that the older one was a disaster in the kitchen and always thanked Jungkook, each and every single meal the younger one cooked. Maybe it was the look he sported whenever he was engrossed in a book, glasses almost falling off his nose before a finger would softly push it back up (and Jungkook had found out that he only used his glasses comfortably at home, preferring contacts whenever he was out).

Maybe it was the way he always listened to Jungkook’s ramblings, no matter the topic of interest, from deep art films he had to watch (and Namjoon would actually sit down and watch with him) to the new game he’d been playing. Maybe it was the way he would always wish him a good morning and a good night with that dimpled smile. Maybe it was the way he offered to produce a freaking song to be used as a soundtrack to one of Jungkook’s short films. Maybe it was the way they ended up watching the first snowfall of the season together, side by side, looking out of the living room window. Maybe it was the way Namjoon’s left arm enveloped Jungkook’s shoulders in a soft side hug while they watched the snowflakes drift down and when Jungkook didn’t move, those dimples appeared on his cheeks.

But that was the only physical proximity for a while. The next day Jungkook could barely look at Namjoon and spent the day over at Yoongi’s place. He arrived just in time when Jimin was video calling his boyfriend, and proceeded to freak out about watching the first snow of the season together and it had to mean something, right? He put his arm around him while they stood in front of the window, Jimin, what the hell did it mean?

All the while Yoongi watched him with a cocked head, as if he was thinking hard about something, and then an amused smile shaped his lips. Jungkook thought it must have been because he had never had such a strong reaction for a boy - a man - before, especially one who was his roommate. Was it a brotherly hug? Namjoon hadn’t said anything or done anything else, did it mean he was interested in him or did he see Jungkook as a little brother? He was full of questions and asking them to the wrong people for sure, but he did not want to risk the little he had with Namjoon.

It was winter. The small affectionate moments he had with Namjoon were keeping him going, fueling and warming his heart enough to get through the coldest season. They watched movies together on the couch, huddled up under a blanket with cups of tea warming their hands. Going to the coffee shop in the morning for a cup of coffee before classes. Namjoon waiting for him outside the media building with a cup of hot chocolate in the evenings when he had classes later, walking back to the apartment together. Watching Namjoon work, focused on creating the loop he had been struggling with for a while, nothing seemed to fulfill what he wanted. Namjoon watching him work, editing an experimental short film he filmed for a class group project.

The freezing weeks passed like that, with Jungkook cooking different types of jjigae for them, Namjoon being allowed back in the kitchen mostly to keep him company, telling Jungkook he was hungry and will it take much longer?

He visited Yoongi once a week, calling Jimin together so he could freely talk about his growing fondness for Namjoon and get some advice he was keeping for when he thought the timing was right. Yoongi told him he had to create the right timing and he would actually probably be surprised if he acted on his desires. But Yoongi couldn’t know. He still had no clue about the mystery that was Namjoon’s love life, only that he had never taken anyone to the apartment.

Whether he was even interested in that, Jungkook had no idea, but he also had no courage to ask. Jimin suggested he did what he knew best: work with images. So he had been filming small snippets of their lives, their walks to their coffee shop, comfortable scenes at the apartment when no one else was looking but Jungkook through the camera lenses. Sometimes Namjoon asked to film Jungkook too, or positioned the camera so both of them were caught in the recording.

Winter went and spring came. Just as the flowers were starting to blossom on the street outside their windows, Jungkook was getting ready to show Namjoon the film. As he edited throughout the weeks, he noticed more than once how fondly he would look at the older man, and he could almost swear the gaze was reciprocated when he was not looking, but he didn’t want to get his hopes up. He made Yoongi promise he could crash at his place for a while in case things got weird and Namjoon kicked him out, to which Yoongi had let out a full laugh, something the boy had never heard before, and merely gave him a Sure, almost as if he was mocking Jungkook.

And so the day came. He chose the perfect song, adjusting his editing to fit the rhythm and lyrics, hoping it would express his love. Yes, he would call it love. He fell in love with the good person that the man was, with all the small quirks and imperfections.

He told Namjoon he had something to show, that he had finally finished his project and wanted to him to see. He waited for Namjoon to come back from his day out nervously, heart racing as he made them some tea while the man showered and got into more comfortable clothes. The video was ready to be played and Jungkook almost gave up, but decided this was the time.

He could not hide his feelings anymore.

And so he pressed play and closed his eyes. He had heard that song over and over again while editing, perfecting each millisecond of the final product. His heart was beating almost as loudly as the song, the sound filling his ears, his fingers clenching the fabric of his oversized black t-shirt, a shaky breath leaving his nose when he heard the final notes.

“Jungkook?”

He took a deep breath before opening his eyes, suddenly finding Namjoon’s face much closer than he was expecting, the man’s eyes staring into his own.

“I love you, too.”

The words had barely registered in his brain - although they had been imprinted on his heart - when Namjoon’s pillowy lips pressed softly against his, one of the man’s hands caressing his cheek, wiping at a tear he did not notice had fallen. He sighed into the kiss, relief perpassing his entire body. He loved him. When it finally clicked for him, his brain finally sent the necessary signals that made his arms go around Namjoon’s neck, his fingers entangling in the man’s hair and pulling him even closer. They moaned almost in synchrony when their tongues touched for the first time, Jungkook’s body almost undulating in a way that made Namjoon tug his hips towards himself, making the younger man sit on his lap.

“Fuck, I’ve wanted to do this for a long time,” the older broke the kiss, staring into Jungkook’s eyes, “been waiting for you,” he murmured against the younger’s lips. As their mouths clashed in an open-mouthed kiss, Namjoon pulled Jungkook’s longer hair, making him bend back so he could have access to the expanse of his neck.

Jungkook moaned when Namjoon’s lips pressed onto his skin, licking and biting and sucking and definitely leaving some marks, and all he could do was clutch the older’s biceps, shifting his hips to try and alleviate some of the pressure that was making his pants tighter. The hand that was not entangled in Jungkook’s dark strands made its way down his body, grabbing a firm buttcheek first, then going to the younger’s hip.

“Wanna ride me?” Namjoon asked low on Jungkook’s ear, biting his lobe after.

“Yes, hyung” the word came out as a whine from Jungkook’s lips, his hips starting to move aided by Namjoon’s firm grip. “Your thighs…” he started, but couldn’t continue when he adjusted his hips just right and his hard erection pressed against one of Namjoon’s thighs.

“Yeah? I’ve seen you looking at them, Kook. So go on, ride my thigh, come on,” he said as he flexed his muscles, his other hand joining the one at Jungkook’s hip, one on each side now to help him move, to watch him fall apart.

Jungkook just closed his eyes and surrendered, his hips moving on their own accord, pressing his cock closer and closer to Namjoon’s, soft whines and pleas tumbling out of his mouth as he lost himself in the movements. It was too much and not enough, his erection pressing just right so his skin glided back and forth on the fabric of his underwear stimulated by the older’s thigh, the couch too small for this - yet he couldn’t imagine being anywhere else at the moment. He needed it, and the sense of urgency overtook his body, his movements more frantic as he gripped the older’s hair and kissed him sloppily, letting out his breathy whimper against Namjoon’s lips. He wanted it.

“I’m… I’m close, hyung,” he had to pause to whimper again, a shiver going through his body from how close he was. “I want to touch you, hyung.”

“Touch me, Kook, make me cum with you, hold on just a bit,” Namjoon all but moaned into his lips when one of the younger’s hands reached into his pants.

Namjoon’s cock was heavy and hard and big, yet the skin was so soft in his hand, and Jungkook immediately closed his fist around it, his palm wet from the precum that had already gathered on the bulbous head, aiding his movement. And if Jungkook thought Namjoon’s speaking voice was deep, his mind and ears were certainly not prepared for the low guttural moan leaving those swollen lips, his own hips stuttering, pleasure coursing through his entire body, from the tip of his toes to the ends of his hair, his cock pulsating with release inside his pants as he pressed it against the strong thigh beneath him. He took a second to breathe and enjoy the tingling in his body, but soon noticed his hand had stopped. His gaze met Namjoon’s, his hand moving up and down inside the man’s pants.

“Cum for me, hyung, please,” he begged, wanting to pay attention to that moment of euphoria when it crossed his hyung’s face. And so it did; he watched as Namjoon threw his head back on headrest of the couch, hips raising and fucking into the tight grip around his cock, that heavy moan escaping his lips again as Jungkook felt the thickness of the release coating his hand. But he kept moving, prolonging Namjoon’s pleasure until it became too much and his hand was stopped, a smile stamped on the older man’s face.

There were no words needed for a while, until it seemed to finally click for Jungkook.

“Wait, you said you love me too.”

“I’ve been trying to express it for a while... And your eyes do this cute thing where they widen whenever you think you are caught and should change your gaze, so I noticed you were interested too. Plus Yoongi told me.”

“Wait, what?” He turned his head fast to look at Namjoon again, “You know Yoongi-hyung?”

And so he explained how they’ve known each other for years and how they’ve collaborated in music production before, under the names of RM and Agust D. He’d heard of RM, even heard Yoongi mentioning it more than once, and thinking back, he kept talking about RM more and more after he moved in with Namjoon. Oh. And then he remembered Yoongi’s smirks and head shakes, his certainty that Jungkook would not be turned down.

“You still haven’t said it.”

“I love you, Namjoon-hyung.”

And as Jungkook woke up the next morning, warm and cozy under Namjoon’s blankets, legs entangled and bodies pressed together, he breathed easier, lighter, happier. And he made a mental note to thank Jimin for applying for that scholarship and being so good that he’d gotten it. Maybe he would have met RM at some point, but he didn’t want to think of other possibilities. Living together and falling in love, getting to know each other was perfect for now.

They met in autumn, got closer through the cold days in winter, and their love bloomed in spring.

He could barely wait to see what summer had in storage for them.

[iliveiloveiwrite]

Fire Burn and Cauldron Bubble

A/N: A Draco fic no-one asked for! I’m rereading A Discovery of Witches so it’s got me inspired. I don’t plan to post anything over the weekend, I want a couple of days off before I post every day next week. This wasn't requested but I was inspired, so I hope you enjoy!

Title: Macbeth, Act 4: Scene 1

Summary: Draco needs a new stockist.

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Fem!Reader

Warnings: FLUFF - SO MUCH FLUFF.

Word count: 2.2k

Of all the avenues of employment open to Draco Malfoy after his graduation from Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, he surprised everyone by staying on at the school to apprentice under Professor Slughorn.

Horace Slughorn had retired once before and was eager to do so again; already fantasising about his golden years in the countryside. Draco Malfoy was his first and only choice for successor to his post – his grades in class rivalling those of Hermione Granger.

Draco’s training took two years where in that time he became able to rattle off ever potion ingredient and method just from hearing the very name of the potion.

Three years into his career and his first year teaching without Slughorn at his side, Draco’s stockist retires – also desiring a life in the country.

It leaves him in a lurch. 

He spends an entire month of his summer holiday researching potion shops before discovering one off the beaten track in Diagon Alley – closer to muggle London than the rest of the shops. So much so that the shop wasn’t protected by the enchantments surrounding Diagon Alley and as a result, the shop seemed to have a steady stream of muggle customers.

Draco enters Cauldron Bubble and is immediately taken back by the sheer amount of stock. Potion ingredients, materials for poppets, prayer candles are just a few of the items that catch his attention. The intoxicating scent of myrrh and sweet orange washes over him. A heady smell that soon opens up to more delicate notes such as vanilla and tansy.

Draco doesn’t immediately seek out the items on his list, but instead walks slowly around the shop, committing it all to memory. There are shelves of books dedicated to the craft of potion brewing but also in the art of divination; particularly tarot readings and palmistry. The entire back wall of the shop is dedicated to what could be hundreds of small draws; each filled with their named herb or plant.

He wanders through the store, feeling entirely at ease with the idea of spending the rest of his day here, discovering the shop’s deepest secrets.

A voice greets him as he finishes his circuit of the small shop, “How can I help you today?”

Draco smiles in greeting, “I’m hoping you have these ingredients,” he says, handing you his long list.

You read over the list, “I do. I have all of these – would you like to take them now or would you like them delivered…” you trail off, looking at him for his name.

“Draco Malfoy. I’m the Potions Professor at Hogwarts.”

“Draco,” You confirm, “I can get these for you now unless you’d like them sent to Hogwarts?”

“Now is fine,” he smiles, “I’m intrigued by your collection if I’m honest.”

You laugh, nodding knowingly, “It’s my pride and joy.”

Draco agrees, leaning on the counter, “It’s bigger than my stockroom if I’m being honest.”

“Now that makes me even happier.” You declare, pointing at the Professor.

The ingredients take time to be collected, but the silence that should be awkward, isn’t. It’s filled with conversation after conversation about the curriculum at Hogwarts and how long Cauldron Bubble has been open.

Draco admits to himself, as you finish tying the final string bow on his parcels, that he feels a little sad about leaving. He had enjoyed his time with you regardless of how short it had been; he felt as if he knew you. He felt as if he could form a friendship with you.

You hand him his parcels in a paper bag, smiling, “I hope to see you again soon,” you say in goodbye.

Draco smiles at you, “I hope to come back soon.” He offers as his parting.

---------------

On a bleak January morning, Draco walks into your shop, stamping his feet to get the last of the sharp, winter cold out of his body.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” You smile.

Draco grins in reply, handing over his list, “Another stock up.”

“Another? You came in before Christmas as I remember.” You smirk at the blonde-haired man, “Did someone miss me?”

Draco blushes, stuttering out his answer, “The… the students have had a few weeks off, they’ll have fallen into old habits with potion ingredients.”

You laugh, “You are one smoother thinker, Draco. It’s a good job I knew you were coming; I have your usual stock set aside.” You read down his list, checking you have everything put away, but you stop at one item. “Agrimony?”

“It’s coming up to Valentine’s Day.” Draco offers as explanation.

One of the properties of Agrimony is that it can break enchantments. Draco uses the yellow flower in his antidote for love potions. He frowns at the thought of how much antidote he would have to brew for those on the receiving end of an unwanted love potion. If he could ban any potion, it would be Amortentia. Not that he didn’t believe in love or anything along those lines, but the effects of Amortentia are never real and the aftermath is often worse than being under its spell.

Through his last two Valentine’s Days at Hogwarts as Potions Professor, he had to comfort countless students through the aftermath of the potion as well as deduct house points and hand out detentions to the students who think it funny to unknowingly drug a fellow student.

In his antidote for students, Draco also sprinkles in the petals of Feverfew and Boneset to ensure protection from enchantments or a broken heart, Draco never knows but he makes sure that his students are protected, nonetheless.

You nod at Draco, understanding the need for a potion to break enchantments through this particular holiday. “Here’s your Agrimony as well as your usual stock, is there anything else you need?”

Draco thinks it over, “I better stock up on Boneset, Feverfew, and Adder’s Tongue too.”

You raise an eyebrow, “It’s a very thorough potion you’re making here, Draco.”

He nods, “Too many students are drugged with the Amortentia potion and little is done to control it so I do what I can to protect any student I can.”

“That’s a wonderful thing to do, Draco.” You say quietly; touched by his words.

“I don’t just make potions with the plants and herbs. I make charms to go in their bags and to hang in their rooms too. Anything to protect.” Draco states; thinking back to a group of fifth year girls who had become targets by a group of sixth year boys; each girl suffering through a love potion before coming down from its high. Draco had made sure they each had a charm to carry in their bag as well as a vial of the antidote should one of them ingest the potion again.

You nod silently; overcome by the emotion in his words. You know then and there just how dedicated Draco was to his profession and the students he sees every day. You hand him his bag of herbs and plants with a smile which he returns before walking to the door.

He’s almost out the door when your voice calls out again, “Draco, I know we don’t know each other very well except for when you need to fill your stockroom, but you’re a good teacher and a good man – you know that right?”

He turns to you with his hand on the door handle; silver lining his eyes, “Thank you.” He whispers before opening the door and leaving.

-----

Your words play on his mind through the week leading up to Valentine’s Day and the week after the holiday too. He spends all of his spare time in the hospital wing with Madame Pomfrey; offering the antidote and words of comfort to each and every student that come in with symptoms of being drugged with Amortentia.

From Madame Pomfrey’s ceaseless ranting through those two weeks, Draco knows that she feels just as strongly about the need to rid the world of a potion like Amortentia.

Draco starts to think of you more and more, especially after each visit to Cauldron Bubbles where you go through his ingredient list with the practiced precision of a Potioneer.

His feelings for you really do take him by surprise. It comes with elation as he finally has a name for the butterflies in his stomach and the racing of his heart whenever he thinks of your smile or your focused look as you check and recheck the ingredients on the list.

He starts to visit Cauldron Bubble more often; making his way through the Professors at Hogwarts to see if they may possibly need something for their class. Professor Trelawney always has something for him to pick up, and Draco feels the urge to apologise to her for every time he was rude to her when he was a teenager.

Draco’s feelings for you only increase with each visit. He craves to see your face light up when he walks in the door; the bell above the door announcing his arrival. The light flirting with each visit was pushing him towards something more.

If only he could think of how to tell you.

---------------------

Draco ropes Madame Pomfrey into his plans to woo you; though she doesn’t necessarily know that

“Please, Poppy, you must have something you need to stock up on… I mean Madame Pomfrey,” Draco corrects when he meets her glare.

She raises an eyebrow, unimpressed with the former student, “You’re awfully interested in my stock cupboard, Mr. Malfoy. Whatever for?”

“Call it my New Year’s Resolution.”

“It’s May,” Madame Pomfrey nonchalantly reminds him, replacing the water jugs at the side of each hospital bed.

“Of the New Year,” Draco emphasises, following her, “And mine is to help more. So are you sure there is nothing I can’t get you?”

Madame Pomfrey sighs, bustling back to her desk. She notes down a few ingredients, “I’m running low on these herbs and plants for a tea I brew so you can get these for me.”

Draco beams, taking the list, even going so far as to kiss Madame Pomfrey on the cheek before sprinting back to his private quarters where he can floo to Diagon Alley… and to you.

--------------------

“Draco!” You call, “Back already? You aren’t due another visit for oh… another week or so.” Your eyes alight with mirth as you pick fun at the Professor.

He blushes, waving his list in the air, “Sent on an errand by Madame Pomfrey.”

“Don’t keep it to yourself! Hand it over, let’s see what Madame Pomfrey needs.” You cover your mouth to stifle the laugh as you read over the list from Draco, “Madame Pomfrey gave you this list did she?”

“Handed it to me herself, why?”

“Draco, to say you’re a Potions Professor, you can be quite dense.”

He frowns; you laugh at his puzzled expression. “Madame Pomfrey sent you to get the ingredients for a tea that curbs the menstrual cycle. A form of contraception.”

Draco doesn’t need to look into a mirror to know he’s blushing; he can feel the heat radiating from his cheeks – he’s sure it could heat his own cauldron. “Ah,” he begins, “Well, that’s a very responsible thing to have in a school like Hogwarts, wouldn’t you say?”

You nod, “Very much so. Madame Pomfrey to be admired.”

“Yes, I agree.”

“And you as well. For being her humble servant for this task.”

Draco rubs his hand across the back of his neck. “It was nothing. Truthfully, I pestered her until she gave me a list of ingredients.”

“Now why would you do that?”

“To see you,” He admits, eyes shining with truth.

“You pestered the Matron of Hogwarts for a list of ingredients… all to see me?”

He nods silently. Your eyes crinkle with your smile, “That has to be the cutest thing anyone has ever done for me. How long have you been coming here to see me as well as to get potion ingredients?”

Some part of Draco wants to scream as he admits, “Since January.”

“That long?” You ask, eyes wide.

He nods again.

“Why didn’t you just ask me to dinner?”

“I didn’t want to offend you and lose you as my stockist.”

You laugh, “I’ve been waiting for you to ask me out since January you know?”

“No, I didn’t know.” He almost shouts; hating the fact that he could have been dating you all this time but was too scared to make a move.

“And you wouldn’t lose me as your stockist even if we did date.”

“No?”

“Haven’t you noticed that I’ve been undercharging you for your ingredients?”

Draco does the quick math in his head; thinking of how healthy his department budget had been when he handed it in to McGonagall back in March. “No… I didn’t notice.”

You nod your head slowly, “That was my way of flirting as well as the open ended questions.”

Draco rubs a hand over his face, “I can’t believe we’ve been dancing around each other for this long.”

Laughing you make your way from behind the counter. You pull his hands from his face, keeping them in yours, “Hey Draco, want to go to dinner with me?”

He grins down at you; letting the joy run through his body, “I’d love to.”

******

General (HP) taglist: @chaotic-fae-queen​ @obsessedwithrandomthings​ @harrypotter289​ @dreamer821​ @kalimagik​ @heloisedaphnebrightmore​ @nebulablakemurphy​ @the-hufflefluffwriter​ @figlia--della--luna​ @bforbroadway​ @idont-knowrn​

Draco Malfoy taglist: @the--queen-of-hell​ @obxmxybxnk​ @obx-beach​

[we-love-imagines]

Little Secret

Valentine’s Event: Happy Valentine’s Day!

Prompt: Kakyoin + Tattoos

Ao3 Link

Author’s Note: Hey guys! Happy Valentine’s Day! I hope you’ve enjoyed my little fic collection over this past week, it was so much fun to write! I’d like to thank @magthemage for beta reading all these stories! Go read her stuff, she’s awesome!

This story in particular is an everyone lives! au, where you are a former Stardust Crusader, and you, Kakyoin, and Jotaro are all college students who enroll in an American University and share an apartment. Also, while the reader is gender-neutral, I did say they were smaller than the rest of the crusaders... sorry if you��re a beefcake! There’s also the tiniest bit of suggestiveness, but no actual nsfw. Everyone in this fic is aged up to be over 21, and please drink responsibly! Enjoy!

“Kakyoin!” You exclaimed, wrapping your arm around your sober friend’s shoulder, “C’mon, it’ll be so cool!”

“Yeah, we can all get ‘em in the same spot too! It’ll be so rad! C’mon, even Jotaro is down!” Polnareff slurred from the other side of the table, motioning to Jotaro who only gave a solemn thumbs up.

“We are not getting matching tattoos,” Kakyoin deadpanned, getting tired of all his companion’s drunk antics. It’s funny- after defeating Dio, he thought all his troubles were over. But, because the injuries he got in Egypt rendered him unable to drink, he was forever doomed to be the designated driver.

Unluckily for him, this was a rowdy group to handle.

“Kakyoin,” Mr.Joestar placed a hand on his shoulder, brushing you off of him, “We’ll even let you pick. It’s not as cool if we don’t all get one.”

“You’re all wasted,” he chuckled, looking at how all of his friends swayed, red in the face, letting the conversation wander aimlessly after way too many shots. After you all defeated Dio, you made it a tradition to meet up and celebrate the bastard’s death by getting as plastered as possible. While you still saw the others fairly regularly, seeing as you, Jotaro, and Kakyoin became roommates after high school, it was nice to have the others fly in to see everyone again.

Kakyoin watched as Jotaro and Avdol sat in silence, the former’s signature cap pulled over his eyes. They were subdued drunks, getting all quiet when under the influence. Kakyoin noticed how Avdol would turn a tad introspective after a few shots, abruptly bringing up thought-provoking questions like “Do Stands Dream?” or “Where do the clouds go after they roll by?” Jotaro, on the other hand, tended to mellow out. His short fuse stretched out a bit when he was drunk, and for once, he could take a joke.

Polnareff and Joseph, on the other hand, embodied pure chaos. Joseph would always try to instigate things: karaoke, bar fights, getting matching tattoos, and Polnareff would sing his praises and go along with all of his crazy schemes. Somehow, the Frenchman would get even louder, barking for the bartender to bring him more shots so he could out-drink everyone in the building.

Then, there was you. While you could certainly hold your booze better than others of your stature, you were no match for the hulking giants that were your fellow crusaders. So, while you kept pace with them while you were drinking, you would get shit-faced before they were feeling the slightest bit buzzed. While you were usually pretty fun and adventurous, the alcohol in your system turned that up to eleven, making you down for anything and everything.

“Wouldn’t it be so cool to get something together?” You grinned to Kakyoin, eyes wide with excitement, “To show how close we are after everything that happened, Jotaro?”

“You’re talking to Kakyoin, (Y/n),” he sighed, calling the bartender over for the bill. You had all had more than enough for the night.

“Then why are you wearing that funny hat, hm?” You said, flicking Kakyoin’s pronounced bang with a giggle. You were trashed. Kakyoin thought about your impending wrath tomorrow, and having to deal with a hangover for the ages.

“What would we get for a tattoo? Dio’s name?” Polnareff asked the group, sitting back in the booth seat. Jotaro, with surprisingly little bite in his voice, grumbled and shook his head.

“I’m not getting that asshole’s name anywhere on my body.”

“Y’know that picture we took? When we first got to Egypt?” Joseph spoke up, “We could all get that across our backs!”

“That’s way too complex!” Polnareff protested with a smile. You got everyone’s attention when you slapped your hands down on the table with a thundering ‘boom.’

“Guys,” you beamed, pure excitement in your voice, “Iggy. Tramp. Stamps.”

The table fell silent as everybody stared at you blankly. For a moment, Kakyoin thought everyone would laugh at your silly idea. That was the tackiest tattoo anyone has ever thought up!

Polnareff, with a look as serious as death, gave a resounding “Hell yeah!”

After that, all hell broke loose, as even the more subdued members of the group went along with the idea. It was agreed that Iggy, who Polnareff took in after everything went down, would get a collar with his own face on it in solidarity. Despite the risqué location, everyone seemed pumped to get matching tramp stamps of the world’s grumpiest Boston Terrier. Even Jotaro was nodding along as the more vocal members rambled on and on.

“Okay, it’s time to go,” Kakyoin shouted over the group, causing the uproar to die down for a moment, “I’m driving, let’s get in the car.”

“Oh my gosh, he’s doing it,” you cheered, wrapping Kakyoin in a tight, powerful hug, “Kakyoin’s gonna drive us to the tattoo parlor!”

The others broke out in celebration, high-fiving each other as they readied themselves to get all inked-up. The bartender gave Kakyoin a sorry look as he herded everyone into his car, having to walk you there the whole way as you stumbled through the parking lot.

It seemed that everyone felt dizzy as they stood up from their seats, and while Polnareff and Joseph were still a little talkative, the car’s atmosphere was a lot more relaxed than the bar’s. Kakyoin had done this drive a few times before, having to calm down his former travel companions after a hearty night of drinking, so he had it down to a science. Putting a CD labeled “Joseph had a Crazy Idea -Mix” into the player, Kakyoin drove around the block a few times, waiting patiently for the conversation to die down.

Soon enough, the car fell silent as everyone stooped into a drunken haze, bodies limp in their seats as they nearly dozed off to sleep. However, you were buckled into the passenger’s seat, lightly snoring as you drifted into dreamland. Just as expected.

As Kakyoin slowly dropped off the various men at their hotels, who had forgotten about their planned misadventure in their intoxicated stupor, he found himself smiling at your sleeping form as you wormed around in your seat. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t have feelings for you- he knew he did all the way back when you two were teenagers, when you saved him from certain death at Dio’s hand- and seeing you like this always warmed his heart. You were a battle-hardened badass like the rest of them, having seen Dio’s horrors at an age that was simply too young for comfort; but here you were, sleeping peacefully with the giddiest look on your face imaginable.

Sometimes, being your roommate was hard. He knew you were so close, that he could just walk over to your room and confess his ever-growing feelings for you whenever he wanted, that one day he could share a bed with this sleeping angel right next to him. It was on days like this that he realized why he liked you so much: you were kind, cute, and a lot more fun then he was.

Pulling up to your apartment, Jotaro slowly made his way out of the backseat, not even giving Kakyoin a passing glance as he went into the apartment. Leaving Kakyoin to deal with your passed out form, the red-head sighed, unbuckling your seatbelt as he pulled your from the car. He carried you up a flight of stairs, careful not to let you stir, using Hierophant to open the apartment’s door.

Jotaro looked dead, passed out face-down on the couch. Kakyoin rolled his eyes as Hierophant pulled a blanket over his friend- he’d be a pleasure to deal with in the morning. 

“Jotaro,” you giggled out, taking Kakyoin by surprise as you lightly flicked his bang around, “Are we at the tattoo parlor yet?”

Kakyoin quickly tried to shush you, rushing into your room so as to not wake your more aggressive roommate, “No, (Y/n), I’m Kakyoin.”

“Jotaro,” you repeated, much to Kakyoin’s sober displeasure, “Do you think Kakyoin is gonna get the tattoo?”

“I don’t think so, you should try and get some rest,” he whispered to you, setting you down on your bed. He helped you take off your shoes, and despite being in full dress, you make yourself cozy under the covers.

“That’s too bad,” you sighed dramatically, looking up at him through blurry vision, “I was hoping I could see his ass while he got his tattoo. You know how much I like his butt!”

Taken back by your comment, Kakyoin couldn’t stop the hearty laugh that slipped through his lips. He knew he shouldn’t press this topic further, but he was so amused he couldn’t help himself.

“You like Kakyoin’s ass, huh?”

“Duh!” you laughed along with the man, despite not knowing what ‘Jotaro’ found so funny, “Have you seen him in that one pair of skinny jeans he owns? Hot Damn!”

Kakyoin started laughing even harder, wishing he could record this conversation and show it to you later. You’d probably kill him, but this was a nice treat after a long night of dealing with a hollering group of drunken idiots. However, he couldn’t help but feel all warm and fuzzy at your words- did you really find him attractive? It felt really nice to be thought of that way, especially by you.

“I think that ass is made of pure boyfriend material, if you ask me,” you snorted, taking Kakyoin completely by surprise, “Jojo, I know you tell me to just man-up and ask him out, but I don’t wanna scare him away. If he doesn’t like me anymore, he won’t take me to get tattoos!”

Kakyoin froze, trying to process everything he just heard. While cheesy, he never wanted to forget that ‘boyfriend material’ line, or the way your voice softened while you spoke about him. He was in awe of the fact that you had feelings for him- feelings so strong that they had to be confided in Jotaro- and how you feared that he wouldn’t be interested. The red-head was puzzled by your doubts. How could someone as wonderful as you ever not be enough? How could you ever think he didn’t return your feelings? Sometimes, he felt like his feelings were obvious- but, here he was, standing before you as you wearily blinked up at him, eyelids becoming heavy.

“Shhhhh, don’t tell him!” You yawned, weakly dragging your finger over his lips, “Wake me when we get to the tattoo parlor...”

Kakyoin watched your head clunk down onto the pillow, and you were out like a light. After tucking you in, he left the room feeling a little guilty; that was obviously a secret you didn’t want him to hear. However, at the same time, he was over the moon. The person he had admired for years was suddenly in his grasp, finally attainable after years and years of silent pining. 

Before he went to bed, Kakyoin made a point to pull his skinny jeans from his closet, laying them out on top of his dresser. He’d be needing them for tomorrow- he wanted his ass to look good while he asked you out, is all.

[crossovereddie]

Thoughts on 11x06

I had to come back to type this after the episode. I was gonna wait to post until more people are active but everyone’s safety is more important than notes. This was really hard for me to watch. It took me two hours because I kept needing a break. It’s a tough one yall. It’s heartbreaking and really brought out issues I didn’t know I was still dealing with until I reacted so badly to some stuff. Take care of yourselves and I’m here if you need to talk. I’ll have timestamps for major tws in another post coming right after this. I just gotta go back and get the end of those scenes. I only go the time they started.

Okay. So. There’s some trigger warnings that I’ve reblogged earlier. This recap WILL have thoughts about those triggers. If you think you’ll be triggered just message me or send me an ask and I’ll give you the non triggering recap. Stay safe please.

Kev and v intro. They’re having sex behind the bar

I’m extremely nervous for some reason I might not be able to get through this

Bike heist!!

LICKEY RIGHTS

LIP CALLS HIM MICK

MISSION IMPISSIBLE

Mickey is unimpressed

Lip telling Mickey what to do yes please

Fucking Mickey omg

HE LOOKS SO GOOD

THE WAY HE SAYS BRAD

Again Mickey is unimpressed

Lip :(

MICKEY CONCERNED ABOUT LIPS SOBRIETY

AGAIN I SAY LICKEY RIGHTS

Frank is falling the chick he’s boning Monica

Not sure that’s her real name

Wait yeah it is

Frank??? Has to get to work???

Wait her name isn’t Monica

Oh shut now I get what’s happening

“Can I speak to Pope Francis please” LIAM 😭

Poor baby

Lip cooking breakfast. Hot.

I forgot about camis baby

I actually beep bad for lip and Tami

We already heard this argument with Mickey and Ian get new material writers

PRODIGAL THEIF

PINK BOX HES SO CUTE

HE LOOKS SO CUTE GOTTA SQUEEZE HIM PLS

Yeah don’t tell Carl that traitor

MICKEY BROUGHT DONUTS PLS

HES SO CUTE

ITS TOO MUCH

I LOVE HIM

HIS SMILE!!!!!!!!

GALLAGHER YOUTH

THAT MEANS MICKEY TOO BYE

CARL CALLING HIM MICK TOO PLS

I CANT TAKE IT

Poor Liam he’s terrified

“I was hoping the fucker would just die” :(

Shut up Debbie

Mickey is beautiful

Leave Mickey out of it debbie goddamn

I cant fucking stand her

Frank just observing his kids and smiling

Same frank

SHUT UP DEBBIE

OH MY GOD HIS LAUGH IS THIS WHAT YOU HEAR WHEN YOU FIRST GET TO HEAVEN????

“And the smartest” lol

Someone save Liam

“I want Sandy”

We all do kid

Fucking manipulative little I CANT STAND DEBBIE

Sandy deserves better

I hate the Milkovichs!!!!

How did smart sensitive sweet beautiful loving Mickey come from this disgusting family????

MICKEY IS THE BOSS

My heart hurts so him

“Homo sexy” dear god

Mickey is too good he deserves so much better

I love him so much

Let him be happy

Mickey has the biggest heart

They’re actually talking and not fighting

CHAPO STFU

You’re so funny and smart and beautiful don’t forget that baby

SUGAR TITS

And no one is fazed lmao

“He’s actually my uncle and my dad” I fucking hate this show

I forgot Carl makes legit money now

Wtf kinda school is this

This is so fucked up

The twins are so adorable

SHUT UP DEBBIE

“You guys” I hate that but also she’s acknowledging Mickey as “hers” and he’s family :(

Okay this horrifying comment

I hate that it’s just nonchalant

Debbie just keeps talking.

Let’s move on

Mickeys face when she says “butt naked”lmao

LIP CALLING HIM MICK AGAIN

“Talk to you for a minute?”

“Yes. Please”

I LOVE IT

Mickey is unimpressed by lip once again and I’m smiling

They love each other they’re secretly best friends ITS A FACT

HAND SHAKE SO CUTE

MY BABIES

“Blue like my balls” fucking frank lol

They’re going in on Frank’s storyline now

Boss Mickey at it again

Terry’s home

The way his face falls im sick

SANDY BABY

My heart is racing

Mickeys face is breaking my heart

Great now I’m crying

Mickey got emotional

Ian sensed it and touched his neck all fucking sweet

Okay I had to take a little break because I started crying

I love him too much

Fucking Noel is so damn good

My heart is fucking breaking

“Frank’s not a homophobic psychopath who tortured you for years”

Please Mickey deserves better

I don’t wanna hear any Ian slander either.

In this house we protect my son and my son in law I will fight you

“Let’s get the fuck outta here. Lip you coming?” 😭

That was so hard to watch yall. I’m not gonna lie to you. My parents weren’t half as shitty as terry but growing up feeling unloved your whole life fucks you up anyway and that brought out some emotions and feelings I didn’t realize I still dealt with. I had to pause for a good while and cry.

Leave Sandy alone debbie

Terry is disgusting

Okay the homophobic language he uses is definitely triggering so I’ll time stamp that too

Debbie you selfish bitch

Everyone leaving terry outside it’s a yes from me

I honestly can’t concentrate on the other scenes now I’m sorry y’all

I try to cover everyone’s scenes but it’s hard for me today

I’m not okay

Liam is too innocent poor kid

MICKEY LIP AND IAN THE BEST TRIO

We need more scenes

I PAUSED TO TYPE AND THE FUCKING LOOK HES GIVING HIM STOP

They’re besties

Mickey is beautiful

MY BABY BUSINESS BOSS MAN I LOVE YOU

he really hasn’t called him Philip the entire episode wtf

Ignoring Debbie

Now I want fries

Carl is cringy

Mickey drove them home and pulled a gun

Honestly again another heartbreaking scene

Ian’s trying to make him stop

Terry is disgusting and also a coward but we’ve been knew

Noel is the most amazing

Mickey gets teary but doesn’t cry bc I cried enough for the both of us

He’s the strongest bravest ever and I’m so proud of him

I need a hug

My heart hurts so much y’all

I just want him to be happy

I’m a fucking mess

I can’t handle Lip being emotional too

Oh I thought lip wanted to sell the house for himself only but at least they all get their share

Horrible music choice

I wanna tuck Mickey in with his favorite tv show on(911) make him his favorite food to eat in bed and not let anyone but Ian around him for a good 72 hours

The way Ian is looking at him

“Would you take care of me if I was paralyzed?”

“....yeah. Yeah”

“Top you whenever I wanted” “asshole”

His smile is back that’s all I need in life

MICKEY IS TOO GOOD FOR THIS WORLD

RIP DOWN THAT FLAG YES BABY

“That was big of you” “he’s an asshole...I wanna be better than that”

WHEN I TELL YALL I LOST IT I MEAN FULL ON SOBBING

YOURE ALREADY A THOUSAND TIMES BETTER THAN THAT PIECE OF SHIT

YOURE SO KIND AND BRAVE AND BEAUTIFUL INSIDE AND OUT

Ian’s like “back of the head? Gotta grab and hold my boy”

“You are so much better than that” IAN MY SWEET SON IN LAW I LOVE YOU THANK YOU FOR LOVING OUR BOY SO WELL

IAN IS THE MOST SUPPORTIVE HUSBAND

V spitting truth

I want terry to fucking suffer

Don’t do it frank

“Nah” LMAO

Frank loves his son in law

Sandy I love you

I need to hold her

No debbie I LOVE HER

NO SANDY LOVE ME INSTEAD

DEBBIE DOESNT DESERVE YOU

Carl scene was so awful I feel so bad for him this girl is a fucking psycho

That was an actual rape scene what the fuck

Mickey making frank laugh

Debbie explaining? Really?

I hate her

“How long is this gonna take? I’m fucking starving Lip” WHY WONT YOU CALL HIM PHILIP

“We could get on with our lives” well that hurt more than it should’ve

It’s really the end soon huh? 😢

According to captions Ian says “we’re in”

Frank reads his diagnosis

Carl goes to report his rape

That took me nearly two hours to watch. Yeah I usually pause to type but I had to take long breaks after the hard scenes. It was a really hard episode to watch. A lot darker than it has been. I’m not really okay right now. It was emotional but a really good episode overall.

[mechawaka]

Spring in Derdriu

A commission for @artsytardis​

Words: 11.7k

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Pairing: Claude/Byleth

Rating: Teen

Mood music: Roses & Revolutions - Dancing in a Daydream

Summary: Five years after the war, Claude is the king of Almyra and Byleth is the queen of United Fodlan - but neither of them had the courage to propose at the Goddess Tower. When Byleth comes down with a sudden fever, they might have another chance.

---

They couldn’t possibly name Derdriu the new capital of United Fodlan, Lorenz had declared the very day after Byleth’s coronation. It would ‘imply things,’ he’d said, aghast that she would even suggest it.

Lo and behold, Ferdinand and Sylvain had expressed similar worries about Enbarr and Fhirdiad, respectively, and what ‘things’ their hosting would ‘imply.’

And Garreg Mach was also out of the question. Archbishop Seteth, recently crowned himself, wanted to keep the reformed Church of Seiros as far removed from political power as possible. Byleth couldn’t make her capital there, he’d insisted. The implications!

So which will it be? her newly appointed cabinet - four representatives from each geographical region, with twelve in total - had prodded, each sect adamant that theirs couldn’t possibly be the permanent home of the new government.

And Byleth, already exhausted despite only being in charge for a grand total of one moon, had replied:

All of them, then.

That day, United Fodlan’s migrating government, colloquially known as the Wandering Court, had been born. Byleth spent one season in each capital - spring in Derdriu, summer in Fhirdiad (on which she was insistent), and winter in Enbarr. In the fall, she and the entire cabinet gathered at neutral Garreg Mach to conduct any business which required everyone’s presence at once.

For five years, the system had worked perfectly. There had been some inevitable pushback at first, mostly from anti-Imperial factions who were upset that Byleth had adopted the old Empire’s ministerial structure, but they had gradually quieted down as the continental economy stabilized and flourished under its guidance.

Moreover, Byleth liked being on the road. She was raised in tents and on horseback, always moving between destinations, and the frequent travel helped soften long days of paperwork and political debate. 

It also let her document certain supply and infrastructure problems firsthand; to this day, Byleth fondly remembered a tiny village on the Rhodos Coast whose inhabitants had sent in an official request for a new bridge - and had been shocked senseless when the queen herself, in transit from Fhirdiad to Garreg Mach, had shown up to build it.

(Petra had put her personal stamp of approval on that one; you only rule what you can see and touch, she’d written of the event.)

Today, though - this season, this cursed spring - the system was not working.

Oh, it had started normally enough. Byleth, once settled in the palace at Derdriu, had taken up her usual duty of hearing the cases which had passed since her last time in residence and breaking any tied votes. 

It wasn’t until her ministers were tying up the season’s work that a heavy rain swelled the Airmid, causing flooding in four different territories and knocking out a siege-battered section of the Great Bridge of Myrddin. Suddenly, they were swamped with petitions: drowned fields, lost livestock, choked roads. All with less than a moon remaining before the court’s transition to Fhirdiad.

In short, Byleth hadn’t slept in almost forty-eight hours.

Her head was a splitting fissure of tectonic activity, rumbling in the background of every meeting, every hearing, and roaring to life at random intervals that left her gritting her teeth and glaring at Lorenz, wherever he was in the room.

Oh, we simply can’t stay in Derdriu permanently, she mocked him mentally as, again, a searing wave of pain spiked behind her drooping eyes. It would ruin everything, or whatever.

“- and with that in mind, the Merchants’ Association asked us to move the boundary twenty feet down the riverfront,” Marianne recited from an open ledger. She, like all the other ministers, was dressed in a smartly cut, floor-length robe of office that bore the seal of United Fodlan, with her hair gathered neatly at the back of her neck.

“Ministers Victor and Goneril voted in favor of the merchants, while Minister Gloucester and I voted in favor of the fisheries. How do you rule?” Marianne looked up from her record and across their round discussion table. Her eyes were bright and serious at first, but they creased with worry upon taking in Byleth’s pinched expression. 

“Are you feeling ill, Your Majesty?”

This garnered the other ministers’ attention as well. Ignatz pushed his glasses up his nose to study her better, staring in that perceptive, sympathetic way that said he’d already identified all the faults in her appearance. 

Hilda, who’d been twirling a quill pen between her fingers, glanced up and gave Byleth a detachedly brutal once-over, indicating with an arched, sculpted eyebrow that she disliked her findings.

Lorenz, meanwhile, simply regarded his queen with a dry, ‘I told you so’ stare.

“No, no. I’m fine,” Byleth asserted, avoiding everyone’s concerned faces, and especially Lorenz’s. He had warned her against overworking only a week prior, and here she was zoning out like a bored student. She’d get an earful from him later, no doubt, about a ruler’s responsibility to their subjects extending to self-care and time management.

“My apologies. Minister Edmund, please recount the case again.” Byleth pushed herself up, ignoring the pounding rhythm inside her brain. She often paced the length of the room for difficult petitions, anyway, and maybe movement would help ease the pain - but she took one step and the world went sideways.

She swayed dangerously on her feet, catching herself on the edge of the throne. Her legs were soft and wobbly as a dessert jelly; her vision swam with blots of darkness and intense color at random. 

In a hushed, grave voice, she whispered, “Oh, that’s not good.”

“Quite,” Lorenz agreed curtly, having materialized at her elbow to aid in stabilization. He turned to the others, lips pursed and demeanor supremely unamused. “I believe Her Majesty is finished hearing cases for the day. All in agreement?”

Byleth barely registered the other ministers’ responses; her ears were suddenly full of cotton, dampening all incoming sound. Even Lorenz’s voice, so close at her side, was fuzzy and jumbled. She could only nod and follow him out of the throne room, vaguely aware that Marianne had joined them.

When had her headache gotten this bad? It must have been a slow progression, she reasoned as the trio headed toward her chambers, building in intensity during the meeting. She vaguely recalled an old medical lecture of Manuela’s about blood vessels in the brain, and how moving suddenly after a stationary period could cause...something. Something bad, probably.

Not for the first time, nor even for the hundredth, she wished she’d paid closer attention to the other teachers’ seminars back at Garreg Mach.

Lorenz politely turned around while Marianne helped Byleth out of her heavy court mantle and into her gigantic bed, busying himself by preparing a teapot at the dresser.

“I’ll be fine by tomorrow,” Byleth professed as she collapsed onto her mattress, allowing Marianne’s white magic to flow over her in a soothing current. “We can re-convene at first light.”

With his back still turned, Lorenz scoffed. “I highly doubt that.”

“I’m sorry, but he’s right,” Marianne corroborated, ceasing her spell and pressing the back of one hand to Byleth’s forehead. “You have harvest fever; you’ll need to rest for at least a week to let it run its course.”

“A week?” Byleth demanded, sitting straight up again. “But I leave for Fhirdiad in two!”

Lorenz brought the teapot over on a wheeled cart, putting his hands on either side and warming it magically. “Then perhaps you shouldn’t have taxed yourself to infirmity, hmm?”

At that, Byleth shot him an impotent - and, in all likelihood, given her state, pathetic - glare, but the mere action of tensing her forehead muscles worsened her headache and she fell back onto her pillows, defeated. He was right, damn him.

“Byleth,” he continued, exasperated, dropping all formality as he always did in the absence of prying ears. “Just rest. We designed this government to run in your absence - let us handle things from here.”

Marianne echoed the sentiment with a soft smile, pouring some strong-smelling medicinal tea from the pot. “We’ll see that Ordelia and Hrym are well cared for,” she said, holding out the teacup like a peace offering.

Byleth grudgingly took it.

---

Lorenz squinted down at Byleth’s sleeping form, sprawled and content amongst her blankets, and sighed. No one had ever prepared her for a life of leadership and politics, but she’d risen to the challenge admirably in the last five years. Perhaps too admirably, if situations like this were any judge.

Her problem, he’d decided long ago - and informed her whenever the chance presented itself - was moderation. Temperance. Byleth Eisner tackled every problem with a single-minded determination that, while remarkably efficient during the war, had tended to cause a variety of problems in peacetime.

In that regard, she was quite similar to him. To Claude. And speaking of Claude -

“We had two guards and a trio of footmen at our assembly today,” Marianne observed, keeping her eyes on the bed, but her message was clear.

“Indeed.” Lorenz tapped the heels of his polished boots restlessly against the floor. He could practically hear the wagging tongues from here; he could picture the story of their fainting monarch billowing out from the palace like blood in water, ripe for scenting - and there was one particular green-eyed shark always circling for a whiff.

He forced a long, resigned breath out through his nose, and said dismally, “I’ll direct the staff to prepare the guest wing at once.”

---

Thanks to whatever was in that tea, Byleth slept straight through the next few days. Even when she woke, she was groggy and mostly insensate to the world around her; she recalled Marianne’s visits to administer medicine or urge a few sips of water, but other than that - nothing. Only light and color and sound, all indistinct and running together.

The fever itself wasn’t so bad. She was being treated by the most studied healer in the region, and the rest was good for her, as much as she resisted the notion.

No, what had her itching for freedom, for an escape, had nothing to do with the sickness and everything to do with her own shoddy mental compartmentalization. Byleth had a single unbreakable rule, and it had kept her safe and stable for most of her life: don’t slow down.

Her friends - formerly students, and now United Fodlan’s new ministers - had always struggled to understand what went on in her head, and Byleth had to confess that it was often a confusing place for her, too. That was why she spent as little time there as possible. If she was solving governmental disputes or plotting a route through the Oghmas, she wasn’t thinking about her problems - and for someone that had attended the Jeralt Eisner school of “don’t confront your problems until they literally confront you first” coping strategy, that suited her just fine.

But these hours cooped up in her bedchamber were slow, and Lorenz had taken great strides to ensure that nary a tax report breached its threshold. And when there was no work to do, no roadblock for her mind to chew on, it drifted to contemplation, to nostalgia, and then, inevitably, to Claude.

What would he think of the stalemate between the merchants and the fisheries? That one was easy. He’d find a third option, something neither of the institutions had proposed but that benefited both, and dazzle them with its presentation. He’d find a way to spin the conflict so that it wasn’t about competing guilds, but about the betterment of the city as a whole.

She wondered if he looked different now compared to when she’d seen him last, at the Alliance Founding Day celebration the previous Horsebow. They only ever saw each other in formal wear these days, painted and decorated and utterly without privacy. Had he let his hair grow over the winter like she had? Was it curling near the base of his neck, thick and wild?

Oh, here we go, she thought, rolling her eyes and then squeezing them shut. This was why she kept herself preoccupied; any lapse in activity brought these sorts of ideas to the forefront, and they always turned to indulgent fantasy. Only Claude brought out that side of Byleth - and it made her so paradoxically angry, and afraid, and lonely.

Angry because she hadn’t intended to let him in; he was just there one day, snugly by her side, a few months after she’d joined the faculty at Garreg Mach (and she would always lament, at least a little, that Rhea hadn’t put her with the students instead). Even after he’d admitted his ulterior motives in getting close to her, Byleth never had the heart to be mad at him for it. He was so damn endearing.

Afraid because, as easily as he’d attached himself to her, he’d un-attached. Byleth could admit to herself, alone in her darkened bedroom, that most of her mental evasion strategies centered around one specific memory: that early morning conversation they’d had right before her coronation, in which Claude had spontaneously announced his departure from Fodlan.

(“There’s something I need to do,” he’d said up at the Goddess Tower, and she had been so sure he’d wanted to say more, but instead he’d just...left.)

Lonely because their friendship had never been the same after that. They were both so busy, now, and with so much responsibility - and she missed him. Missed their easy conversation and matching drive; missed the academic dissections of famous battles and the late nights spent comparing various cultures’ names for the constellations. 

Her remaining friends were certainly a balm, and she wouldn’t trade them for the world, but none of them were him. She’d never filled that spot at her side. Couldn’t fill it. Nothing and no one else fit there.

But she also couldn’t ask him back. He was the king of Almyra now, fulfilling everything he’d wanted and worked for and talked about with stars in his eyes - and Byleth could never begrudge him his lofty and admirable goals. Never. Instead, she’d had to accept the possibility that the grand arc of his ambitions no longer included her in its trajectory.

She sprawled out sideways on her bed, letting the warring emotions flood her body. Maybe this was good for her. Maybe, like the fever, she just needed to let them run their course. Maybe these were the natural consequences of escapism and denial.

And it wasn’t like she’d be able to get away from herself any time soon.

---

“Of all the - absolutely not,” Lorenz stated, planting himself in the center of the hall that led to Byleth’s bedroom. “There are procedures, Claude. Royal protocol. You know this!”

But Claude had already danced around him, utilizing that foot speed the mages never needed to master. “Come on, Lorenz, I’m not some Srengan diplomat - we’ve all seen each other covered in mud and guts. What’s a little illness between friends?”

To his credit, Lorenz didn’t ask how Claude had come by that knowledge. Nor were his protestations very vigorous, as if the man had foreseen this exact scenario - and for that, Claude was proud of him. 

That pride wouldn’t keep him from his goal, however. He’d saddled up his wyvern as soon as the words “queen” and “sick” had left his spymaster’s mouth.

“She’s not well. You’ll be interrupting her convalescence - Claude,” Lorenz said sternly, holding his friend by the elbow and fixing him with a soul-searching gaze. “She cannot receive visitors in this state. What’s gotten into you?”

For an instant, Claude’s happy-go-lucky mask slipped. He’d been too pushy, so much so that even Lorenz got a glimpse of the panic underneath - the cold terror that had driven him across the continent and still gripped his heart. He knew it wouldn’t let up until he could confirm Byleth’s condition.

But he was a consummate faker, and so the mask slotted deftly back into place. “Why don’t you go ask her, hmm? I’m sure she’ll be positively overjoyed.”

---

When Lorenz walked in, Byleth was still in the same position, all spread out and despondent. 

“How are you feeling, Your Majesty?” he asked pointedly, and his use of her title - coupled with his formal position near the door - should have clued her in to what he was really asking, but Byleth was far too addled for nuance.

She tilted her head in his direction and flatly, shamelessly said, “Fine.”

Lorenz’s disciplined expression soured a fraction. “Well, that is wonderful news -” his ironic lilt suggested that this news was anything but wonderful, “- because you have a visitor.”

He stepped back to clear the doorway, giving Byleth a look that said she deserved everything that was about to happen. “May I present King Khalid ibn Riegan of Almyra.”

Claude poked his head in much too casually for Lorenz’s theatrical introduction. “Byleth! I brought you some -”

He paused, staring at her depressed-starfish pose. Byleth, in the blink of an eye, sobered completely and experienced all the stages of grief in quick succession.

“- fruit,” Claude finished lamely. Behind him, Lorenz pinched the bridge of his nose.

---

“Claude,” Byleth intoned, dredging up her ‘serious teacher’ voice for the occasion. She’d bathed and changed her clothes since his impromptu arrival - Byleth had never possessed a single modest bone in her body, but, again, he just incomprehensibly brought it out in her - and now she sat on the edge of her bed while he occupied the bedside armchair.

“It was so nice of you to drop in,” she continued, folding her arms across her chest.

Claude laughed anxiously, holding a woven basket full of fruit in his lap half like a shield and half like an offering to an angry deity. “Okay, why do I get the feeling you’re mad at me?”

“I’m not mad at you,” Byleth said icily. It wasn’t a lie; it was more like she was mad around him - mad at the space surrounding his stupid, handsome head - mad that he’d shown up, as if summoned, right when she was feeling so sorry for herself about him.

But that was far too complicated to explain, so instead she asked, “What’s your business in the city?”

He brightened a bit, perhaps relieved to divert the topic. “Thought I’d tour the Goldroad - see what travel is really like there outside the official inspection dates.”

Byleth cocked her head to the side, staring out her west-facing window. He referred to the winding trade route that now spanned the Throat, starting at the Locket and ending at a similarly sized fort across the border in Almyra - but that was over a day’s travel from Derdriu.

Following the path of her eyes, Claude went on quickly, “And, you know, I was in the area, so why not visit my very best friend?”

She wasn’t sure she’d classify a seventeen hour wyvern flight as ‘in the area.’ Byleth narrowed her eyes, looking from his rigid smile, to his posture, to the basket he carried, then back to his face, waiting for the actual answer.

“- All right,” he confessed, exhaling deeply. “My spies said you were sick, so I came to check on you - how are you still so good at that?”

She smiled despite herself and pointed at the basket, which he promptly handed over. Popping a dried date into her mouth, she asked coyly, “At what?”

Claude laughed heartily, reaching over to get one for himself, and that simple action propelled them effortlessly into a comfortable, familiar rhythm, dispelling their outer veneers of royalty. 

They traded stories about travel, about new friends, about insufferable opposition; Claude told her about one of his subordinate satraps - which served a similar function to Byleth’s ministers, but with more concentrated local authority - who had threatened to raise an army in his territory over the price of grain, and then panicked when Claude had called his bluff and negotiated a lower price.

(“Did he even have an army?” she asked, completely absorbed in the story and eating sour cherries by the handful.

Claude, with a wide, gleeful grin, replied, “Not a chance.”)

In return, Byleth told him about last year’s failed rebellion in eastern Faerghus, in which a group of Blaiddyd royalists had tried to rally the region’s former aristocracy under the banner of House Fraldarius - and how Felix himself had ridden out to personally disband them.

(“Oof. Embarrassing,” Claude commented, making a face like someone had punched him in the gut. “What did he say to make them listen?”

Byleth snorted and modulated her voice to match the prickly swordsman’s. “‘This is not happening. Leave.’”)

As the afternoon wore on, servants brought in tea service and then dinner - and Byleth’s temporary surge in vitality upon seeing her dear friend started to fade, replaced by the fever-aches she’d come to know so well. Her movements grew slower and her answers shorter, overcast by brain fog.

Claude watched this change in her with considerable worry, helping her back under her blankets after they’d finished eating and re-situating the pillows around her head.

“Oh, stop it,” she chided, swatting away his hands. “I’m not completely helpless.”

He backed off, smiling easily, but stayed within range to aid her again if needed. “I don’t know about that,” he teased. “You know what they say about people who catch colds in the summer.”

“It’s spring,” she insisted, wrinkling her nose, but he didn’t laugh. In fact, there were no traces of mirth left anywhere on his face.

Byleth sat up straighter. “Claude, it’s only harvest fever. Marianne said it should clear up in a few days.”

He dropped back into his chair, resting his elbows on his knees so he could bridge part of the gap. “But what if it’s not, though?”

A nearby Church of Seiros’s evening bells rang out across the palace grounds. The brassy sounds changed with each echo, reaching her bedchamber as ghostly distortions.

“What, you think Marianne got it wrong?” Byleth asked, pulling her blanket up subconsciously.

“No, just -” Claude ran a hand back through his hair, pushing it even further out of its usual style, “- what if it’s related to...whatever Sothis did to you after the siege?”

He’d spoken so quietly that Byleth had to lean forward and slow her own breath in order to hear it. The concern in his tone - the restraint in his clasped hands; the uncertainty in his eyes - made her take a second pass over everything.

She no longer saw a casual check-in made by a concerned friend. Claude had traveled here with speed and intent, and now she knew why; just like their parting words at Garreg Mach had stuck with her, her long and mysterious slumber had probably stuck with him.

(The realization, while illuminating, didn’t hit her as hard as it should have. She thought some version of that truth, formless and undefined, must have been swimming around in the back of her mind for a while. It explained so succinctly why Marianne had insisted on treating Byleth herself, and why Lorenz stood vigil so often outside her room, even though the two had comparably little free time.)

Now that she thought about it, the long-term consequences of merging with a goddess should probably be a bigger concern of hers, too.

“I haven’t heard Sothis’s voice, nor felt her presence, in six years,” Byleth explained calmly, striving for an affect that would put him at ease. “And I’ve been in perfect health, besides.”

Claude gave her a long, lingering look - one that took in not only her face, but her long, mint-green braid and her customary wardrobe, unchanged from her days at the monastery - as if he wanted to commit her current state to memory. Byleth returned it with a confused frown, ready to comment on the odd behavior, but then his usual smile returned in a flash.

“You’re right,” he acquiesced with a little shrug, standing and straightening his riding harness. “It’s probably nothing serious. A few days, you said?”

Byleth’s confusion skewed into suspicion. Claude never let anything go that easily. “Yeah,” she answered slowly, searching his face for signs of duplicity. “Marianne said I’m already over the worst of it.”

“That’s great,” Claude enthused in the exact manner he’d use to win over his enemies, and Byleth’s misgivings quadrupled. “You should get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning.”

He was out the door in a flourish of his royal half-cape, paying no mind to the official etiquette of departure. (Byleth didn’t care about such things, but Lorenz was surely fuming about it in the hall.)

She let herself fall, warily, back onto her bed, pondering what Claude could possibly be up to - because he was up to something. It was only after she’d started to drift off, her head nestled warmly in one of about a dozen pillows, that the implications of his parting words struck her.

---

Ignatz rushed down the administerial wing’s main corridor, clutching a stack of accounting ledgers in one arm and several sheaves of operational business licenses in the other. Sunlight was just starting to peek through the hall’s windows, painting slowly elongating bars of yellow on the opposite walls; nobody would be in their offices yet, but if he could deliver his cargo before breakfast, he’d be able to get a head start on his own day’s work -

Thus distracted, he pushed his slipping glasses back up the bridge of his nose - using an occupied hand. Fifty business licenses, previously sorted alphabetically and geographically, drifted to the ground in a fluttering cloud of failure.

“Oh, no,” Ignatz muttered, dropping to his knees and gathering up the papers as best as he could without dropping the ledgers. If he didn’t deliver his cargo before breakfast, that would delay all of his tasks by at least an hour, thereby pushing back tomorrow’s tasks as well, to say nothing of his meeting with the merchants’ guild - 

A head of shaggy brown hair and a pair of leather-gloved hands bent to organize the papers into a messy but holdable pile, then helped to situate it more snugly in Ignatz’s grasp.

In his haste and immeasurable relief, Ignatz threw a grateful, “Thanks, Claude!” over his shoulder as he resumed his flight down the corridor.

At the threshold of Hilda’s office, though, while balancing both stacks with one hand so he could turn the doorknob, he froze and shouted back the way he’d come, “Claude?!”

---

Instead of the usual morning sounds - like the rustling of Marianne’s skirts or the trundling of a breakfast cart - Byleth woke to singing. It originated somewhere to her right, winding and unhurried, and she knew this gentle melody; Claude had taught it to her during the war.

So he really was still here, then. He’d really stayed. 

She opened her eyes just a hair, hoping for a chance to observe him before he noticed that she was awake.

It was still early. All the curtains were tied back and the windows cracked, letting in pale, diffused light and a sea-salt breeze off the bay. Claude stood at her personal writing desk, which Marianne had turned into a makeshift apothecary, weighing a small pile of freshly ground coriander. He was dressed more casually today, having discarded his courtly attire and riding leathers in favor of a belted Almyran-style tunic; his hair was bound in a simple but flattering tie at the nape of his neck.

Byleth watched him work - watched him thoughtfully consider the ratio of coriander to ginger to water, his hand hovering over each as he deliberated. All the while he sang that soft tune, so beautifully laden with memory and affection. 

When he’d finally settled on a mixture, he reached into a pouch at his belt and uncorked a vial of honey, adding a spoonful to the mug. She tried her best to hold it in, but a tiny, breathless laugh escaped her; that rich wildflower honey was a signature of Claude’s home-brews - a sweetener to make his questionable concoctions more palatable.

He jumped and whirled at the sound, his cheeks darkening somewhat at being caught unawares, but Byleth just shook her head slowly, reassuringly, and hummed the next few bars of his song. At once, his embarrassment morphed into a wide, slanted smile, and he turned back to put the finishing touches on his creation.

“What are you still doing here?” Byleth asked, pushing herself up to a sitting position. Her hair must have been a mess, but she had to settle for a quick smooth-down.

Claude chuckled and sat on the edge of her bed, holding out the mug of steaming medicinal tea. “Really? No ‘Good morning, Claude, and thank you for taking such good care of me?’”

She took the cup and shot him a faux-scowl. “Who’s running your country, though?”

“Oh, it basically runs itself.” He waved a flippant hand, staring out a window in the direction of the Throat. “Our scholars say, ‘A king is a great ship’s rudder.’ It just so happens that my ‘great ship’ has a good heading right now.”

Byleth regarded him doubtfully. She knew this proverb, and its wisdom was definitely not intended to excuse literal flights of fancy.

“What?” he asked, rolling his head to the side playfully. “If anything happens, Nader knows where I am. Besides, aren’t you happy to see me?”

Her stern facade - only performative, anyway, since Claude never failed to disarm her - softened. “I’m always happy to see you,” she said quietly, hiding her vulnerability with a big sip from her mug. (It was delicious, of course, after being assembled so skillfully.)

The curious look he gave her in response lasted a little too long, probed a little too deep for comfort, so she followed it up with a nervous, “Where’s - where’s Marianne?”

Claude, ever-insightful, let the moment pass without remark. “She allowed me to perform her caretaking duties in exchange for a little, ah...discretion...on my part.”

That was easy to imagine. Her ministers had enough on their legislative plates without the obligatory fanfare that would accompany an ‘official’ royal visitation - so the last thing they needed was King Khalid, the former leader of the Alliance, showing his highly recognizable face all over Derdriu.

“We’re both locked up, then,” Byleth said plainly. That explained his wardrobe; a casual observer might think him no more than a member of the staff. As long as he didn’t linger in unfamiliar company, he could move freely about the palace.

“Yep.” Claude smiled contentedly, like he’d gotten the best possible end of this deal. (Byleth begged to disagree.)

In a comically professional, woefully unconvincing physician’s voice, he asked, “So, how are you feeling today, my liege?”

Byleth choked on a sip of her tea, cough-laughing and beating her chest to clear her airways. “Much better, doctor,” she spluttered, setting down her mug to prevent any spasm-related accidents. It was true; her head and body aches had been fading with each passing day, and the fever was low enough that she didn’t feel like a boiling crab leg anymore.

“Good, good,” he mused, looking far too pleased with himself. “Then what do you say to a bit of chess on the balcony?”

She gave her sternum a few more good thumps to really get all the spicy ginger out of her lungs, using the extra time to examine Claude more closely. He knew he couldn’t beat her at chess; what was this about? And was it related to - to whatever inscrutable scheme he was currently enacting?

“Sure,” she said, knowing he wouldn’t give up his plans if asked. (Not until the most dramatically poignant moment, anyway.) If she was going to figure it out on her own, she’d need more opportunities for candid observation, and chess should do nicely.

His face split into a grin immediately. “I saw a board in Lorenz’s office. Meet you back here after lunch?”

“Yeah, it’s a date,” she agreed lightly, and didn’t miss the way it tripped him up on the way out. 

---

“You’re still here,” Lorenz observed with the same sort of weary derision one might direct at a persistent rug stain. He stood in the doorway to his office, holding a tea tray and projecting an aura of disappointment.

Claude, who was currently inside said office and in the midst of burgling a marble chess board, hastily clicked all its pieces back down and clasped his hands behind his back. “I am! Very astute of you to notice.”

Lorenz’s eyes flicked pointedly from his uninvited guest to his now-askew board, then he calmly strode around both to reach his polished mahogany desk. “Well, then. Would you join me for tea, Your Majesty?”

The way he gestured to the opposite chair spoke clearly of interrogation, but Claude sat anyway. It wouldn’t be polite to steal a man’s gaming paraphernalia and refuse his company.

“Why, thank you, Minister,” he answered, exaggerating his friend’s formal air, “we are simply delighted by your invitation.”

Lorenz’s poker face had improved over the years, but Claude still caught the subtle tightening of a jaw and the slightest arch of a brow; dead giveaways that he’d still snap at a piece of bait like a Brigidian piranha. Good to know.

“All right,” Lorenz said, clipped, like he’d come to a decision at the end of a long internal debate. “What are you doing here, Claude?”

Claude blinked, taken aback by the suddenness of the question. “Uh, well, Marianne and I -”

“I quite understand the generous arrangement which Marianne has afforded you,” Lorenz cut in quickly, pouring out two cups of tea. He handed one over the desk with the gravitas of a commander handing down orders. “What, precisely, are you here to do?”

Faking affrontation would be a moot point here, Claude thought. Lorenz was chasing down a specific answer, and from the set of his brow, he’d probably figured out most of it.

And that was fair. Despite their rocky interactions, Lorenz was one of the few people that Claude would say he trusted, and he knew that Lorenz felt the same (even though he had a peculiar way of showing it).

However, while Lorenz looked confident in the answer to his question, Claude didn’t even know where to start. How could he sum up this whirlwind?

Should he begin with the primal fear of hearing that Byleth had collapsed? With the breakneck flight to Derdriu, imagining all the worst possibilities in his head? (The mild shock in her eyes as she toppled backward into the chasm; her ensuing five-year absence, silent and absolute.)

Or at the boundless relief - the sheer, joyful knowledge that she had not, in fact, been re-afflicted with Sothis’s ancient sleeping sickness?

Or, should he skip straight to the certainty that he wouldn’t survive another such scare, and the unwillingness to be apart from her for even a second more, political repercussions be damned? 

In the end, holding a steaming, fragrant cup of bergamot, Claude - in one of only a handful of occasions thus far in his life - couldn’t find the right words.

Luckily, Lorenz, who must have witnessed his friend’s rapid expression shifts, found one instead. Gently, and with more sympathy than expected, he asked, “Still?”

Ah, so he had figured it out.

Claude raised his teacup in a silent toast. “Still,” he confirmed, then downed it in one gulp.

“Hm.” Lorenz paused to serve out refills and scones, and Claude knew exactly what his friend was remembering.

(For five years during the war, Claude had periodically returned to Garreg Mach, even though everyone else had given up the search for Byleth. As the visits persisted in the face of increasing danger, one by one, and with varying levels of understanding and acceptance, his friends had all come to the same conclusion: their leader was in love with their former professor.)

“I can’t say that I’m surprised,” Lorenz said curtly, but not unkindly. “You have a plan, then? - Oh, what am I saying? Of course you do. The Master Tactician wouldn’t have shown up without a plan.”

Claude, who had been trying to decide if Lorenz was mocking him or not, visibly fumbled his cranberry scone at that final comment.

Instantaneously, Lorenz’s face went from invested concern to mortification. “Goddess above - you don’t have a plan.”

Claude didn’t have the heart to say that his “plans” often sprung from gut feelings like this; that, very often, he was building a bridge to his goals and walking it simultaneously, trusting that there would be another plank when he reached back for one.

In this particular instance, his bridge took the form of an impromptu and extended stay at the palace while he figured out the world’s most diplomatically sensitive marriage proposal. He wanted to tell Lorenz that, actually, he had several possible scaffolds in place, he just hadn’t chosen one yet - but Claude could see the foundational flaws in all of them, and still hovered at the juncture, unsure where to lay the next plank.

“- No, I don’t,” he finally admitted, steepling his fingers on the desk. “I’m taking suggestions, though, if you have any?”

Lorenz took a slow, calculated sip of his tea, giving Claude one of his patented ‘how did you manage to become the leader of anything’ looks. “Marianne assures me that Byleth will recover in a matter of days -”

“I know,” Claude interjected miserably. His timetable was tragically inadequate.

“- And, while your presence here is temporarily acceptable on the basis of friendship, it will become much harder to justify after the palace returns to its normal operations -”

“I know, Lorenz,” Claude said, letting his forehead fall onto the points of his fingers. The pain, he thought, was well-deserved. “Sheesh, you don’t have to rub my nose in it…”

Lorenz laughed softly. “Apologies. I’m simply savoring the moment; it isn’t often you need my strategic input.”

With his face downturned and concealed, Claude grimaced. He supposed he’d deserved that, too.

“But,” Lorenz went on, “I do have a suggestion. Given your limited available time and lack of direction, we should enlist outside support.”

Claude raised his head incredulously. “Your solution is to have more people laugh at me?”

“Yes. Hilda and Marianne, to be precise.” Lorenz smirked and crossed his legs. “And they won’t laugh - in fact, Hilda will be delighted.”

His tone of voice was too amused for the answer to be anything good, but Claude still asked cautiously, “Why?”

“Oh, because I owe her quite a bit of gold, naturally - I thought it would take you and Byleth far longer to act on your feelings, and my money was on her acting first.”

---

Byleth loved the balcony off her bedchamber. It was on the same side of the palace as the throne room, only higher, with a wider perspective of the canal below and a down-angle view of the opposite block. Sitting on it and looking out, with the stone railing acting as an artificial horizon, she really felt as if she were floating above Derdriu; the city sprawled off endlessly to her right, while its great network of canals spilled into the bay on her left, all set in miniature from this height.

A tangy sea breeze teased through her hair, rustling the many and vibrant plants - in pots, hanging from the roof, and mounted in window boxes - that scattered the area. They were in perfect health, she noticed, despite the rarity of her visits, and Byleth wondered if it was some palace staffer’s entire job to maintain luxurious spaces like these, even though some busy official might seldom use them. 

She privately resolved to appreciate the balcony more often.

It didn’t take long for Claude to come whistling through her chambers, bearing a chess board like a server delivering a high-end meal. He put it down on a small, circular table where Byleth’s own board was already set up, then carefully aligned their edges to create a double-long playing field.

(They’d invented this game early on at Garreg Mach after discovering that neither of them felt challenged enough by the base rules. It had gone through several name changes before they’d agreed to just keep the original; after all, if either of them ever mentioned the game to the other, they both understood which (clearly superior) version was being referenced.)

“So, you managed to get Lorenz to part with it,” Byleth commented as he arranged his pieces and sat down opposite her. “What’d it cost you?”

Claude made a face like he’d just licked a lemon. “Oh, nothing much. Just my reputation and dignity.” He laughed it off, but there was a distinct, hollow ring of truth to his words. “Anyway. Sixty-point game?”

She cocked her head, intrigued. Their special rules allowed for custom “armies” to be built from the standard chess units, each with an individual point cost. Byleth personally liked to run an army without pawns - high risk, high reward (usually reward).

“Not forty?” she asked mildly, picking out her standard array plus an extra frontline of knights. Claude would regret handing her such an aggressive opener. “Are you trying out a new strategy?”

He grinned and laid out his own army, which seemed to focus around his sovereigns - and, as usual, contained a robust line-and-a-half of pawns. What he sacrificed in speed, he made up for in defensive surface area.

“I am. I think you’ll really like this one,” he said, playing his first (highly predictable) move. 

That was the thing about Claude, though. Byleth thought his move was predictable right now, at the beginning, but he was a highly intelligent improviser. The long field between armies meant that most of the game was based on ranged path speculation. 

Was a cluster of pieces actually heading toward her left flank, or would it divert to threaten other units at the last second? She’d have to put a metaphorical shield in place for the first possibility, and a sword for the other - and with Claude, it was impossible to tell ahead of time which he would actually pick. 

But, despite the chaos his playstyle caused, its spontaneity was also what made him such a compelling opponent. The tactical element never got stale.

“It’s bound to be more exciting than your rook phalanx idea,” Byleth teased, starting her knights off on their long journey.

Claude gasped like she’d just insulted his mother. “Hey, that was not my fault - it was a good attack pattern in theory!”

She made a tiny sound of agreement to humor him, but remained privately unconvinced.

As usual, they lapsed into silence for the first phase of the game, each trying to dissect the other’s overall strategy. Of course, at this stage, it was largely conjecture; there would be many, many reactive and counter-reactive moves before any two units actually engaged.

The quiet was nice, though. Ships’ bells echoed in from the piers, mingling with street noise rabble and the shrill cries of bay gulls. There was no one to demand her ear or her time - a rare commodity. She could tell Claude enjoyed it, too, by his easy smiles and relaxed posture.

Why had they ever stopped doing this? It dawned on Byleth that it had been years since their last game.

“- Hey, Claude,” she said at the thirty-turn mark.

He didn’t look up from his spread. “Hm?” “What in the world are you doing?”

His green eyes, which had been bouncing between forward pawns, flicked up to her face. “Setting up my midgame?” he half-asked, gesturing to his formation like the answer was obvious. “Why, what are you doing?”

Byleth narrowed her eyes at the board. He’d split his pawns into two staggered ranks with his sovereigns in the middle, like some sort of sandwiched convoy, and the outer ring of mid-tier pieces looked to be guards.

“Your brilliant new strategy is to hand-deliver your king to my army?” she contended, tracing his column’s trek down the board with her hands, then opening them wide, fingers hooked, to mime the pieces being eaten by a sharp-toothed monster.

Claude laughed confidently. “You’ll see. The king and queen together are unstoppable.”

It was certainly an unconventional approach. By virtue of its novelty, it tripped Byleth up several times in the early game - one might even say, around turn sixty, that her opponent had the advantage. But the sheer speed and maneuverability of her knightly vanguard eventually prevailed, and by turn ninety, she had his entire escort block surrounded. 

“Multi-point threat,” Byleth declared, moving in on his rear line. “This was an interesting idea, but I do believe your king is in mortal peril.”

Claude, who’d been standing for the last dozen turns, paced to the other side of the table. (He loved to do that - to see the situation from all angles, like he would in a real conflict. Unfortunately, that expanded perspective could do little for him here.)

“No, I think - listen - he still has his queen.”

Byleth examined the setup again. “Uh-huh, he sure does,” she drawled, trying to understand how that might change their fates.

“I’m just saying,” he went on, crouching so that he could view the board at eye level. “Look how far they’ve already come. Look at all they’ve been through together - it’s not like a little opposition could stop them now, right?”

She crossed her arms, a bewildered smile tugging at her mouth. “Are you seriously trying to Nemesis me right now? My bishops have them both in four.”

Claude gave a frustrated sigh. “No, this isn’t a scheme - well,” he amended, scratching pensively at his chin scruff, “okay, it is a scheme, but -”

I knew it, she thought, vindicated, and grinned accordingly.

“Ugh, forget it.” Claude toppled his king. “You’re right, it was an ill-fated venture that clearly needs outside support.”

Byleth frowned. “What? I didn’t say that.”

He waved his arms like he was dispelling the entire conversation. “Never mind. We’ve still got plenty of light - how about another game?”

---

Later that night, after Byleth and most of the palace had retired, Hilda’s raucous laughter rang out through the entire administerial wing.

“You tried to tell her with chess?!”

She, Claude, Marianne, and Lorenz all sat around a table in one of the meeting rooms, passing around a bottle of strong Faerghan whiskey.

“No wonder she didn’t get it,” Hilda continued, wiping tears from the corners of her eyes (in a delicate manner that spared her makeup). “You know how Byleth is!”

Lorenz refilled his glass, nodding emphatically. “Agreed. Subtlety will get you nowhere in that arena, my friend.”

“I thought it was sweet,” Marianne disclosed quietly.

Claude propped his feet up on an unused chair and dipped his chin gratefully. “Thank you. I also thought it would be sweet. And successful.”

He took a long swig straight from the bottle, much to Hilda’s amusement. “But you were right, Lorenz, okay? So -” he slapped the tabletop in invitation, “- go on. Advise me.”

Perhaps sensing that their friend was already punishing himself enough, no one pushed the teasing any further. Lorenz and Hilda shared a look - one that said they’d already discussed the matter privately - and then everyone got straight down to business.

“First of all, we should discuss the legal ramifications of your union,” Lorenz said, indicating the palace walls. “It’s true that anti-Almyran sentiment has died down greatly since the war, especially here in Leicester, but I fear widespread confusion - how much power would the king of Almyra suddenly have over their territories? Their livelihoods?”

Claude recoiled from the intensity. “Whoa! She hasn’t even said yes - aren’t we getting a little ahead of ourselves, here?”

(In truth, he had the same worries about his own homeland; it wasn’t like xenophobia was exclusive to Fodlan. His current plan - if she agreed - was to introduce her presence like he’d introduced his own: aggressively and unapologetically, with hopes that the Almyran public would regard it with the same eventual respect.)

The other three gave him bland looks.

“You really, honestly think she’ll turn you down?” Hilda asked in angry disbelief.

Claude gritted his teeth. “I don’t know - I mean, that’s Byleth’s whole deal, right? Unbeatable strategist? You never know what she’s thinking?”

“Oh, Claude,” Marianne said, patting him on the arm. “You should have more confidence in yourself.”

Hilda snorted into her tumbler.

“- Regardless, I don’t want to discuss the politics without her. If she says yes,” Claude emphasized with a stern glance around the table. “I have to get to the actual question first, okay? Lorenz. Ideas. Go.”

The man in question raised his eyebrows. “All right - well, Leonie proposed to me during a horseback ride. She’d painted all of her mounted archery targets with one word each, and in order they spelled out a question...oh, it was very romantic,” he said, his tone warming as he spoke. He then promptly cleared his throat. “But, ah, Byleth isn’t in a physical state for riding, hmm?”

Hilda propped her elbows up on the table and cradled her chin in her hands, recounting dreamily, “Marianne took me deep into the forest at night and professed her love under the light of the full moon. How could I have ever said no to that?”

Marianne hid behind her glass, her face beet-red. “I don’t, uhm, think there are any full moons coming up soon, though,” she managed to squeak out.

“Yeah, you have to do something quick.” Hilda pointed at him with her glass. “Let’s see - we already know it can’t involve winning something, so that’s out.”

Claude laughed sarcastically into the bottle.

“A grand display would not be diplomatically feasible, either,” Lorenz added.

Yeah, that made sense, Claude thought. A single plant in the throne room had brought word of Byleth’s illness to him in under three days - and he wasn’t the only one with eyes here. 

“You should do something that’s meaningful to both of you,” Marianne suggested, her face returning to its usual pallid shade. “Something simple but significant. Byleth would appreciate that, I think.”

Simple but significant.

Claude swirled the idea around in his head at the same time he swirled the contents of his bottle. Significant he could do - had been doing - but simple was another story. Maybe that was his problem; maybe he just needed to go back to the basics.

“And don’t get her a ring,” Hilda said. “I never see her wearing jewelry unless the tailors insist.”

He chewed on all of that, taking slow, measured sips of whiskey. Something meaningful to both him and to Byleth - something memorable, but uncomplicated. No rings, he added mentally. That was fine; as an archer, he disliked having obstructions around his hands, anyway. (And while they were out here breaking traditions, who cared if it was one or one hundred?)

“Hey,” he began, doing some quick calculations around wyverns’ seasonal nesting habits. “How quickly could I get something down the Goldroad?”

Lorenz’s brows knit together. “From the capital to here, I presume, and with the use of your royal seal? Within the week. Why? What do you need?”

Claude grinned, luxuriating in the rush of a good plan coming together. “All right, listen to this -”

---

If she could’ve had her way, Byleth would have chosen to remain in those last days of her fever forever. Her symptoms were mild and unobtrusive, she didn’t have to do any paperwork, and Claude was there; simply put, it was the ideal situation.

They spent four whole days together playing games, mixing various drinks, going for (short and supervised) walks around the garden, and reminiscing about old times - but Marianne’s medicines were effective and all things, even good things, must end.

On the morning of the fifth day, she knew she was cured. Her mind was clear and her body strong, if a little feeble from the bed rest. Everyone else must have been on the same page, too, because Marianne came to greet her after breakfast in Claude’s stead.

“So that’s the end of the arrangement, then?” Byleth asked, trying to keep her voice even and normal.

Marianne smiled softly and pressed the back of her hand to Byleth’s forehead. “Yes. Claude will be returning home this evening, as I’m sure he has many decisions waiting for him there.”

That makes two of us, Byleth thought dejectedly.

“Your temperature is perfectly normal,” Marianne reported. “Do you have any lingering fatigue? Dizziness?”

“Nope. Nothing,” Byleth said, heaving a reluctant sigh. “I suppose I should head down to the audience chambers.”

She really, truly hadn’t meant to sound like a pouting toddler bound for punishment, but that was exactly how it had come out.

Marianne laughed. “Yes, you should - tomorrow.” To answer Byleth’s questioning stare, she pointed across the room. “I think you’ll be too busy today.”

Right on cue, something large impacted outside the windows with a dull, cracking thud. Without thinking, Byleth whirled, ready for some sort of threat - (her sword belt was hanging next to her bed, easily accessible for such emergencies) - but it was only Claude on the balcony.

Rather, it was his massive white wyvern, Sahar. She’d perched on the railing, her sharp claws gouging long scrapes in the stone, and he was mounted on her back.

“Don’t worry, I’ll pay for that!” he called, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Good morning! Care for a ride?”

Byleth burst out in surprised laughter, too endeared to be mad about the property damage. She looked back, confused and curious, but Marianne just shook her head.

“Go,” she said, gesturing outward. “Have fun. You have my official medical clearance.”

That was all the permission Byleth needed to throw open the doors and run out, barefoot and grinning, to leap at Sahar’s saddle. The seaside wind blasted her hair back and Claude opened his arms for her arrival, bracing in his stirrups to absorb the impact.

They’d performed this maneuver many times during the war; since Byleth preferred to do her fighting on foot, Claude would often sweep down to reposition her more quickly. Even after five years without practice, they executed the pick-up without a hitch: she landed knees-first at the front of the saddle and Claude anchored her, wrapping both arms around her midsection.

In combat, the move had been utilitarian - the fastest way to mount up. Right now, though, it felt more intimate; with no armor, no weapons, and no urgency, they were basically just hugging on wyvern-back.

Byleth quickly turned herself around, hoping he hadn’t seen the blush rising up her neck. 

“That eager to get out of there, huh?” he teased, helping her get situated.

She rolled her eyes and cinched a pair of flight straps around her waist. The fit was snugly familiar, securing her to both the saddle and her fellow rider.

“You know the answer to that,” she replied, glancing down the tall outer walls of the palace. A few people in the canal-side gardens had looked up at the spectacle; they were too far away to see much detail, but this was clearly the queen’s bedchamber. “This isn’t the most discreet escape, is it?”

Claude scoffed, turning his mount skyward with a nudge. “Oh, it’s fine. Not many Fodlanese know about the white wyvern thing. Besides,” he said mischievously, testing the knots on her straps, “didn’t Marianne tell you? Our arrangement is done.”

With that, they were off. Sahar spread her massive wings - leathery and smooth, delicate and powerful all at once - to catch the current, pushing herself off into it and raining stone chips and dust in her wake.

Byleth yelped at the sudden lurch, falling back against Claude, who gladly supported her while they gained rapid altitude in the midday sky. Sahar’s rhythmic wing beats took them high above the notice of anyone in the city, down the palace’s canal and out into the bay.

She watched it all fall away as they climbed. The great trade ships shrank to the sizes of beetles in their lanes; the flocks of gulls that chased them, to mere specks. The ocean itself became an undulating cobalt tapestry, shot through with threads of white and gray.

When they leveled off and the wind died down in their ears, Claude spoke, “Remember when I taught you to fly?”

A series of images flashed in her mind: wrangling a saddle onto an impatient wyvern; losing straps and buckles under flapping wings; falling before she could even take off - so, so much falling.

“I remember when you tried to, sure,” she said, cringing at the memories. Even Leonie, who never gave up on anything, had declared Byleth’s flying skills unsalvageable. “Why?”

Claude laughed a little too hard, like he was recalling the very same foibles. “Nah. You just needed more time - we couldn’t spare any in the war. But now?”

“Are you suggesting,” Byleth said, throwing him a flat look over her shoulder, “that I fall on my ass repeatedly in front of the entire court? It was bad enough when it was just jeering students.”

“No, no, my point is -” Claude directed her attention back to their view of the bay, “- you could come out here whenever you wanted. Get away from it all.”

So he’d noticed her restlessness. Well, of course he did, Byleth admonished herself. He’s Claude.

���That would be...nice,” she admitted, giving him a half-smile. “It’s different, isn’t it? Leading during peacetime?”

He relaxed his hold on the reins and let Sahar go where she would in the open sky; she took full advantage of the freedom, floating into various air currents and skirting low, wispy clouds.

“Yeah, it is.” Claude’s tone was sober and diminished. He prodded gently, “How have you really been, Bee?”

The nickname brought unexpected tears to her eyes; he hadn’t used it since they parted at Garreg Mach five years ago. She’d forgotten how fond and welcoming it sounded - how warm - coming from his mouth.

Byleth faced straight ahead, glad he couldn’t see her expression. It must have been just as regretful and conflicted as her mind.

“I never expected to be here,” she murmured, and in her heart she finished the thought: without you. Her voice barely carried over the wind, but she knew Claude had heard it; he scooted closer to her in the saddle, whether consciously or not. “Everyone around me is so certain of their place, and I’m...not.”

Her thoughts strayed to Edelgard and Dimitri, to their twin drives that - even misguided and corrupted as they were - strove for a better world at their roots. Byleth, who held no grand vision for the future, couldn’t help but feel unfit for the mantles they’d left behind.

(Truthfully, that was one of many reasons why Derdriu was her favorite capital, and spring her favorite season. Fhirdiad’s and Enbarr’s thrones still felt like someone else’s seats to her - someone else’s dreams.)

“I don’t think anyone expected to be where they are now,” Claude said, matching her volume. When Byleth shot him another ‘quit your bullshit’ look, he chuckled and corrected himself, “Okay. Maybe I did, but nobody else did.”

“Lorenz thought he’d be leading the Alliance, hitched to some noble lady. Hilda didn’t think she’d be doing anything.” Claude put up one finger for each example. “Marianne wanted to keep her head down. Ignatz thought he’d be barred from his passions.”

He rested his chin on the top of Byleth’s head. “Expectations and reality don’t always match up. Are you unhappy with where you are, Your Majesty?”

I’m exceedingly happy where I am, she thought, easing herself back to rest against him. And that’s the problem.

“No,” she answered simply. “I’m not.”

Claude, perhaps sensing the dishonesty in her words, hummed doubtfully. The sound rumbled deep in her chest. “Well - if you ever were unhappy, you know I’d help, right? No matter what it was.”

“I know,” she said, tilting her head to smile up at him. “And - I think you’re right.”

He shifted to accommodate her better, crossing his arms over her lap to grip the saddlehorn. “Oh? About expectations?”

“No, about flying.” She settled into their pseudo-embrace, resolving to enjoy it while it lasted. “I should learn.”

Claude made a small, happy noise in his throat. “I’ll teach you. It’ll be great.”

They drifted down the Edmund coastline in a comfortable quiet after that. If not for the Throat looming in the distance - a constant reminder of the hourglass hanging over their flight - Byleth would’ve been perfectly content. The longer they went, the more she wished he would just keep flying straight over the mountains - but the sun continued on its inexorable path through the heavens, and all things, even good things, must end.

Still, though, when he wheeled them around and began the journey back, Byleth thought she detected a resonant note of hesitation in him.

By the time they’d reached the bay of Derdriu, the sun hung low and the sky had turned to vibrant oranges and indigos; the frothy crests of waves, the metal fixtures on ships’ masts, and even the scaly tips of Sahar’s wings shone golden in the rich evening light. 

The palace’s white marble exterior reflected sunset-colors onto the streets and canal below. In any other instance, she’d find it beautiful, but right now it was no different than the Throat: an ominous, prohibitive barrier.

Claude guided Sahar to the balcony again, wincing as her claws ground fresh holes into the railing.

“- I’ll pay for that,” he reiterated sheepishly, then hopped down to offer Byleth a hand.

She took it, letting him assume her weight while she scrambled much less gracefully to the ground. The stone tiles, quickly cooling with the onset of night, chilled her bare feet on contact; she shivered, looking back wistfully at the evening sky. 

When she turned around again, Claude was watching her intently. Unreadably. 

“Did you enjoy the ride?” he asked.

“I did. Thank you.” She tried to match his tone, to hide her sadness - to appreciate the time they’d had together instead of mourning its conclusion. “I suppose you need to get going, then?”

“Mm, not quite yet,” he replied with a secretive smile, wrapping Sahar’s reins around her saddlehorn. He muttered a phrase to her in Almyran, to which the great wyvern nuzzled into his hand and took off in the direction of the aviary.

“Let’s get you warmed up, first.” He strode past her to the open balcony doors, jerking his head toward it encouragingly when she didn’t immediately follow. “Come on, it’s okay - I have time.”

Byleth trailed after him, instantly suspicious. He was using his ‘false sense of security’ voice again, like he had on the first night. “Claude, what are you planning?” she called out warily, stepping into her darkened bedchamber.

A spark struck in the hearth, setting the tinder inside ablaze and silhouetting Claude in a red-orange halo. “Why do I have to be planning something?” he countered, overly defensive, as he stoked the fire. “- You looked cold, is all.”

She gave him a skeptical once-over, then turned to grab a cloak from her wardrobe - and there on her dresser, shining in the firelight, was a lacquered ebony box the length of her arm.

It was decorated with glittering gold leaf along its edges, clearly meant to hold something valuable. Byleth whipped around to fix Claude with an accusing glare, but he just shrugged innocently and motioned for her to open it.

He had a long history of bequeathing strange gifts to his friends, always seeming to enjoy the reactions a little too much. Byleth wasn’t aware of any current holidays, though, either in Fodlan or Almyra.

She sighed and lifted the lid. “I swear, if this is another apron -” 

The breath caught in her throat. It most definitely was not an apron.

Nestled in a bed of burgundy velvet, only slightly smaller than the box itself, laid a porcelain-white wyvern egg dotted with flecks of pearlescent ivory. 

This time when she glanced back, it was in affectionate curiosity. “So this is why you were pushing flight training,” she said, gingerly touching the warm shell. “But - aren’t white wyverns only given to members of the royal family?”

Claude moved to stand next to her, drained of all his earlier mirth and bravado. In its place was a tense energy she hadn’t sensed in him since they’d last met at the Goddess Tower.

“Well, yeah, that’s the idea,” he said with a nervous laugh. “I was hoping you’d, uh, well - I wanted to ask you, since -”

He stopped and grunted, looking disgusted with himself. “Let me start over.”

Byleth nodded, absolutely baffled. What in Sothis’s name was he trying to say?

Claude ran a hand back through his hair and took a deep, steadying breath. “We both didn’t have the best experiences with family growing up. I mean, you had Jeralt and I had my mom, and they were great, but other than that it was…”

“Lonely,” she offered. They’d discussed their respective childhoods many times before - commiserated in the shared wounds of alienation and neglect.

Delicately, he took her hand and squeezed it. “Yeah. Lonely. And if I’m reading this correctly, so were the last five years, right?”

Byleth swallowed a lump in her throat and nodded again.

“Yeah,” Claude repeated softly. “For me, too. So, I thought - maybe neither of us has to be lonely anymore.”

His meaning dawned on her like a sunrise, blooming heat high in her cheeks. Her embarrassment fueled his, in turn, and they were left staring at one another in stunned silence; from an outside perspective, they must have looked - fittingly - like a pair of panicked deer.

“Claude,” she pronounced thickly, needing to verify her theory, “are you asking me to…?”

“Mhm,” he confirmed, a portion of his usual confidence flickering back to life in his smile. He tipped her chin upward with his index finger. “I want to be your family. I want you to be my family.”

Byleth had spent the first part of her life without adequate modes of expression. Before meeting Claude, she’d gotten by on curt gestures and a flat affect - and now, in the face of overwhelming emotion, she regressed right back to that state.

All she could do to communicate her answer was to jump and reach for him, just like she was leaping onto his wyvern - and, predictably, protectively, his arms closed around her. Anchored her.

Like always, she thought. A perfect catch.

“Woah - I’ll take that as a yes, then?” Claude asked, tentatively hopeful, laughing and stepping backward from the unexpected force.

Byleth buried her face in his shoulder and nodded, unable to speak; hot tears spilled from her eyes, soaking into Claude’s tunic collar, and her wrists trembled where they were clasped at his neck. Her heart had never beat, yet now it was overflowing, filling her chest with something happy and potent and home that she’d never dared to covet before.

In the glow of the hearth, to the crackling of logs and the faint rush of a sea breeze outside, Claude rocked them back and forth at a measured, soothing pace. He kissed her forehead, her temple, her cheekbone, wiping away her tears with his thumb and whispering in a shaky voice, “It’s okay, Bee. We’re going to be so happy, I promise. I promise.”

---Epilogue---

Lorenz understood the severity of the Airmid flooding - really, he did - but he did not understand why it needed to translate into a six-in-the-morning assembly. Anything the ministers discussed there could be handled just as easily, and with more lucidity, during their regular working hours.

Still, he trudged diligently up the stairs to the meeting rooms. If there were emergency measures to enact, then, by the goddess, he’d see them enacted. The peoples of Hrym and Ordelia had already suffered enough for several lifetimes.

He was just inside the threshold, blinking and stifling a yawn, when he saw them: Byleth and Claude, seated side by side at the head of the meeting table, the former digging into a plate of food and the latter grinning like a madman.

Lorenz’s yawn cut off abruptly; his jaw snapped shut with a click.

“You’re still here,” he grumbled, sliding into a chair on an empty side. “Somehow I doubt this is about the floods.”

Hilda and Marianne, who were sitting opposite him, giggled quietly together, their hands clasped on the tabletop. (Frankly, it made him jealous. Leonie hadn’t wanted to touch the office of royal minister with a ten-foot lance.)

“Nope,” Byleth said, pointing at Claude with her fork. “This is about the legality of our marriage.”

Hilda clapped frantically with excitement. “Congratulations! Ooh, this is going to be the biggest wedding ever - can you imagine the guest list? We’ll be curating it for months.”

“I think I’ll exclude my paternal cousins,” Claude mused. “Just to watch them squirm.”

Marianne nodded. “They deserve it.”

“Wait. Hold.” Lorenz slapped his daily ledger down on the table like a judge calling for order, and it worked just the same. The rabble died down, all eyes turning to him. “First of all: congratulations, you two. You’ve made me a marginally poorer man.”

Hilda snickered triumphantly.

“Second: this is going to be a legislative nightmare - and don’t you tell me differently, Claude von Riegan,” he added, holding up a finger when it looked like Claude would cut in. 

“I’ll abdicate,” Byleth suggested, stabbing into a sausage.

“No -!” all three ministers shouted in unison - even Marianne, who’d also half-stood from her chair, hands braced on the table.

(Meanwhile, Claude simply watched his new fiancee with moon-eyed adoration; Lorenz was sure he’d humor anything she said right now.)

“That - that won’t be necessary,” Lorenz said, clearing his throat and smoothing down his ascot. “I only mean that it will take time and collaboration. Claude, I insist that you stay another week while we draft something for you to take home. I’ll write to Nader.”

Byleth let out a rare exuberant gasp; beside her, Claude glanced down the table and gave Lorenz a sly, conspiratorial wink. 

“- Oh, try to act professionally about this, would you?” he insisted, but an infectious smile was already spreading across his own face. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Author’s Notes

candidates for game names:

byleth: better chess (rejected - judgmental)

claude: long chess (rejected - misleading)

hilda: chess 2 (considered but ultimately rejected - legality)

lorenz: tactician’s chess (rejected - boring)

[thebookwormfairy]

Daminette/Maribat Fairy Tail Au Part 1

Marinette grew up in a world filled with magic

Although Marinette's own parents weren't wizards, but bakers, she inherited her Gramdfather Fu's magic, celestial magic

She was able to summon spirits to help her with the help of silver and gold gate keys

The silver gate keys are pretty common, as far as gate keys go

The gold keys were a lot more rare as there was only 12 of them

Marinette already had 3, Tikki spiritof creation, Plagg spirit of destruction and Wayzz spirit of protection

They were her Grandfather's keys and he passed them down to her when he retired.

She also had a magic yoyo gifted to her by Tikki after her Grandfather had given her Tikki's key when he started training her

So when Marinette turned 16 she decided to follow in her Grandfather's footsteps and join a boarding guild

She ended up joining the Miraculous Moth guild, a guild that had a large amount of members, but nothing like Justice League, who had almost half the amount of members, but was about 10x more powerful

Their guild stamp was a pointy looking moth

Marinette had decides to get hers on her left shoulder in red

The guild master was Gabriel Agreste

Nobody was really sure what type of magic he had, but there were always a new rumor floating around that said something different.

Some said he had transformation magic

Others said he had solid script magic

Few thought he had absolutely no magic at all

And het there was some who whispered that he was a celestial wizard

Marinette didn't give the rumors much thought

She was too busy getting to know her new guild mates

She made some great friends and even made up a team with Adrien (Gabriel's son), Alya, and Nino

They were a pretty good team

Adrien was an equip mage

He can summon different weapons and armor

Alya was a solid script mage

She can create create materials by writing words out in the air

And finally Nino was a sonic mage

He can produce and control sound waves and use it against enimies

They were called Team Adrien

Marinette joined their team a week after joining the guild

The three had already been a team before hand for a couple of years

So because of this Marinette felt like a stranger looking in sometimes

Either way they made a good team

Though they were a little destructive

Luckily for them Tikki can fix everything with her miraculous ladybug spell

They had a pretty good team for about a year than somebody new joined the guild

Her name was Lila Rossi and she was an illusionist mage

She claimed to be a great independent wizard and even was offered a spot at Justice League

She told stories about saving villages and people from evil wizards and monsters

Everybody was so amazed by her, but Marinette has her doubts

She couldn't explain it, but it was just a gut feeling, but Marinette tried to do her best to push that aside a welcome her with open arms

She even joined Team Adrien

And that's when stuff really went down hill for Marinette

Lila started to make sly remarks about Marinette and celestial wizards in general

Stuff like how she didn't really contribute to fights and instead just let her spirits do all the work

Even though Marinette fights whenever she can using her yoyo

Or how Marinette is the weakest on the team

Even though Marinette could now summon 2 spirits at once something most celestial spirits can't even dream of doing especially with golden keys

She tried to ignore it, but as time went on it hurt more and more

And when her friends started to join in she tried to change that

She started to try and cast star dress

Which would allow her to share her powers with her spirits

And gave her a cute outfit with that

Her team mates didn't seem to understand or appreciate her attempts to gain more strength

They started to leave her behind for missions

They cut her part of the rewards down claiming because she didn't do as much work as the rest if them so she doesn't deserves an equal amount of the reward

Sometimes they were just abandon her to finish a job by herself then demand their part of the reward even though Marinette did all the work

The final straw came after a very dangerous mission

They were going up against a dark wizard who was kidnapping young women and selling them them into the slave trade

They took the job because the reward money was ridiculous and a golden gate key

So the team decided to use Marinette as live bait

Because she would get such a great prize for the mission

Which she was okay with

And she was successful in luring him out and was going to fight him until she realized her yoyo was gone

She then checked her keys and they were gone too

Marinette panicked and tried to hold the dark wizard back the best she can while yelling for her teammates

They didn't show up

In a last ditch effort Marinette tried to use star dress magic

Marinette: STAR DRESS LADYBUG!

Marinette felt a rush of magic fall over her

It had work

She was now wearing a read flowie dress that fell a couple of inches above her knees with a black ribbon tied around her waist and black fingerless gloves

Her hair was now down with a red headband and black flats on her feet with a new red and black pock a dot yoyo

She used her new yoyo to tie the creep up and her team finally showed up

Marinette: WHERE WERE YOU GUYS AND WHO HAS MY KEYS?!?!

Alya: Chill girl Lila pointed out that the wizard wouldn't go after somebody with magic items on them so we just grabbed them before you left

Alya held out Marinette's keys and yoyo and Marinette snatched them out of her hands checking everything over

Marinette: THAT IS SOO STUPID!!! YOU GUYS ALMOST GOT ME KILLED OR WORST

Adrien: Calm down Marinette

Marinette: DON'T TELL ME TO CALM DOWN!

Lila *tearing up*: Come on Marinette we weren't that far away

Marinette: I DON'T WANT TO HEAR IT! I'M SO DONE WITH ALL OF YOU RIGHT NOW!

Alya: Stop being such bitch Marinette you're fine and look you finally did that stupid star dress thing you were trying to do

Nino: Yeah dudette if you're going to be like that maybe Lila should get that gate key instead of you.

Marinette just glared at the group and used Plagg to help her drag the wizard to the Grand Council gourds that were posted in the town

She dropped him off got the reward money and the gate key

It was the Key of Illusion Trixx

When her teammates asked where their shares were Marinette just glared at them again

The whole trip back was her team criticizing her about keeping the money for herself

Marinette remained silent during the whole ride back

When they got back to the guild Lila cried to anybody who would listen about how mean and selfish Marinette was for keeping the money

Marinette ignored her and walked up to Gabriel

Marinette: Sure I would like to resign from this guild

Gabriel: Are you sure Ms. Dupen-Cheng?

Marinette: Yes after today I don't feel welcomed her any more

Gabriel: Well it'll be a shame to lose a wizard with such assets. Are you sure about this?

Grabiel looked down at the keys rested on Marinette's hip before looking back at Marinette's eyes

Marinette: Yes I'm sure

Grabiel snapped his fingers and Natalie, his second in command, removes her guild mark

Marinette walked out of the guild receiving sneers and nasty remarks from her ex-guildmates

She walked out and never looked back

She went to her home town to live with her parents and help out with the backery

She needed a break from guilds and other wizards

So she and sometimes her spirits would help her parents out

Well Tikki, Wayzz and Trixx did Plagg mostly just ate all the cheese pastries

Marinette kept training though she even made it so she can do Dtar dress with Plagg and Wayzz

Her bound with Trixx wasn't strong enough to complete star dress with him yet

After a couple of months Marinette was walking through town when she bumped into 2 boys

Both boys had black hair and looked around the same age

But one had blue eyes and was paler than his partner whi had green eyes

Damian: Sorry miss but you'll have to come with use there's no time to lose

Damian grabbed Marinette's hands and continue running with his partner Jon

Marinette: What's going on?

Jon: We're wizards on a mission to stop a dark guild who's top members are currently chasing us, so we're trying to lead them away from the populated area to avoid casualties

Marinette: Okay there's a short cut to outside of town, This way!

Marinette pulled Damian down an alley with Jon following the 2

Marinette could hear the sounds of crashing at the entrance of the alley assuming it was the dark guild members

They burst out of the alley into the open field next to the town

They made it to the end of the field before they had to face the evil wizards

Marinette looked over the group of eight wizards

Each one looking tougher than the last

Damian: Get out of here miss we can take

Marinette: No way there are way to many people for the just the 2 of you

Jon: what can you do to help?

Hearing that lit a fire in Marinette

Marinette: This! Open gate of creation, Tikki!

Damian and Jon watch with surprise as Tikki appeared in front of them

Tikki: I'm here to help

Marinette: Tikki we're going against a team of dark wizards be ready for anything!

Damian: You're a cestial wizard?

Marinette: Yep and that's not all I can do. Star Dress Black Cat!

Marinette was surrounded by a bright light

When it faded she was wearing black combat boots with neon green thigh high socks

Black shorts with a neon green belt

And a black tank top with a hood attach that had cat ears on it, with the inside of the hood being neon green

Her hair was still in pigtails but now were resting in front of her shoulders

In her hands laid a bo staff

Damian in wonder and Jon a little scared: Wow

With Marinette's celestial magic, Jon's fire God-slaying magic, and Damian shadow dragon slaying magic they were able to take down the wizards with ease and soon all the dark wizards were capture

The group of teens handed over the wizards to the guards before they finally have a proper introduction

Marinette: I'm Marinette by the way, Marinette Dupen-Cheng.

Jon: Nice to meet you Marinette, I'm Jon Kent and this is my partner Damian Wayne

Damian grabbing Marinette's hand and kissing the back of it: It's a honor to meet such a powerful and kind wizard

Marinette blushing: O-oh I don't know about that, I'm not that powerful and anybody would have jumped in

Damian: I'm not so sure about that

Marinette ended up inviting the two back to the backery for a free lunch

They continue to talk just getting to know eachother

And a good amount of flirting went on between Marinette and Damian

They were laughing and joking around and Marinette felt like she gained something she lost when she left her team

They continue their conversation as they make it to the backery

Marinette introduces them to her maman and papa before taking them upstairs to make lunch for all of them

They continue to laugh and joke around and Damian insisted on helping Marinette cook

Jon: But you're an awful cook, you go around eating people's shadows before you cook.

Marinette: Eating shadows?

Damian *blushing*: Yes I'm a shadow dragon slayer, so when I get hungry I can eat shadows or darkness

Marinette: I thought all the dragon slayers were in the Justice League guild

Jon: Yeah that's our guild

Jon pulled down his shirt to show his blue guild mark which looked like a J and L put together with a star in the middle

Damian rolled up his sleeve to show his green guild mark on his left forearm

Marinette: You guys are a part of Justice League?!?! Oh no I must be holding you guys up! I'm so sorry!

Damian: Oh no, not at all! We're really not that busy! Right Jon

Damian gave Jon a pointed look as if it say not to upset the cestial mage

Jon: Right! We have plenty of time especially with the help you gave us today. We thought we would have to be here another week at least, thanks to you we can leave tomorrow

Marinette turning around to continue cooking: Well I'll be sorry to see you go

Damian grabbing Marinette and turning her around holding her by her shoulders: Then why don't you come with us? You said yourself you don't have a guild and you're way too talented just to stay here all your life

Marinette: I don't know I don't think I'm powerful enough to join Justice League

Damian: Are you crazy? You're more than powerful enough!

Jon jumping up: Yeah! And you can be apart of our team! If we stick together nothing can stand on our way!

Marinette still wasn't too sure until she felt her keys warm with encouragement from her spirits

Marinette: Okay I'll join you!

Damian and Jon smiled and Jon raised his hand for a high five, which Damian didn't reciprocate but Marinette did

Marinette turned back to continue cooking as Damian continue to pester her to help

Marinette finally relented and told him to chop the veggies

After lunch the two boys left for their hotel telling Marinette to meet them at the train station tomorrow at 11

That night Marinette told her parents her plans and they were over joyed for her

To them Marinette started to look like a cage bird staying in the bakery longing to spread her wings but start in a small cage

The next day Marinette packed up all her things and met the boys at the train station

The trip was long it felt even longer because poor Damian had motion sickness like all dragon slayers

At one point he ended up resting his head on Marinette's lap which seemed to help him a bit so Marinette's just let him stay there

As soon as the train stopped Damian perked up

They made it to the city of Gotham just in time for dinner

Jon dragged Damian and Marinette down the streets of Gotham determined to get her to join as soon as possible

Damian: Calm down Kent I want her to join just as badly as you do, but I don't think pulling her arm out of her socket will make her move any faster

Jon: I'm just so excited! Just wait until you meet everyone Marinette they'll love you! One of the guild master's mother was a celestial wizard like you, even owned Tikki before

Marinette: Guild Masters?

Damian: Yeah our guild instead of having only 1 master has 5. Because we have so many powerful members they felt it wouldn't be right for 1 person to have so much power, so instead we have 5

Marinette nodded her head in understanding

The rest of the walk to the guild was filled with Jon's babbling about Justice League and what Marinette could expect

When they made it to the front of the guild hall Marinette froze

All the bad memories from her old guild came flooding back

And with that all her worries about being accept came back with

Marinette was spiralling until she felt another hand engulf her smaller one

Marinette looked up to see Damian with a soft look on his face

Damian: Don't worry Angel you'll be great, and no matter what you'll have me and Jon right by your side

Marinette blushed at Damian's nickname for her looking over at Jon when she feels him take her other hand

Jon: He's right Mari you have us, no matter what

Marinette smiled squeezing the boys' hands before letting go of Jon's, but keeping a hold on Damian's hand

Not that he minded or planned on letting her hand go either

They opened the doors to the guild and found utter choas

There seemed to be some sort of brawl going on among the younger members

The guild hall was two stories and as Marinette looked up on the second floor she can see the older members of the guild calmly eating and chatting ignoring the antics of the younger members

Marinette stared as Damian and Jon maneuvered her around the guild pulling her down to avoid the bodies being thrown and Damian lifted her up to avoid one of the guild members who were sent skidding along the floor

They finally made it the bar area were Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent, and Diana Prince stood watching the choas

Damian: Hello Father I have brought a new wizard to join the guild

Dick from across the guild: WHAT?!?!

Tim from another part of the guild: DAMIAN BROUGHT A GIRL HOME!

The members cheered and Marinette and Damian stuttered saying it wasn't like that

But it was too late Damian got pulled into the chaos by his brother loudly protesting and somehow joining in the brawl

Bruce sighed: So you wish to join Justice League Ms...

Marinette: Marinette, Marinette Dupen-Cheng

Jon talking to Clark: And she's really powerful dad, she helped us take down that dark guild we were sent to stop

Diana: And what magic do you wield little one?

Marinette: I'm a celestial wizard and I can also preform star dress with some of my spirits

Diana impressed: And what keys to you have?

Marinette: I have a few silver one, the clock and the cross, and I have 4 golden keys, Tikki, Plagg, Wayzz, and Trixx. I can do star dress with all of the gold ones except Trixx out bond isn't strong enough yet.

Diana: That's very impressive. You know my mother used to hold Tikki's key before she retired and gave it to her dear friend Fu Cheng

Marinette smiling: He's my grandfather, sadly he passed a couple of years back.

Diana: I'm sorry to here about your lost, but if Fu entrusted you with Tikki and his other spirits you must be a powerful wizard. I vote we let her join

Marinette: Thank you

Clark: If my son says she's worthy that's all I need, I say yes to

The two guild masters looked over to Bruce waiting for his answer

Bruce: I can sense a large amount of magic and magic potential in you. It's a yes from me to, and since that makes a majority we are pleased to welcome you into Justice League. As soon as Damian escapes his brothers he can help give you a guild mark

Marinette looked around scanning for Damian giggling when she finds him in a tousle with 3 other boys who she assumes are his brothers

Dick was holding Damian in a headlock as Damian clung to Tim's back pulling his hair as Tim tried to pin Jason to the floor as Jason tried to pull Dick down with him

Jon laughing with her: Yeah those are our dragon slayers. You of course know Damian. Dick is the one putting him in the headlock, he's a light dragon slayer and a great acrobat. Damian probably gets along the best with him out of all his brothers. The boy who's getting his haired pulled out by Damian is Tim he's a lighting dragon slayer, but can also do solid script magic and barely sleeps. I swear one time I saw him eat straight coffee beans. Finally the boy with white streak in his hair trying to pull Dick down with him is Jason. He's a metal dragon slayer who prefers to use his magic to make weapons. He's the only one of the brothers who isn't on a specific team. He usually just tags along with whatever team he feels like or goes on solo missions.

Damian sensing Marinette staring at him looks towards her blushing

He shakes his brothers off him trying to make his way over to Marinette only to be stop by Jason

Jason grabbing Damian's waist: wait a moment Demon Spawn we're not done with you yet!

Damian thrashing around: Release me Todd!

Tim messing with Damian's hair: Aww are we embarrassing you in front of you girlfriend?

Damian: stop it Drake!

Dick stepping in: All right guys that's enough we don't want to ruin Hatchlings (a/n: Get it because they're dragon slayers) chances with his girlfriend

Damian finally breaks away from his brothers rushing over to Marinette and Jon

Damian: Sorry about that my brothers are idiots. How did it go?

Marinette: They said I could join, Mr. Wayne said you could help me with my guild mark

Damian: Of course come with me

Damian grabbed Marinette's hand pulling her towards a side room as Jon went to go talk to his brother Connor

Marinette decided to get a pink guild mark on the top of her right hand

Marinette seemed to fit right in with the rest of the guild

There was no adjustment period like with her old guild she seemed to be able to join in right away

She learned when a brawl was about to start up and how to avoid flung guildmates

Though Damian still insisted on lifting her over skidding bodies

She and Diana formed a close bound that started with Diana telling her stories about her mother and Tikki and it evolved in a mentor/mentee relationship

Marinette also joined Damian Nd Jon's team helping keep them focus on missions and stop the few fights that broke out between them

Sometimes Damian's brothers would "kidnap" Marinette to go on missions with them which usually lead to Damian running after them and Jon following Damian

Marinette became close friends with Dick's girlfriend Kori, Barabra, and Stephanie

They would sometimes go on girl only missions together

When they return they would often find Dick, Tim, and Damian sulking that they were left behind

That's the end of part 1, I hate to do this to you guys, but I learned there is a limited to dots and it's 250. I'll do a part 2 soon because there is still more to tell. Part 2

[yellowmagicalgirl]

A Ring, A Blade, An Ornament, A Wreath

Ilia would like to one day propose to Blake using Faunus customs, but she doesn't know which ones.

Years later, Blake makes an assumption about the type of proposal Ilia would like.

This was originally written for the 2021 Rare Pairs Exchange over on AO3. It takes place both pre-canon and post-Volume 8 due to a time skip in the middle.

CW: References to past character death as well as canon-typical anti-Faunus racism.

AO3

FFN

In Mantle and Atlas, they used rings to propose. It was a human tradition, yes, but it was one perpetuated by Faunus as well. Ilia still remembered her parents wedding rings, woven out of discarded wires. They weren’t much in terms of expensive materials as proof of being able to provide for each other, but they had been handmade proof of her parents’ love for each other. She hadn’t gotten them back with the rest of her parents things when they had died. In a best-case scenario, her parents’ rings had been thought to be debris from the cave-in. It was more likely that humans had taken them, though whether out of mockery of Ilia’s grief, wanting to claim some sort of repayment with precious objects, or mockery of the materials used Ilia would never be sure.

Ilia and her parents had been cowards, and she didn’t want to emulate them or the human-supremacist society she had grown up in. She especially didn’t want to emulate them when she proposed to Blake. She promised herself that she wouldn’t give Blake a ring… after Ilia figured out how to confess her feelings to Blake, of course.

Faunus had many different proposal traditions, but theirs had been stamped out as they tried to assimilate with humans. The scholars of Menagerie were trying to piece together older cultural traditions, and Menagerie had many different proposal traditions as a result. Ilia wondered what type of proposal Blake would prefer. Out of all the traditions Ilia had heard about, she found she preferred the ones where she would have to make something for Blake. It was what her parents had done, and it felt purer than all those stuffy girls at Ilia’s prep school daydreaming about getting an expensive gem-encrusted ring of fine metals.

One of the traditions Ilia liked was one that had originally come from one of the deserts of Anima that she liked most. It had started with some of the Faunus tribes that had inhabited the area and then having spread to humans because it was a useful tradition, only to become frowned upon as one of the pre-Mistrali kingdoms tried to colonize the area with religious fervor. And yet, the tradition had survived to make it to Menagerie, with happy couples giving each other small, intricate blades no bigger than a hand.

Ilia had made Lightning Lash herself, so maybe she would be good at making a blade for Blake. Granted, Blake had made Gambol Shroud all on her own, so it wasn’t like she needed a blade from Ilia. Then again, the blades didn’t look like they were useful. Well, maybe they were useful for things like cutting small, thin vegetables or spreading butter, but Blake deserved a blade she could defend herself with. Not that she needed Ilia’s help with that, since Blake had always been an amazing fighter with a strong, defensive semblance.

Perhaps Blake would prefer the traditions originally held by the Dacia, a nomadic Faunus community that originated in southwestern Sanus. They used hair ornaments, worn at the end of braids. Granted, Blake didn’t braid her hair, and she didn’t wear any hair ornaments aside from the bow she used to hide her ears whenever she would go into a human settlement for supplies. Ilia didn’t like that part about Blake, how she hid and tried to blend in with humans. Still, Blake was doing a lot better than Ilia had in that regard. Even when they went to get supplies, Blake wouldn’t stand back when they saw a non-passing Faunus being harassed.

Ilia sighed. Blake was so cool and beautiful, and she was wasted on Adam. Maybe Ilia would finally tell Blake that when Blake came back from the train mission she and Adam were going on tomorrow morning. Maybe. Ilia wasn’t sure how she would be able to do so.

New Mantle had become rather prosperous compared to the refugee camp it had been eight years ago. Granted, it helped that the Grimm were finally defeated less than a year after the fall of Atlas. Ilia had felt strangely sad, hearing the news that the cities she had grown up in were both gone. She had hated both of them, symbols of her own cowardice as a bystander, and yet they had both held good memories, no matter how tainted they were. Her parents’ graves and the house she grew up in had flooded; her prep school would have been smashed with the impact. And all that strange anguish she had felt at losing places she hadn’t planned on ever returning to had only gone up exponentially when she learned that Blake was dead. Or, more specifically, she had fallen. She was technically missing, as no one expected to ever find a body.

Blake hadn’t been Ilia’s first love, but she had been Ilia’s greatest love.

And then she came back. She had changed; she was the first Faunus with magical powers who was not a maiden or a bearer of silver eyes.

And finally, finally, she was looking at Ilia the way that Ilia had always hoped Blake would.

Things had changed in the years since. Ilia and Blake were dating, and Salem had been defeated. The world was not at peace, but it was far closer to it than it had been during Ilia’s childhood. The two of them had settled down together in the outskirts of Vale, but right now they were visiting friends. Tonight, they would be meeting up with Neon, Coal, and their daughter Irida for dinner, but that was hours from now. Right now, they were walking through one of the street markets. They had grabbed a light lunch from one of the Atlesian-Vacuan stalls and were now looking for a trash can to dispose of the paper wrappers.

“Oh hey, look!” Blake said, pointing. Ilia turned her head, expecting to see a trash can but instead she saw a stall.

A ring maker’s stall. The rings were done in the style of Atlesian engagement rings. It was a temporary stall, which made sense. The spring equinox was coming up, and it was an old Mantle tradition to propose at the start of spring and marry at the start of summer. Ilia still remembered being so shocked when her prep school classmate talked about having attended a winter wedding; the tradition hadn’t carried to the city in the sky that promised freedom from Grimm, hunger, and the bitter cold.

Blake looked at Ilia, smiled, blushed, looked away again, and took a breath. “What’s your ring size?”

Ilia blinked and then dropped Blake’s hand so that Ilia could put both hands in front of her mouth. “I, are you –“

“No, no, not yet. I’d do something at least a little fancier than just picking out rings together and calling it a day. But, we’ve been dating for years, and I think that it’ll be time, soon. And, since you grew up in Mantle, I thought you’d like to follow the ring tradition.”

“I mean, if you had asked me a decade ago, I would’ve been insulted by it. Now, I’m not too sure. How did your parents get engaged?”

“My mom’s family is from Mistral, so my dad proposed to her with Mistrali traditions. And, since it’s a woven wreath of flowers, and our family name is from a flower…”

“Oh, no, he didn’t.”

“Yeah, he proposed with a wreath of poisonous flowers. Obviously, my mom accepted his proposal anyways, but I wouldn’t want to recreate my parents’ proposal.”

A woven wreath of flowers, though not of conventional materials. Made by Ghira’s own hands to show his love for Kali.

“How would you feel about a non-poisonous wreath?”

Blake smiled at her. “You still haven’t told me your ring size.”

[vanaera]

Defining Epilogues (ksj)

Synopsis:  Seokjin thinks he could always see the end of something before it even comes. When an annoying girl starts to rent the weirdest books from his shop, all Seokjin could see is how she will be the one to end him.

Characters: Seokjin x Female Reader

Trope/Au: Book rental shop owner!ksj x animator/artist!you (onesided enemies to lovers)

Genre: Fluff, comedy that’s close to crack

Wordcount: 6.3k

Warnings: Books with weird titles and secondhand-embarrassment-inducing sfw sex jokes (PG-15 Rating)

A/N: Happy birthday to my best girl @sophrosinn!!!  This is my gift for you! This fic is done with the great help of the ever wonderful @senfleurs who edited this story and stayed with me for the past 24 hours while I cry, laugh, and panic writing this fic! This fic also ended up helping me ride out a massive writer’s block.

            If Seokjin ever prides himself for something, it’s on his ability to tell how things will end the moment he sees them. He can tell when someone is about to fail their exam. He can sense a fight within a crowd before it even happens. He can stand at the end of the street and know the woman with the umbrella is about to break up with her boyfriend. And it always ends with Seokjin being right.

          Seokjin’s thankful for this skill because he’s been able to learn when it’s the right time to pursue something or when it’s time to give up. If it weren’t for this ability, he would have not been able to accomplish his dream of having a book rental shop that actually sells. Seokjin just didn’t expect he would have to start thinking twice about this skill soon after his shop’s opening. All because of a Y/N L/N who appears in his life like a wild Pokemon.

          From the start, Seokjin was already certain of one thing: Y/N is far from his type. For one, he didn’t even like having her as a customer.

            “Hey, I think that girl’s been staring at our way for three hours now. Are you sure I’m not supposed to go help her out?”

            Seokjin turns around to face his assistant and he hates that he’s able to see that girl from his peripheral. Seokjin shakes his head and turns back to the new books he’s been putting on the database, “I’m sure, Jungkook. Go back to work.”

            “Are you really sure? I think she’s the type who’s too shy to ask for help and instead, hopes to send a telepathic message by burning holes on our heads.”

            “I’m sure, Jungkook,” Seokjin repeats with a sigh. “Now why don’t you try working on that next book instead of stalling?”

            “I’m not stalling—”

            “Hello. I want to borrow this book.”

            Seokjin looks up from his counter. The girl stands in front of him, staring straight into his eyes as she pushes the book his way.

          Natural bust enlargement with total mind power: How to use the other 90% of your mind to increase the size of your breasts by Donald Wilson.

            Seokjin looks back at his work and sighs, “Jungkook, get this.”

            Jungkook picks up the book. He must have been taken aback as he looks at Seokjin, confused.

          Seokjin closes his eyes and waves him off. “Don’t even ask. Just do the usual.”

            “Okay,” Jungkook says. “Uh, ma’am, please write your name here. Okay, so Ms. Y/N L/N, you’re gonna return this—wait, you’ve been borrowing this book for three weeks?

            “Yes. Why?”

            “U-um, n-nothing. Just curious. It only has 141 pages and you’re not, um, finished yet?”

            “Well, I want to learn more about how to mind control my breasts to make them bigger.”

            “Uhh…”

            “Alright,” Seokjin stands up and nudges Jungkook away. “Ms. Y/N L/N, you’ll need to return this book five days from now, on March 23rd.” Seokjin slams his date stamp on the paper. “If you fail to return this book on time, we’ll have to charge you $1 for every day past the due date. And if the copy gets destroyed or lost, we’ll also have to charge you. Understood?”

            “Yep.”

            “Now, that will be $17.”

            Y/N places the money on the counter and heads for the door. But she doesn’t leave without sending one last stare into Seokjin’s way.

            Seokjin plops back down on his seat and clicks his tongue. “She didn’t read the book again.”

            Jungkook rolls his chair next to him and asks “Aren’t you being judgmental? Maybe she’s just a slow reader.”

            “No, she does not read it. The author didn’t mean literal mind control as she said. The book is about conditioning your mindset to a more positive view of your body image.”

            Jungkook looks at him with his forehead scrunched, “Wait, you’ve read that book?”

            Seokjin’s lips turn into a frown and he rolls his chair away from his assistant. “Don’t even ask.”

            When Seokjin first met Y/N L/N, he was convinced that she’d be the type of customer he’d hate the most. The type that comes in, picks a book, stays for god knows long, and leaves without borrowing anything. She used to do this back when she first came to his shop within its first week of opening. She kept the tradition strong for a solid month, and Seokjin was convinced that some highschoolers noticed her behavior and attempted to use his shop as their new hangout spot. He’s glad his shop was getting packed as the days went on. It’s just a different story when a hoard of teens started flocking around his shop without renting anything and prevented actual renters from entering his shop. Seokjin had to put up “No loitering” and “Maximum of 3 hours stay” signs on his windows to end this money-ripping tactic once and for all. 

          That didn’t seem to stop Y/N, though, as she would still come to his shop to pick a book to read right in front of his face without ever renting it. This time, however, she made sure to follow the three hours maximum to avoid getting called out. This went on for another week until Seokjin decided he had to talk with her about this. That didn’t end as well as he had hoped, as Y/N just looked at him straight in the eye and left immediately after he got his last word out. 

          Seokjin remembers getting so embarrassed at how he unknowingly did a monologue to a single-person audience. He wasn’t left mulling over it for long as Y/N came back the next day and actually began to rent a book. She still stays the three hours max limit most of the days but she doesn’t let a week pass without renting a book. She also manages to lower her ‘miser’ type level to the ‘weird borrower’ level in Seokjin’s annoyance scale. Having a customer with a renting history surrounding the most ridiculous-sounding books is much better than having them rent none at all. 

          Albeit, that’s a bit of a stretch, too, as Seokjin finds out that Y/N’s not exactly the weird borrower type, but the weird borrower who comes again on time just to rent the same book for weeks. And she doesn’t even read them. Seokjin confirms it one night when Y/N came to his shop a minutes-breadth away from the closing time.

          “Wait!” Y/N screams, running towards the shop.

          Seokjin stops pulling down the metal gate to give her a glare, “I’m already closing, L/N. Come back tomorrow.”

          “But I have to borrow something!”

          “Oh no you don’t—”

          It’s too late though, as Y/N slips under Seokjin's elbow and pushes the unlocked glass door open.

          Hearing his bell on the counter ring for consecutive times from the incessant taps of the infamous L/N, Seokjin knows he’s already lost the fight. He sighs as he makes his way back to the counter.

          “What do you want?”

          “This,” Y/N smiles. 

          The Beginner’s Guide to Sex in the Afterlife by David Staume.

          Seokjin eyes her as he picks up the book, “This again? You’re still not done reading 164 pages after, what, two months?”

          Y/N gulps as she clasps her hands in front of her, “Well, um, I still don’t get how people engage in sexual intercourse in the afterlife.”

          Seokjin decides not to reply and continues to do his job.

          “If they believe in a god. Or gods. Wouldn’t they worry about their god seeing them do...lewd stuff?”

          Seokjin feels his right eye start to twitch.

          “Unless...their god is a sex god?”

          Seokjin closes the book louder than necessary. He pins Y/N with a glare. “Look, Y/N. This book is about sexual energy transcending material life and even moving to the astral world. Just like how people pass away. What made you think that this book was about literally having sex in the afterlife?”

          Y/N looks at him with wide eyes, “You read the book?”

          Seokjin scowls. “Don’t turn this on me. We’re talking about you. Why do you keep borrowing books you don’t even read?” 

          Y/N looks at him then back at her clasped hands. “You don’t have to know,” she mutters under her breath, taking Seokjin by shock when she slams the payment on the counter and leans over to stamp the renting slip with the due date herself.

          Seokjin tries to call after her retreating figure by the door. “Wait, I didn’t even tell you the—”

          “Yeah, $1 for each day after the due date and you’re gonna charge my card if I destroy the book,” Y/N yells over her shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’m gonna come back on time!”

          Seokjin pales in his seat. Her announcement sounded like a death sentence.

          He wishes he wasn’t so easily bothered at the slightest of things Y/N said. He wishes he didn’t spend too much time deciphering a way to stop her. Most of all, he wishes he didn’t become too intrigued by her to the point he’s started to care about what she’s actually doing.

          And Seokjin hates it. He hates how he stresses himself reading the books Y/N borrows. He hates how he wastes his time trying to re-arrange the books in the shelves just so Y/N would start picking books with titles that actually made sense (which he learned is futile as Y/N had a penchant for finding weird books around his shop whenever and wherever). And, Seokjin hates how he basically studied her long enough to memorize her pattern. Long enough to realize that underneath all that weird borrowing behavior, Y/N just comes to his shop to stare at him. Moreover, Seokjin hates how he confirmed it with a friend.

          “Y/N must be making you quite busy, no?” Jimin asks over a mug of coffee.

          “You know her?” Seokjin asks in disbelief.

          “Yeah,” Jimin nods, “I’m friends with her. I consulted their animation company for the ad I told you I was making for Books to Tell. She was the one who assisted me and we just clicked. Especially after I learned that she’s also friends with Namjoon.”

          Seokjin’s eyes go wide, “She’s also friends with Namjoon?!”

          “Yeah, they kinda knew each other in college. Why are you so shocked? You were in the same major as Namjoon. You could have seen her with him around uni.”

          “Uh, no, I didn’t.”

          Jimin rubs his chin and shrugs, “Well, it’s a small world then. So, how is she? I actually told her to go visit your shop when you first opened.”

          Seokjin chokes on his coffee and Jimin hurries to pat his back. “God, why are you like this today? Is something wrong—"

          “How come you’re just telling me all of this now?!” Seokjin cuts his friend with a glare, making Jimin jolt in surprise.

          “W-what? Was I supposed to tell you about this earlier?”

          “Yes! Y/N’s been annoying me for four months now!”

          “I…didn’t know about that,” Jimin steps back and sits in his chair. “I just told her to take a look at your shop and she said ‘okay.’ She didn’t say anything after that so I figured it left her mind. I didn’t know she was a regular in your shop. She just brought it up again yesterday when she told me how…” Jimin zips his lips and shrugs.

          “How what?”

          “...how she likes your face.”

          Seokjin chokes again. This time on his own spit. He should have seen this coming. He was long aware that some of his renters only went into his shop to get a look at his face. Even if he had to suffer through the tedious cycle of rejecting their queries for his number and offers of coffee, some of them ended up as his regulars. Seokjin didn’t mind. Money is money after all. He just didn’t expect Y/N to be like them after all the months he spent trying to decode her actual intentions.

          Seokjin tried to brush Y/N off just like he did with the previous renters. Although she hasn’t pulled off anything yet, Seokjin believes it’s better to set things straight before it happens. The sooner he ends this, the faster he’ll find his peace again.

          Seokjin hired his neighbor, Jungkook, who’s been bugging him for a part-time job for so long and made him his assistant. He entrusted him with entertaining the customers so Seokjin wouldn’t have to deal with Y/N bugging him anymore. And like always, that plan goes down the drain because Y/N always, always ends up in front of Seokjin even when he’s countlessly told her to go to Jungkook.

          Seokjin’s tired of stressing over her so he forces himself to ignore her and the ridiculous books she borrows. But even that proves to be hard when Y/N hasn’t even done anything untoward but to stare at him from time to time. And give him a headache with the books she borrows like The Stray Shopping Carts of Eastern North America by Julian Montague, 50 Sad Chairs by Bill Keaggu, and Collectible Spoons of the Third Reich by James Yannes. For after all the progress he thought he’s put in, Seokjin still finds himself reading these books all because of a goddamn curiosity he couldn’t put down.

          It becomes harder when Namjoon and his friends pick up Seokjin’s weird setup with Y/N. And mutual friends being the annoying mutual friends they are, Namjoon and the gang begins to invite him and Y/N to hangout.

          “Why is she here?” Seokjin mutters to Namjoon the moment he sees their table.

          “Who?”

          “You know who.”

          “Oh, Y/N,” Namjoon prolongs the syllable as if her name is the most amazing thing ever. Seokjin grimaces. “Why? You got a problem with her?”

          “No,” Seokjin instantly denies. “I’m just asking why you invited her. It used to be just us for so long.”

          “Yeah, it’s always been just us that’s why it became boring.”

          “Boring?”

          “Yeah, I’m getting tired of your face,” Namjoon chuckles, stepping ahead of Seokjin. “Besides, what’s wrong with adding a new friend? Y/N is cool.”

          Oh hell yeah, Y/N is cool. She beams at Seokjin like she always does as if their legs weren’t just casually touching after their friends made it a point to choose a cramped barbecue restaurant and sit the two of them next to each other.

          “So Seokjin, I heard you and Y/N are getting close,” Namjoon starts and Hoseok hoots in support.

          Jimin, being as annoying as ever decides to ride in too. “Yeah, why don’t you tell us how you met.”

          “I was doing my business and Y/N just rented a book. That is all,” Seokjin says dismissively as he grabs his shot glass and downs the gin in one go.

          “Are you sure, that’s all, Seokjin?” Rose leans forward, grinning, “Maybe you’re hiding something from us.”

          “I’m not—”

          “He’s not hiding anything. That’s true.”

          The table pauses as all eyes dart to Y/N. A wave of self-consciousness washes over her and she directs her focus back on her clasped hands on the table, “S-Seokjin’s right. I just rent books from him.”

          Seokjin glances at Y/N then back at his drink. It’s the first time she actually addressed him that night after engaging animatedly with Namjoon, Jimin, and Rose for the past hour. The table nods slowly and Seokjin guesses they’re already about to drop the subject. Seokjin’s lips tug in a small smile. Maybe tonight’s not gonna go as bad as he initially thought.

          However, Jungkook,  being the ever-living oblivious fuck that he, must’ve not gotten the memo, decides to stir up the subject again.

          “No, I don’t think so. Seokjin and Y/N do have something going on. I catch Y/N constantly looking his way and Seokjin for some reason, knows every single weird-ass book Y/N borrows.”

          Seokjin’s lips part in shock. Jeon Jungkook did not just give him away like that. “Of course, I’ll know those books. I bought them to rent them to people. That’s my business!”

          Jungkook blinks. “But you know every single detail about them.”

          The table goes silent. It doesn’t last very long, though, as Rose and Jimin break into simultaneous laughter while Namjoon repeatedly slaps his thigh. Hoseok shoots, “Oh my god, you must’ve kept on buying books with weird titles just to keep Y/N borrowing!”

          “What? I did not!” Seokjin yells but his voice is lost in the sea of laughter and teasing. Seeing as there’s no hope in making his friends stop anytime soon, Seokjin decides to lean on his seat and cross his arms in silence. His friends are going to jump onto another topic eventually. Looking at his empty plate, his eyes glance at the person who’s equally quiet next to him.

          Y/N is busy fiddling with the seams of her jacket. She looks up from time to time to their friends to wave off their playful jibes at her with a laugh.

          Seokjin feels an annoyance prick on his skin. His friends invited him over just to tease him. Seokjin is sure it’s only him because he’s the only one who’s gotten frustrated over this debacle while Y/N sits chill beside him. Y/N doesn’t even break a sweat laughing with the others as if she hasn’t been bothering him for months now. Seokjin swears he’s gonna decline the next time his friends invite him again. Or at least try to, because he’s gullible to their promises of “Hey, they’re giving out free drinks. Free is free!”

          It’s the same as that one fateful night.

            Seokjin stops in his tracks and grabs Hoseok by the shoulder. “Why is she here again?”

            “Who?”

            “Y/N.”

            Hoseok raises a brow, “Why do you keep asking this question when you already know the answer?”

            “I don’t,” Seokjin shakes his head. “I don’t know why you keep inviting her whenever I decide to join you guys.”

            “Oh, don’t be such a grump. Y/N’s our friend, too.”

          Feeling Seokjin still in his spot, Hoseok turns around and sighs, “Hey, we only see each other ‘bout twice a month, you know. Let’s have some fun, okay?”

          Seokjin should have known Hoseok’s definition of ‘fun’ is far from his as he sits across Y/N in the restaurant. All their friends out of sight.

          Hoseok started a game after dinner where everyone had to draw a piece of paper from the cup being passed around. The partners would then have to leave together in a form of a friendly date. It’s similar to seven minutes in heaven but messed up because instead of seven minutes together, they had to spend the rest of the night with the person they’ll end up picking.

          Seokjin should have known that this was all planned when Namjoon oh so coincidentally pulled Rose, who everyone knows he’s been secretly crushing on. Meanwhile, Hoseok, Jimin, and Jungkook obviously ended up drawing each other’s name just to purposely get Namjoon and Rose together. And well…him and Y/N together. Seokjin sighs as he stands up. He just had to get this done and over as quickly as he possibly could.

          “Look, Y/N—”

          “I know a good place near here.”

          Seokjin halts. He looks at the girl who’s already looking up at him with wide eyes. "There's a cafe down the block and I heard it's really nice."

          "Uhh, that sounds amazing. I guess. Look, Y/N-"

          "They let you play with board games and borrow books, too."

          Seokjin scratches his head, "Uhh, I don't know about that, Y/N. I haven't had the time to check them out yet...I mean...if those cafes are good...or bad," Seokjin internally cringes at his words. Making believable excuses was never really his forte.

          "Oh, it's good!" Y/N smiles, “I’ve tried it before and I had a really good time."

          "Uhh-"

          "It's really good. You can trust me on this.”

          “No, I can’t,” Seokjin says before he could think about it and he immediately feels the guilt pang in his heart when he sees Y/N’s eyes drop to her feet

          “That’s…okay. I'm sorry. I just wanted to make up for the days, and uh, nights I probably made you uncomfortable. I thought, maybe you'd enjoy having a few drinks at the cafe since I always see you with a to-go cup on your counter."

          Seokjin looks at her with surprise written on his face and Y/N flushes. "Sorry. I tend to observe... stuff. I’m sorry," she repeats again, voice dripping with remorse.

          Seokjin bites his lip. He didn’t mean to make her sad. He just wants to…run away from her. The reason? Well…Seokjin doesn’t exactly know why. Maybe it had to do with the feeling that nagged at him since the night started. The feeling that something may happen tonight that he wouldn’t like. He tends to prioritize his disposition because more often than not, his gut feeling has saved him countless times from unnecessary drama and unpleasantries. But for tonight, Seokjin decides to shake them off. It wouldn’t hurt to take up Y/N’s offer, right? It’s just some coffee.

             “Okay. Um, I forgive you.”

             “You do?” Y/N perks up, lips curving up again.

             Seokjin looks away, “Yeah. I think I’m being difficult, too. I’m sorry if I also made you uncomfortable.”

             Y/N waves her hands, “Oh no, don’t apologize. You don’t make me uncomfortable. Far from it, actually.”

             Seokjin doesn’t know what to say to that so he clears his throat, “Okay, so...let’s go to the cafe?”

             “Sure,” Y/N grins.

             It feels weird to walk side by side with Y/N when he’s gotten used to having a counter between them. It’s even weirder that he actually enjoyed their time together inside the cafe. The cakes were delicious, the coffee was amazing, and the books and board games were a wonderful addition. Seokjin didn’t know he'd actually have fun playing scrabble against Y/N.

             “I can’t believe I lost again!”

             Seokjin chuckles at her, “That’s because you kept using short words.”

             Well, it really is fun when he’s winning.

             Y/N pushes the game to the side, “I don’t want to play scrabble anymore.”

             “That’s okay,” Seokjin chuckles, “I can find another game I’m sure to win again.”

             The two of them fall in a comfortable silence. It’s the first time Seokjin felt this way around Y/N. For all the months she came to his shop, he did nothing but be forever on his toes around her.

             “You know...I really like your face.”

             Or maybe not. Seokjin tenses up in his seat.

             Y/N puts her hands up, “Oh, I didn’t mean it like, in a bad way. I mean, I like your face. It’s so...expressive.”

             Seokjin looks at her, confused. Expressive?

             “You’ve asked me before about why I keep on borrowing books I don’t even read and I told you that you didn’t have to know. It seems right to tell you the reason behind it now..” Y/N fiddles with her hands, “Since you’re now paying attention to me.”

             Seokjin knows this isn’t true but he doesn’t say anything.

             “You see...I’ve been fumbling around my work for so long. Well, it’s more like a personal project for now. I’ve been meaning to pitch in the idea of a lighthearted romcom series to my department. I just wanted to have a solid draft first so I could at least let them see my vision. I’m pretty bad with words. I need things to be spelled out completely and I don’t think I can do it with this one so I will have to get the drawings complete instead,” Y/N scratches her head. “I want this pitch to have a solid chance. I’ve been working on it for almost three years now. I just can’t seem to finish it because I didn’t know what to do with my lead male. Until I heard about you from Jimin.”

             “Me?” Seokjin points to himself.

             “Yeah. You have this look in your face that just exudes…greatness. It’s like you’re telling me...‘I’m a star.’”

             “Huh?”

             “What I mean is, your expressions are perfect for a leading guy!” Y/N squeals, “Oh my god, I just found the right words.”

             Seokjin laughs nervously, “Y/N, just so you know, you’re not making any sense right now.”

             Y/N cautiously fixes herself again, “Uh, what I’m trying to say is, you have this aesthetic around you that’s just perfect for the male lead I am envisioning. It’s easy for you to make various expressions that stretch from annoyance to glee and beyond. I’m really surprised at how well you could do that. If you think about it, you can be an actor if you’d like. You’re even handsome.”

             Seokjin flushes at the sudden compliment.

             Y/N continues, “And that’s that. You became my muse and I kept visiting for inspiration because I obviously couldn’t take pictures without your permission. That’s illegal.”

             Seokjin should be appalled. He’s never met a person before who said such...things aloud in the open as if they’re just talking about the weather. But here he is, looking at Y/N, and feeling at peace. Maybe it had to do with him finally getting the answers he’s been looking for for months.

             “Well, you should have just told me from the start. I wouldn’t have been...too weirded out by you.”

             “Yeah, I’m sorry. My bad,” Y/N softly laughs.

             “I thought you’re purposely messing with me with the way you pick the weirdest titles from my shop.”

             Y/N awkwardly shrugs, “Yeah, sorry ‘bout that.”

             Seokjin chuckles but halts. Why does Y/N bother to pick the weirdest titles when she can just pick from the hundreds of normal-looking books he has? She won’t even read them anyway.

             Seokjin clears his throat, “Um, Y/N, why do you always borrow the weird-looking titles?”

             Y/N’s eyes grow wide. She darts her eyes at her lap, “Uhh, I just, uh, do.”

             Seokjin isn’t convinced. No one spends time finding the weirdest of books in a shop ‘just because they do.’ Seokjin feels the familiar itch of his curiosity. He needs to know why. Only then will he probably stop finding a pattern in the ridiculous-titled books Y/N borrows.

             “Okay, you can keep doing your...inspiration thing.”

             “What?”

             “I’m not angry about what you said. You don’t have to worry. Everyone has their own inspiration. You can keep coming to my shop. After all, you’re my regular renter.”

             Y/N’s smile immediately grows into a grin, “Okay. Thank you, Seokjin.”

             Seokjin feels his chest lighten with satisfaction. But at the same time, he can’t deny the feeling that he’s probably signed himself up to something he’s unprepared for. He presses his lips together. His gut feeling was right. He doesn’t like this night.

          Seokjin confirms this when tomorrow comes as well as the following days. Y/N comes in like usual in the afternoon, maxes her three hours, and finds a book with a weird title to rent. Nothing had changed much except now, Seokjin had to see her stare at him openly and not behind a book, as she intermittently looked towards his counter then back to her sketchpad. He regrets having ever welcomed Y/N because now he thinks he’s the one who’s weird for feeling his heart pound in delight whenever Y/N looks at him.

          Seokjin hates what he’s become. He hates how he simultaneously dislikes and likes Y/N’s presence in his shop. He likes how Y/N has begun using her three hours to tell him another story from work. He likes how she makes him laugh even when her jokes don’t make any sense. He likes how easy it is for him to tell her his own stories—his dreams, his fears, his past relationships. He could even say the most ridiculous musings he ever had without feeling ashamed of it because Y/N understands. But at the same time, he can’t help but dislike how he’s started to constantly wait for her return in his shop. He hates how he instantly feels so down when he realizes Y/N won’t be able to make it to his shop. He dislikes how he finds himself oversharing stuff without feeling any guilt when all his life, he made it sure not to say to let people know too much. The more they know, the easier it is for them to inflict hurt. Because they know what part is gonna hurt the most. And so, Seokjin tells Y/N everything other than the things he feels about her. The things he really wishes to say.

          All his life, Seokjin has always anticipated seeing how things will end up. Because he knows he’s right. And he always almost is. He knows that this relationship he has with Y/N is purely transactional. Y/N just kept coming because she needs someone who’ll give her inspiration. Seokjin knows if he ever lets his feelings out, he’ll only end up breaking his own heart. He knows how this will end and yet he can’t but wish he isn’t always right. Now, he sits fearfully in anticipation of the day Y/N stops her visits as soon as she finishes what she started coming to his shop for.

          Turns out, Seokjin didn’t have to wait very long. Because on one Thursday morning, he finds a copy of Y/N's final draft on his counter and no presence of the girl. Y/N doesn't appear during the following week. Or the week after that.

          "What do I do?" Seokjin mumbles. He covers his face with his hands as he slumps on Jimin’s dining table. The rain thundering outside fits his current mood so well. Seokjin hates it.

          "Well, you shouldn't have been so hostile to her from the start," Jimin says with crossed arms.

          "Don't you think I already know that? I've already played through all the different things that could’ve happened if I didn't pick on her borrowing habit."

          "It's not that," Namjoon says. "We meant how you usually react when we invite her over to our hangouts."

          "Yeah, you always look so stiff next to Y/N even after we set you guys up on a date," Jungkook remarks. "Anyone would have looked at you and would’ve commented on how uncomfortable you looked right next to her."

          It's true. He felt uncomfortable whenever he sat beside Y/N. In his defense, it no longer felt like the uncomfort he felt when they had first met. This feeling of uncomfort felt different, it’s brought by the heat that fills his body when Y/N's leg brushes against his.

          And it didn't help that earlier that day, Y/N pulled quite a stunt on him.

          "Hey, you have something on your hair," Y/N points at his head. But before he could pick it up on his own, Y/N had already leaned over the counter and picked it away for him. She came so close that Seokjin could clearly see how long her lashes actually were and how pink and soft her lips looked. He feels his Adam's apple bob up and down.

          "There," she smiles, "All handsome again."

          Seokjin feels heat rush to his ears as he looks away.

          Seokjin looks at Jungkook, “Well, I can’t control how I feel. You know how bad I act when I’m not okay.”

          “So you’re not okay being by her side in public but you’re okay when you guys are alone?” Jungkook eyes him, “Don’t you dare deny it because I saw you guys getting chummy across the counter.

          Seokjin gulps. He knows what Jungkook is talking about. He didn’t know where and when but somewhere along the way, he and Y/N started to blur any nuance of personal space around each other. He just found it natural to tuck her hair behind her ear when it falls on her face as she draws. He found it natural to let his fingers brush on Y/N’s own as he grabs a book from the upper shelf for her.

          “You must have been watching too many romantic movies.”

          “Why?”

          “You’re really acting like a main lead now. You’re making me feel as if I’m the female lead.”

          Seokjin freezes and tears his eyes away from Y/N. He pulls the book and unceremoniously pushes it to her. “Here’s your book,” he mutters before walking back to his counter.

          “Hey, don’t just leave me here!”

          And Seokjin found it natural to let his actions do the talking for him instead.

          “Do you trust me?” Y/N asks as she looks up at him. “I already made you look good on paper. What more if we go to this amusement park together?”

          “I don’t trust you,” Seokjin says but his hand grips on hers tighter. 

          “Of course, I’d feel better when we’re alone,” Seokjin grunts as he grabs his coffee, “Who would want to see two people touching each other in public? Not to say people who engage in PDA too many times will eventually break up since the pressure from the public-”

          “We’re not telling you to engage in PDA,” Namjoon cuts him. “What we’re trying to say is that, why do you refuse to act on your feelings?

          “Yeah,” Jimin seconds, “It’s obvious that you like her. You wouldn’t keep on buying weird books and reading what Y/N borrows just to check if Y/N will indeed read it. You wouldn’t keep asking me if she’s alright at work whenever she doesn’t show up or leave you any messages under the pretense of ‘ensuring she wouldn’t come to your shop to disturb you’. You keep asking me because you’re worried about her. You keep buying her weird books because you’re happy seeing her smile happily about them. You keep welcoming Y/N into the shop even when you hate getting distracted because you like her!. It’s so obvious! Why can’t you say it?!”

          “Because I know how this thing between us will end. What we have is purely temporary. Y/N came in to find a muse and that’s that. She comes to my rental shop just to finish her project. Y/N never intended to stay long, and I made sure she didn’t. I knew she was leaving the moment she finished. If I said I liked her then, it would’ve only made us awkward and I would’ve ended up absolutely miserable.”

          “Well, she already did leave,” Namjoon deadpans. 

          “And you didn’t say anything but you’re still miserable,” Jungkook says.

          Seokjin closes his eyes and nods. He’s fully aware that Y/N is gone, but it’s not like he can act like nothing happened. It was his fault, after all. “Yeah, I know now. I’m stupid. I’ll just have to deal with it on my own and move on.”

          “You don’t have to deal with it on your own.”

          Seokjin jolts at the familiar voice. He turns around and finds the very person he’s been missing for weeks. Y/N. With the deep bags under her eyes and her hair all mussed up, she looks far from Seokjin’s type. But she’s still the most beautiful person he’s ever seen in his life. 

          “Okay, I guess this is our cue to go.”

          Seokjin whips his head to Jimin, his eyes wide, “You planned this?”

          “Obviously. It looks like you still needed a little push after the last stunt we pulled. Jungkook, stand up from your goddamn seat.”

          Y/N stays in her spot until their three friends leave them alone. Seokjin looks at his feet as shame and self-consciousness mingle in an unsettling mix in his stomach. Y/N is here and he must look like the stupidest idiot in the world right now.

          “Did you mean it when you said you liked me?

          “Yes,” Seokjin sighs.

          “Then why didn’t you say so from the start?” Y/N says in a soft voice. “You kept blocking my advances. I was trying to let you know that I liked you, too.”

          “You like me, too?” Seokjin asks, shocked and confused.

          “Of course! Did you really think I just picked weird books out for fun? Okay, I did have a lot of fun picking them — but the point is, I did all of them to get your attention!!! For god’s sake, did you think I sat through your lecture on divine afterlife intercourse “just because”? No!! Okay,” Y/N closes her eyes, I first went to your shop for inspiration. But that all changes when I started liking you. You’re just so hardworking and smart and even if you’re grumpy on bad days, you actually care so much. I just want to stand out at least a bit so you could see me, too. And just when I thought I had finally succeeded when you agreed to let me draw your face, you started giving me mixed signals. You’d come near me and touch my hand and would let it go right when I started to talk about it. You’d act so affectionate then say the exact opposite. Do you know how bad it hurts when I ask you if you’d trust me—even when I sound like I’m joking—and all you’d ever answer is ‘no’?”

          “I thought...you already knew the answer.”

          “No, I don’t, Seokjin. I told you I’m bad with words. I need things to be spelled out. I-”

          “Y/N, I trust you. I thought you figured it out already when I told you everything about my life.” Seokjin looks at his hand, “But it turns out it wasn’t enough. I’m sorry we had to take the long route like this because I couldn’t say what I really wanted.

          “And what is it?”

          “You.”

          Y/N flushes at his sudden confession. The surprise in her eyes morphs into a satisfied glint as Y/N’s lips curve into a soft smile. “It’s okay. You have me now,” She steps into his arms and Seokjin immediately engulfs her in his embrace. For the very first time in his life, he doesn’t anticipate anything. His mind doesn’t conjure any endings. All he could think of is how he wants to prolong this moment as much as he can. Seokjin smiles into her neck as he tightens her hold on her. This must be what it feels like to be finally at peace.

          “So you like me now, huh?” he feels Y/N murmur at his chest.

          “Yeah.”

          “And you trust me now?”

          “2000%” Seokjin grins.

          “Good. I’ve been wanting to try out something that I read.”

          “Oh, so you’ve finally read something,” Seokjin chuckles by her ear.

          Y/N giggles, “Yeah. I wanted to do it right this time for this book.”

          “What book?”

          “Edward Jaye’s The Cookie Sutra.”

          “What?”

          “Cookies and Kama Sutra.”

A/N pt. 2: Hello my dear @sophrosinn. Happy birthday! First of all, I love you. I LOVE YOU SO SO MUCH. AND MY LOVE FOR YOU CANNOT BE CAPTURED ENOUGH BY THESE WORDS. You’ve been with me for four years of my life and I couldn’t believe it’s just four years when it feels like I’ve been living my whole life with you. Yeah, you made a super large mark in my life and I couldn’t imagine what my life would have been if I didn’t meet you. You’ve helped me out in so many difficult times of my life. Through all the shits and slumps I had in school, in my family, and in my writing journey, you’ve stayed with me throughout all of those things. Gave me the advices I needed to hear. You’re still here, helping me heal from the pain I’ve suffered and still suffering. You’ve always been a rock of support in my life, @sophrosinn, and I wouldn’t have come this far if it weren’t you. When I look at you, I still wonder how life managed to let me meet such an astoundingly wonderful person like you are. These days have been tough but I hope you know you don’t have to suffer through it alone. I and @senfleurs will always be here to hear you rant, listen to your basog moments, and help you lighten your load as much as we can. Whenever life brings you down, I hope you always remember I will be here for you to give you an ear that will listen to you, to give you a shoulder you could cry on. I want to also be your rock of support you could always go to without hesitation just like you’ve always been for me. So Happy happy birthday my dear best girl! You have gotten a year older today but don’t worry, you’re not gonna be alone. I and @senfleurs will be by your side as we grow old with you! Here’s to more amazing years! I love you!

P.S. Yes, this fic is inspired by this reddit post you sent to us.

I just changed it up a bit bc my mind went blank when I first drafted the “we’re married” concept. Hope you like it, anyway! I tried writing both your serious and quirky sides through Seokjin and the OC!

P.P.S. I’m sorry I couldn’t get this fic out much earlier. My writing slump is still as bad as it can be but oof, I managed to get it out just before August 11 ends! I hope the wordcount and the feels and laughs make up for that   > u <

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