#and story updates kept being like 'oh you want to complete this as a non force class? think again'

[kissingwookiees]

ready to revamp my imperial agent and actually playthrough the class story in its entirely but i cant just yet... because i need to unlock the whole armor set i want to give her that she wont be able to wear until shes level 10 anyways

[marblesarelost]

Updates!

So one of my kids now receives Social Security b/c of Jody's death.

I have been receiving notices with the paper checks that I need to get it switched to direct deposit. I sat down last month and tried for three days to enroll online, and it wouldn't. Kept giving me error messages.

Today, I was going to sit on the phone and call them over and over and over (because for some reason, no one ever picks up the phone at Social Security, even if you call the local number) but I decided I would try one more time to do it online.

Guess what?

It worked this time. YAY

I may miss the June check -- it's totally possible -- but here's hoping it all gets taken care of before then.

Got the taxes done and paid on Monday, and while it was ugly, it wasn't as ugly as I was afraid of.

I've torn down and packed away three of the book/accessory shelves here in the office, one of the shelves in the living room. I haven't started packing the books yet; I need to, I know.

Today/this weekend, I'm clearing out the office closet, and then I'm getting started on the kitchen. I may need Pukha to help me with the stuff on top of the fridge and on top of the cabinets -- in fact I probably should have him do it -- because I am just not tall. He's tall enough that he should be able to do it without getting up on top of the counters.

I'm just throwing crap I'm not taking into boxes and putting it on/around the back porch for now; I'm going to call a local service to haul it all away. I would have had Junk King bring me a dumpster (I've used them before and I like them) but I need strong guys to help me with this, as I'm also getting rid of my old couch that Charlie tore hell out of.

I also need to take the (counts) three old desktops to a local computer shop and have them download the data onto a separate hard drive or something before wiping them completely and recycling or reselling them.

I need to call the moving company and inform them I'm no longer going to Connecticut and some other stuff.

I've taken a very quick glance at USAJobs and Craigslist, and while I don't intend to start "looking" looking for work until after school starts, so I have an idea when the Kiddo will get home every day, what kind of schedule I'll need, that sort of thing, it looks like I should be able to find something until I figure out what I'm going to do next.

Some people have told me I should just take some time anyway; I've been through so very much since last September, they think I should just kind of...chill...for a while.

I have to admit I'm tempted, but I don't know that I can do that. Sure, I've budgeted out what I think will cover a year's worth of expenses, but I don't KNOW that it will.

Oh, and my book lists have expanded again; I've added paper copies of several books that I have on Audible on the lists. Audiobooks are great, but it's really hard to go to exactly what I want in audiobooks. It's mainly non-fiction, though there are some fiction pieces in there as well that I can probably find used. I'm almost certainly going to have to buy more bookshelves when I get there.

So long story short...things are moving. Every day brings me a little closer to being ready to go.

[heloisedaphnebrightmore]

His passion [Oliver Wood x Reader] 18+

Title: His passion Pairing: Oliver Wood x Female!Reader Word count: 2.4k Published: 23 October, 2020 Author: Heloise Daphne Brightmore Warning: Explicit language, Pure 18+ SMUT, please do not read if you are under 18.  Disclaimer: Both characters are of age! Summary: Oliver has been walking up and down the room half naked, going on and on about Quidditch for the last hour and you are losing your patience, up until you turn his attention to you. 

Harry Potter Characters Masterlist | Masterlists

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Oliver was always a leader type of person. His classmates looked up to him, his housemates respected his mere presence, his friends asked him for advice, his quidditch team listened to his every word, doing exactly what they were told – most of the times at least, sometimes with a couple of eye rolls included.

There was only one person who never succumbed to Oliver’s leading demeanour and that was you. You were confident, bright and just as much of a leader as he was. Your relationship was well balanced, sometimes you made decisions, sometimes he initiated things.

It was no different in the bedroom. Roles were always switched up, toys used to find each other’s limits. Oliver wasn’t an innocent little boy, nor were you. But it was noone else’s business, things stayed behind closed doors.

Oliver was rambling about the quidditch practice for the last hour, annoying you to no end. You loved his passion, it was present not just in the sport, but his relationships with his family, friends and well, you and your sex life.

You tried to listen to his non-stop complaints, but the boy didn’t seem to want to stop any time soon and his half-naked, toned body, only wearing some old sweatpants, didn’t help you to concentrate any better. Your eyes wandered to his muscled forearms, imagining as he held your hands above your head with one hand, his other buried between your thighs, his fingers showing you pleasure you never knew existed. You shook your head, trying to focus on your boyfriend instead of your currently inappropriate thoughts.

He kept walking up and down his room, his hands flailing around, growling in anger. His voice reminded you the way he groaned your name when your mouth was wrapped around his length. Your thighs rubbed together involuntarily, trying to get some friction at your dirty thoughts.

You heaved a deep sigh, feeling fed up. You stood up from the side of his bed, your damp panties making you groan. His simple presence could cause a whole pool in your underwear and he didn’t even realise it. You scoffed at your silly behaviour, waving your wand towards the door as the lock clicked, followed by being covered by a silencing charm.

You placed your wand beside the bed, on top of the wooden nightstand, before you started removing your tie, throwing it at the headboard of the bed. You unbuttoned the first four buttons on your white uniform shirt, revealing the black laced bra you were wearing underneath.

You walked up to the boy, whose attention was still focused on the stupid game. You didn’t necessarily think it was stupid, hell you loved quidditch, but Oliver was beyond annoying and his ignorance towards you, the way he made you feel, the thoughts he made you think, earned your dominant side to resurface.

You were standing in front of him, your shirt revealing more than it was supposed to, your cleavage on full view, but he seemed to be more interested in his own ranting. You grabbed his hips as he turned back to you and pulled him flush against you, your breasts pushed against his chest. His eyes widened in surprise; his breathing hitched as he realised what was going on around him.

His eyes wandered down to your lips, before continuing to explore the exposed collarbones, stopping right at your cleavage. His tongue darted out of his mouth, wetting his lips. His eyes were filled with lust, his facial expression screaming how much he wanted you, his breathing shaky. You bit into your bottom lip in anticipation for a kiss, but he didn’t move. Slowly, but steadily the boy started getting on your nerves.

You stood on your tiptoes, forcefully smashing your lips against his as your hand grabbed his neck, pulling him down to you. You ran your fingers through his soft, short hair, tugging on the ends you could hold, making him groan into the kiss. His arm sneaked around your waist, pulling you against him even closer, leaving no more space between your bodies.

You started backing him towards the bed, the boy letting you lead without hesitation. Quidditch was long gone from his mind, he could only think of your naked body melting together with his, making you scream his name in pleasure. His hands wandered down to your butt, firmly grabbing them.

Your kisses trailed down to his neck, finding his most sensitive spot, gently biting it, before sucking on it to sooth the stinging pain. He could barely focus on his surroundings; his complete attention was on you. He didn’t even realise when the back of his knee pressed against the edge of the bed, only when he fell back on the mattress. He pulled you down to him once again, capturing your lips with his, squeezing your butt as you placed a knee on each side of him, straddling his seated form.

You moaned into the kiss as you felt his erection under the thin material of his sweatpants. His lips trailed down to your neck, leaving open mouth kisses on the surface of your soft skin, grazing it gently with his teeth as he saw the little goosebumps appear on your skin. He chuckled into your skin, enjoying the effects he had on you.

You groaned, not wanting him to take control. You started circling your hips in his lap, his fingers harshly digging into your hips.

“Don’t play with me, love.” He moaned as he struggled to stop your moving hips.

“I have been listening to your rambling for the past five hours. Just shut it, will you?” You spoke as you pushed him down on the bed, pecking his lips. He started backing up towards the headboard, somewhat enjoying your dominance over him. A naughty smile appeared across your face as a sudden idea came to you. The boy halted as his head almost hit the headboard. You crawled over him, straddling him once again, before reaching for your wand beside the bed.

He furrowed at your action, but he didn’t have time to question it. Before he realised it, you waved your wand and his hands were captured above his head to the headboard with your tie. He groaned, annoyed at the situation he found himself in.

“How am I supposed to touch you like this?” He asked with a deep groan. An innocent smile appeared across your lips as you shrugged in a reply.

“You are not.” You giggled as you moved your hips. He threw his head backwards, trying to ignore the frictions you created between your bodies.

“Come on.” He breathed as he tried to free his hands, tugging on the ties, but you just giggled.

“It’s not as fun to be tied up as it seem, am I right?” You smirked proudly as you leaned down to him, kissing him passionately, before you pulled back, leaving him wanting more.

“Leannan, please, not now.” He groaned, but you were not one to just give up. You started slowly unbuttoning your shirt, before throwing it on the floor. Oliver’s eyes darkened at the sight of your body, his eyes admiring your breasts hidden behind the laced bra.

“I love it when you beg.” You chuckled as the boy rolled his eyes. You reached for his lips again, kissing him feverishly, craving his body more than ever. But you couldn’t give up just yet. You had a plan. You trailed down to his neck, sucking on the soft skin, his hips bucking up against your heated core. You chuckled at his impatience.

You continued leaving small kisses on his shoulder, his collarbone, before you reached his perked up, pink nipples. You licked one of them, your tongue swirling around the sensitive spot, a loud moan leaving Oliver’s lungs.

“Someone is enjoying himself.” You chuckled as you sucked on his nipple, a deep groan coming from him as your finger played with the other nipple, drawing little circles around it. You continued your way down the boy’s toned abs, admiring the fine lines. Quidditch wasn’t the only thing that helped him look like a Greek god, he loved to exercise on his own just as much. Sometimes with you, which often turned into a heated make out session. Or more.

You trailed down to his waistband, tugging on the trousers and boxer, slowly pulling them down, taunting the boy, whose eyes were fixed on your movements. You smirked as you looked at his dazed expression. He was completely and utterly under your spell.

You barely left his pelvis, when his length sprung out of the trouser, making you grin excitedly. Oh, how badly you wanted him, but you couldn’t just give in. Not just yet. You pulled down his sweatpants and underwear, throwing it on the floor, right beside your shirt.

You leaned down to his cock, licking across its length. Oliver’s breath hitched as his penis twitched under your slight attention.

“Eager, are we?” You giggled as you licked the tip, a deep groan leaving his mouth. He bit into his bottom lip, trying to suppress his voice.

“Just wait until I’m free.” He warned, but honestly, you couldn’t wait for him to get his hand on you.

“I guess, we will have to wait with that.” You smirked as you wrapped your hands around his cock, squeezing it gently, his hips bucking up against your hand, impatiently needing frictions. “Don’t be impatient, darling.” You teased as you moved your hand slowly up and down on his length, taunting the boy.

You leaned down, taking the tip in your mouth, swirling your tongue around the sensitive skin, before pulling back, his hips moving under you involuntarily. Your hands moved up and down as slowly as you could manage, your tongue barely touching his skin, teasing him.

“Please.” He breathed, begging you. You felt bad for him, but you enjoyed it too much to stop. His mindless state was worth it. You leaned down, taking his length in your mouth, the rest of it stroked by your hand. Your lips sealed around his shaft, your head bobbing up and down, speeding up the tempo as you heard his uneven breathing.

You felt his cock twitch in your hand, precum leaking into your mouth as you tasted him. His hips moved up against your mouth, waiting for the pure pleasure as he got closer to his orgasm. You could feel his movements getting sloppier, his climax nearing, his lips moaning your name, before you stopped abruptly and left his twitching cock.

An animalistic growl left his lungs, missing your lips around him. “Why?” He asked as his legs relaxed against the mattress, his chest falling rapidly.

“What’s the fun in letting you come?” You asked giggling as you removed his precum from the corner of your lips, before licking off the tip of your finger, his eyes following every movement of yours, his heightened attention completely focused on you.

You crawled up to him, kissing his lips, tugging on his bottom lip with your teeth, massaging his tongue eagerly. You wanted him just as much as he wanted you. You stood up from him, standing beside the bad. You didn’t remove your skirt, however you started slowly pulling down your lacey black panties, completely drenched in your juice. You held it up on top of your finger, looking at Oliver’s dazed expression.

You threw your panties on the floor, climbing back on top of Oliver, positioning yourself on his hard cock. However, you weren’t ready to let him enjoy himself just yet. You circled your hips around him, your fingers getting lost under your skirt as your started playing with your clit. A loud moan left your lungs as you felt your climax slowly build up, your hips moving faster around his length, his head falling back as he focused on the sensation, your voice causing him physical pain in his cock.

Your breathing quickened as you felt a knot slowly building up in your stomach, your movements getting lazy as your fingers played with your clit. You moaned louder this time, his name slipping out of your mouth. He groaned at the sight, your fingers buried under your skirt, your lips hanging open in pleasure, your tits bouncing above him. He gulped loudly, teeth gritting as he watched you come on his cock without even entering you.

You smiled sweetly as you came down your height, his eyes filled with lust as he tugged hard against the headboard. The ties seemed to be of good quality holding the boy’s muscles firmly in place.

You leaned down to kiss him, lifting your hips in the process. Oliver didn’t miss your little mistake. His cock twitched again as he entered you, making you scream his name in pleasure. You were supposed to be in control, but a simple mistake ended up being the biggest pleasure. You moaned as his hips sped up, his length buried in you fully. You wanted to lift yourself up from him, you wanted to tease him more.

But you couldn’t.

As if Oliver could read you, he snapped. The tie gave up against his strength, ripping the material apart, before he got hold of your hips, steadying you on him, his cock pounding into you harder, stronger. You were screaming his name, your fingers digging into his chest, your eyes closed as you felt the knot appear in your stomach, steadily growing as you felt Oliver’s pace quicken.

You couldn’t control yourself, your breathing was uneven, your body out of control, your walls tightening under Oliver’s movements. You were close, very close, Oliver feeling your climax building up as you squeezed around him, his name stuck in your lungs, throwing your head back, completely giving yourself to the pleasure, before you felt Oliver’s hot come fill you up. You fell onto his chest, listening to his rapid heartbeat as he ran his fingers through your hair.

“Fuck.” Oliver spoke, chuckling in happiness. You giggled at his choice of word; he was not one to swear often.

“I’m guessing you liked it.” You beamed up at him.

“Wasn’t that obvious, love?” He asked, hinting a kiss on the top of your head. “Anything that involves you, I love.” He smiled lazily.

“You are such a sap.” You smiled as you looked up at him with a tired gaze. He leaned down to you, hinting a small kiss on the top of your head, both of you trying to organise your breathing, before you even dared to collect enough energy to clean yourselves up.

Taglist: @nebulablakemurphy​ @iliveiloveiwrite​ @kalimagik​ @inkhearthes​ @accio-rogers​ @mytreec​ @levylovegood​ @izzytheninja​ @prongsies​ @ravenclea​ @msmimimerton​  (I wasn’t sure who I could add from my taglist, so I only added those who I was sure of being over 18 whether because I know them or because it was stated on their profile.)

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[the-iceni-bitch]

Hi love! I spun the wheels for your 3k celebration and here are my results :)

- one night stand/anonymous sex

- bryce langley

- i’m here to fuck your brains out

- i’m not here for small talk

- tell me why i just found them in your drawer

Ok, ok, ok. I can so see this for Bryce! And I was a little unsure how I was going to fit in the third prompt but I think I'm happy with my solution.

Straight smut and semi soft!dark (non-con panty stealing, stalking), so no minors!!!

God, you hated charity events.

If you had to listen to one more rich asshole talk your ear off about the plight of the white man you were going to jump off a balcony. The complete lack of self awareness as they wrote giant checks to help feed starving children in third world countries would have been laughable if it wasn’t so depressing.

At least there was an open bar, which you were taking full advantage of. You weren’t entirely sure how many whiskey sours you had tossed back, but you were actually laughing while some salt and pepper asshole who was definitely having a midlife crisis regaled you with stories of sailing around the world. Maybe you should slow down.

“Christ’s sake, Dick, you lying to another pretty thing about sailing to Brazil?” You felt a warm hand on the small of your back and turned to see a very pretty, younger man smirking at the dumbass who was trying to impress you. “He barely made it to South Carolina before running back with his tail between his legs.”

“Oh no!” You fully turned away from the older man with a sloppy grin, placing your hand on the new guy’s chest as you giggled. “That’s so pathetic.”

“Uh, excuse me.” Dick did not look happy with this turn of events, pouting when you glanced at him sideways.

“Go back to your disappointed wife, Dick.” The way his eyes were raking over you made you shiver, arousal flooding your panties as you sucked your bottom lip between your teeth. “What’s your name, gorgeous?”

“It’s Y/N.” You gasped softly when he stepped closer, his hand running up your spine until he was running his fingers through your hair. “Yours?”

“Bryce.” His lips brushed against yours and your knees buckled, your hands gripping his lapels to keep yourself upright. Yeah, you definitely should have slowed down. You had never come apart so fast for anyone in your whole, kinda slutty adult life.

“Hi Bryce.” How were you supposed to focus on anything when his mouth was tracing your jaw like that? “Um, enjoying your night so far?”

“Listen, gorgeous, I’m not here for small talk.” He pressed you even closer and leaned forward so he could murmur right in your ear. “I’m here to fuck your brains out.”

“Oh.” Your voice was upsettingly small. “Cool.”

Neither of you said anything for the next two hours. Not when he had you pinned to the wall in the corridor and devoured your mouth with his while the two of you dry humped each other. Not when he drove the two of you through the city in his Porsche at an inadvisable speed while you swallowed greedily around his cock. Not even when he ate you out like a starving man while you were sprawled across the stairs to the second level of his penthouse apartment, but that was mostly because he had shoved your panties in your mouth to gag you.

You finally made it to his bedroom and he ripped your dress down your shoulders, leaning back to let you step out of it while he worked on stripping off his tuxedo. The tiny huff you let out when he tossed you on the bed made him grin, each small wanton sound that feel from your lips only serving to make his cock ache even more. And, god, what a fantastic cock it was. You practically started drooling when he finally stepped out of his pants and you got a good look at it, it had been to dark in the car for you to really appreciate just how yummy he was.

“Wait, Bryce.” You placed a hand on his chest when he bent over you, not wanting to lose yourself in another one of his kisses before it was too late. “Condom?”

“Are you fucking serious?” He looked slightly annoyed when his eyes met yours, but you weren’t backing down from this one. “You didn’t seem to care about a condom when you were swallowing my cum an hour ago.”

“Yeah, well I can’t get pregnant from swallowing.” You murmured, trying not to moan when you felt his shaft ghost over your clit. 

“Aww, pretty thing like you isn’t on birth control?” The smirk he was giving you was absolutely wicked. “That seems awful irresponsible.”

“Bryce, ah, shit.” His mouth started tracing your throat and made it very difficult to stay firm in your stance. “I’m serious, if you don’t have a condom, I’m pulling the plug.”

“C’mon gorgeous, I just wanna feel you.” He flicked his tongue out to lap up an errant bead of sweat and grinned at the whine you let out. “What if I pull out?”

“Oh god.” You were practically suffocating from the attention he was lavishing on you, finally grabbing his hair and yanking his head up so you could look him in the eye and regain some control of the situation. “No condom, no pussy.”

“Ugh, fine!” He pouted when he rolled off you, pulling his nightstand drawer open and drawing out a small foil packet. “Happy?”

You just grinned at him when he knelt between your legs again, brushing you fingers over his nipples and running your knees up his sides while he rolled the condom over his length and scowled at you. That scowl disappeared pretty fast when he gripped your hips tight and pulled you down on his length, his eyelids fluttering as a low groan left his throat while he curled over you. 

When his hips finally met yours you dropped your head back against the mattress, locking your heels together at the small of his back and letting him nip at your throat as he started moving his hips. It was just enough to drive you crazy, but all you wanted was for him to fuck you like an animal until you were screaming.

“Goddamn it.” You dug your fingers into his scalp and yanked his face back up to yours. “I thought you said you were gonna fuck my brains out.”

The only warning you had was his feral snarl and the way his pupils dilated even further and then every thought was flying out of your head when he bent you backwards and shoved your chest into his face, his teeth digging into your soft flesh and making you scream while his hips started slamming into you violently. 

His teeth were marring the soft curves of your chest as he fucked into you viciously, the tip of his cock punching you in the cervix with each brutal shove. It barely took anything for you to come apart with a sharp cry, your vision whiting out as your entire body tightened around him. The way he was holding you to him had your body bent in a series of odd angles, making every wave of pleasure that coursed through your system feel a thousand times more intense. 

Your orgasm didn’t even faze him, his hips still pistoning into yours at a wild rhythm that pushed the breath out of your lungs until you were a panting mess. He just kept sucking and biting at your breasts, the skin of your chest slick with your sweat and his saliva as your cunt throbbed around him.

One of his hands moved under your hip and tilted you so he could somehow drive into you even further and a coil you hadn’t even realized was gathering snapped. Your body jerked frantically underneath him, your pussy clenching around him so hard he couldn’t stop himself from filling the condom with a muffled growl. 

“That good enough for you, gorgeous?” He was grinning wickedly when he lifted his face to gaze at you. “C’mon now honey, did I fuck you stupid?”

“No.” You panted, returning his smile when he moved to the bathroom to dispose of the condom. “But maybe we should go another round so you can try again.”

“Oh, I knew bringing you home was a good idea!” He called from the bathroom. “I’m gonna turn that pussy out.”

You were still smiling when you moved to grab another condom from the nightstand, your face freezing when you got a look at the pair of soiled panties that was nestled inside. That wasn’t totally weird, lot’s of guys probably kept little souvenirs from their sexual conquests. 

What was weird was that they looked an awful lot like the panties you thought your washer had eaten a few weeks ago, and when you picked them up to examine them closer you felt bile rise in your throat when you spotted the tiny rip you had told yourself no one would notice because of the pattern of the lace.

“Bryce.” You rose on unsteady legs and staggered to the bathroom, confusion and fury coursing through your veins. “I’ve been missing these for weeks, tell me why I just found them in your drawer.”

“Ah, fuck.” He only looked mildly perturbed when he got a look at what you had clutched in your fist. “Why’d you have to go snooping, baby?”

“Don’t call me baby, how did you get these?” Your chest was starting to feel tight as panic took over your system. “Have you been in my house?”

“Do you really need me to answer that, Y/N?” 

You realized you didn’t. You’d noticed weird shit happening for a few weeks. Things not being where you’d left them. Pieces of clothing missing. Weird deliveries of flowers or fancy pastries from a supposed secret admirer that you just chalked up to the slightly creepy guy who had been flirting with you at work.

“But, why?” You had never even seen Bryce before tonight, this didn’t make sense.

“I saw your photo from the save the polar bears, or whatever, event last month in the Times.” His shrug was dismissive as he started stalking towards you. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen someone so beautiful looking so annoyed at one of those things. Mostly because they’re all hookers.” He didn’t seem to mind that you were in the middle of an anxiety attack, wrapping an arm around your waist and shushing you softly as you started to cry. “But you weren’t a hooker. You were a little spitfire. Everything I found out about you just made me want you more, which reminds me, you’re gonna need to make some serious updates to your online security settings.”

You were sobbing into his chest now, only barely registering what he was saying as he moved a hand up to run through your hair absentmindedly.

“I still remember the first time I was in your house. I admit, I lost myself a little once I was in that cute little bedroom of yours, thought for sure you were gonna notice how messed up your sheets were after I jerked off in your bed.” You cringed against him at that admission, you were pretty sure you remembered that day. “It was so hard to keep myself from just taking you right away, but I wanted to make it organic. You know, have our relationship grow and evolve the right way.” He gripped your chin and tilted your head back so he could glare into your eyes. “Then you had to go and ruin it.”

You whimpered when he suddenly lifted you and started to carry you to the bed again, your body frozen in shock. He basically threw you onto the bed, the look of rage on his face softening slightly when he watched you curl around yourself then climbed in next to you. 

“Oh, shh, it’s ok, honey.” He cooed against your hair, stroking your arm softly as you continued to cry. “I forgive you. I’m gonna make you so happy.”

[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.” 

[wrenhyperfixates]

Ever Since We Met

Prologue

Pairing: Loki x reader Series Summary: After making a bet with Odin, Loki finally has a chance to prove he is worthy of being heir to the throne. Under mysterious circumstances, you find yourself stranded on Asgard, left with no option but to team up with Loki and help him win the crown. Now posing as visiting royalty, you must be careful of rumors in court that say you’re not who you claim, all while battling your growing feelings for the raven haired king. But some things are easier said than done because secrets, you’ll soon learn, can be deadly. Chapter Summary: Before Odin leaves for Alfheim, Loki makes one final bid for the throne. A bet that has the power to alter his future. Chapter Warnings: none :) A/N: Greetings guys, gals, and non-binary pals! I am beyond excited to share this story with you! It takes place pre-Thor 1 and will update every Friday until we reach the end in about six months. Without further ado, I hope you enjoy!

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Disclaimer: Gif not mine.

Thankfully, the halls outside the throne room were empty, leaving plenty of space for Loki to pace back and forth. He never would have let his anxious energy show in front of others, but right now it was just him. The guards had gone in to announce Loki to his father, gain permission for him to enter. It was ridiculous that he couldn’t just waltz in, the prince thought. Then again, that’s all he was. A prince. Not the king.

See, Loki had been trying his whole life to prove his worth to his father, desperately attempting to show he was deserving of the throne. But nothing had worked, and whispers that Odin was going to announce his heir any day now were common throughout the kingdom. And not a single person was saying it was going to be Loki. Luckily, the younger Odinson didn’t give up so easily.

“Prince Loki,” one of the guards said with a little bow of his head as they re-emerged from the throne room. Loki immediately stopped his nervous movement and looked him in the eye. “The king will see you now.”

“Thank you, gentlemen,” Loki replied, regal as ever. “As you were.”

Taking a final gulp of air, he pushed through the heavy golden doors and walked towards Odin. As a child, Loki had always thought his father looked so imposing sitting on the throne, as if he had in his palm the fate of all people. Well, now Loki was grown, and he knew that the old man sitting in that glorified chair did hold someone’s fate. His. And if Loki wasn’t careful, Odin would crush his dreams, his destiny, without so much as batting an eye.

Loki’s heeled boots clicked on the cold floor, as if counting down the steps left before he could make his request. They were, perhaps, a bit more formal than something one might wear on a regular basis, but he figured why not dress to impress? His semi-formal cloak swooshed behind him, and he had to resist anxiously fiddling with the fabric. With his hair slicked back and combed perfectly in place, he thought he looked very princely, but if all went well, he was going to be far more than that.

“Your majesty,” he greeted Odin in the formal way he’d been taught since birth, bowing at his waist. Oh, how he so despised that part; if he had it his way, he’d never bow to anyone again. At least he didn’t have to kneel as most of the lesser nobles and commoners did.

“Rise my son,” Odin said with a wave of his hand. “Why have you felt the need for this audience so close to my departure?”

“Well, father,” Loki began. He summoned all his strength to keep up his nonchalant facade. “It has come to my attention that you have invited Thor to join you and mother on your diplomatic mission to Alfheim. An invitation, I might add, that he has accepted.”

“Yes, yes,” he yawned. “What of it? I hope you are not looking to come. The convoy is already full.”

“On the contrary, I think it best if I stay here.” Loki studied his father’s expression a moment before continuing. “To rule the kingdom.”

It was painfully silent in the near-empty throne room. And then Odin began laughing. Not chuckling, but full on laughing at his son. This was perhaps the most embarrassed Loki had ever felt, and there wasn’t even anyone else in the room. But all he wanted was to show his father he was capable of ruling. That he would make a far more competent king than his oaf of a brother. This was a critical moment, he knew, and he couldn’t let any cracks in his armor show. He kept his face completely neutral as his father slowly ceased his cackling.

“And why should I allow for that. You see, Loki, I have already chosen my successor, and it is not you,” Odin bluntly explained as Loki’s blood began to boil and hopes began to drop. Maybe this was just a nightmare, and he’d wake up to make his plea for real. No such luck. “The official announcement was going to come upon my return, but it seems cruel to keep it from you now.”

All the times Loki played this out in his head, it never went quite this poorly. Never in his wildest dreams had he been expecting Odin to admit what he already knew deep down; he’d lost. But all his training, his preparing, his effort to show that he was the one deserving of the crown, could it really be for nothing?

“Come now, my son,” Odin said when Loki took too long to reply. He wondered if his father was trying to have a comforting tone. If he was, he was failing miserably. “You always knew I would have to pick one of you. That only one of you could take the mighty throne of Asgard.”

Yes, but I should be the victor, Loki thought, ignoring the tears pricking the back of his eyes. The last thing he would do was cry in front of the Allfather. Especially when he still had a chance to make this work in his favor. All he had to do was keep it together for the next fifteen minutes and alter his argument a little. If Odin was taking drastic measures, maybe that’s what he had to do, too.

“I do not think you should act so rashly, father,” Loki spoke up, voice impressively even. “After all, you have yet to hear my proposition.”

“And what might that be? Speak, son, and tell me.”

“Let me rule Asgard while you are gone. If I do well, you wait to make your decision on who will be your heir, allow me to continue to compete for the crown.”

The old king laughed again, not as loudly as before, but just as unkindly. “Why would I do that? I see no way in which this benefits me.”

“On the contrary, as a prince, I would have the right to plead my case to the Allmother if you took me out of the running. It would be a long, tedious process if you had to go through all the right channels to prove my brother is better suited for the kingship. And then again, they might not even find that he is. Or I could even challenge Thor for the crown, if it comes down to it. Such scandal to mark the end of your reign would be a shame, do you not agree?” He paused for dramatic effect, and to let the words sink in. “However, should I do poorly on the throne, I would have no argument to make, and would back down peacefully.”

The tension was so thick, Loki was tempted to whip out one of his daggers to try to cut it, and give himself room to breathe. But even the subtlest of movements would give way to an accusation of weakness, so he stood where he was, his piercing gaze staring into his father’s one eye, waiting for him to speak. Odin tapped his fingers on the arm of his throne, mulling over the very thinly veiled threat. By the time the king was opening his mouth to speak, Loki felt ready to scream.

“Very well,” he finally conceded. “But your success will be according to my terms. There are three things a good king needs. The first is the respect of those he rules. The second, fear and awe of his enemies and allies alike.”

Loki’s eyes flitted down for the briefest of seconds before looking up with renewed confidence. “And the last?”

“Worthiness,” Odin continued, standing up and walking down the steps, “to have the crown on his head.”

More eagerly than he would have liked, Loki nodded. He was certainly clever enough to figure out a way to prove he had each of those. It seemed that his silver tongue had not failed him today. But before he could say he accepted the terms, Odin had one last stipulation to add.

“You may not set foot out of the kingdom. Everything must run smoothly while you are here. Is this understood?”

“Yes, father, it is. And you will not interfere with my reign,” Loki replied, distrusting something about the look in the old man’s eye. “So then, do we have a deal?”

He considered for a moment more. “Yes, we do. From the moment I leave tomorrow until the second I return, you will be acting king of Asgard.”

“Thank you, father. You will not regret this,” Loki said, bowing again before leaving.

Whether he left before his father could say anything or if he never planned to at all, Loki wasn’t sure. It hardly mattered anymore. Now, his future was nearly set, for certainly he was already admired to some degree, right? Or even if he wasn’t, he’d been preparing for this day his whole life, studying his father. He knew how to be king, and he’d be damned if he let anything ruin this opportunity.

After a fitful night of sleep, Loki saw his family and their entourage off at the Bifröst. True, he was more than eager for them to leave already, but he did his best to mask it. After all, his eagerness may be mistaken for arrogance, and that was no way to start his reign.

“Alright, brother. I bid thee well,” Thor said, clapping him on the back. As far as Loki was aware, neither he nor anyone else knew of the specifics of the bet that had been made, save for his mother and Heimdall, who had been tasked with keeping an eye on him. “Do not get too comfortable on the throne, though.”

“Good luck, my son. I have every confidence in you,” Frigga said, cupping his cheeks.

Loki looked to Odin for him to speak some final words of parting. When he didn’t, Loki said, “Thank you, brother, mother. I wish you all safe travels and shall be awaiting your return.”

He waited until they disappeared into the rainbow lights and, with a nod in Heimdall’s direction, headed back towards the palace. The throne. Almost reverently, he circled it once before sitting down. Feeling perfectly pleased with himself, Loki didn’t even notice the bright flash of light in the distance. Nor what came with it.

[bigskydreaming]

Tom is already rehashing some things, like too many homages to the nineties run, Zucco's daughter plot point, Beatrice had ideas for societal reform he's taking that and giving it to Dick. It'll probably be half hearted, but it stings that Beatrice left just a few issues ago and she's already completely forgotten for the sake of DickBabs or a love triangle.

Like the thing about the nineties runs is I mean, as much flack as we give various elements of them, there’s so much from that time period that was good? Great, even! Just....myself and the writers seem to have very different opinions on what the most interesting elements of the nineties comics were, oh well.

And omgggggg I’m still so mad about Bea, and its literally Shawn Tsang all over again. The writers keep introducing new, interesting characters, investing just enough time and focus into them to have us interested in them and wanting to see more.....and then they toss them aside to go back to drawing from the same well as always.

And the thing is, this isn’t even about me not really being a Dick/Babs shipper, because honestly, I’m not enjoying the Dick/Kory stuff in what I’ve seen of Titans Academy either, and for the exact same reason:

When they create new characters like Shawn and Bea, they KNOW they’re starting from scratch and need to build interest in those characters from the ground up. So they’re forced to put their best foot forward. There’s no short cut there, if you want people to care about a brand new character you have to give them REASONS to care. You have to make those characters likable, you have to make people WANT to root for them, you have to hook them with intriguing backstories that don’t feel formulaic and new angles that don’t feel just derivative of older characters, and that’s how we got stuff like Shawn’s history as a former sidekick to a villain and now running a support group for rogues trying to turn their lives around, and Bea’s work in societal reform.

But then the second they stop having the patience to build the new characters up enough that the interest in them can actually start to reach the levels that lets older characters last and grants longevity....they just toss them aside and move on....except they never really move on, just backwards. Because the problem with so MANY superhero couples, far from just Dick and Babs or Dick and Kory, is just....how lazy it seems to make so many canon writers. They just fall back on rehashing the same old tropes and just updating popular moments that resonated with fans in the past, now just recreated with a slightly more modern twist but without ever really being anything new. 

Even with ships that I’ve never really been sold on in the past like Dick/Babs, I’ve always said, there’s usually nothing stopping me from GAINING interest in them.....its just....the writers have to GIVE ME A REASON TO. And so many of DC’s writers just aren’t even trying. They’re just moving parts around and pushing characters together in various arrangements like everyone’s just a puzzle piece that you can mix and match however you want......and then just basically expecting readers to be interested purely because of who the characters are, or because it hinges on a nice moment that they then milk the hell out of without ever expanding that into building actual STORY around these moments but rather just squeezing each one til they get everything they possibly can out of it and moving on to the next as though its all just about chasing the next soundbite...because it is! LOL.

And honestly, this problem extends far beyond just the Nightwing title or the Batfam or Taylor’s run or writing in particular.....its a company wide issue right now. In fact I would bet just about anything that its a matter of editorial edict, that even before Taylor started his run DC said okay here’s the approach we want everyone taking with their stories right now:

And that’s like.....its all about banking on nostalgia and the comfort of the familiar right now. I think Taylor is drawing all these elements straight from the 90s Nightwing comics, like Blockbuster and Dick having been a cop, etc, because these are the elements of past Nightwing stories that are so well known. Its the same reasoning behind why they put Tim back as Robin and so many of their new characters are just new spins on old faves like Punchline and Harley Quinn, and why they’re pushing all these older ships that haven’t been together in ages and why specific team lineups are reappearing....its because nostalgia is the name of the game for DC right now, and all their writers are just pulling together threads of classic stories that have stood the test of time, figuring anything that landed particularly well with fans in the past will sell with people here and now, and weaving these threads together and brushing over them with a modern social issues veneer. 

As an approach, its basically all just about repackaging previously successful story moments and elements with just enough changes or in just new enough a configuration that readers aren’t likely to complain en masse that like “hey we literally already read all this. We’ve already BOUGHT these issues. When we were kids.” Its minimizing creative risk while maximizing monetary profit. Spend as little creative capital as possible outside of anything that’s already been successful in the past and as such is a relatively proven quantity, instead of testing new material that’s an unknown and runs the risk of falling flat and thus not being profitable.

And see, I’d almost guarantee that all THAT, that whole line-wide approach to DC’s storytelling, is because the powers that be looked at the last several years of stories and how many of THEM fell flat with readers, and decided that the problem was they’d BEEN trying too much new stuff and readers just didn’t like it. Because they WERE concentrating on presenting totally new stories and building up new ideas throughout their books.....but readers have been pretty vocal for years now about being disenchanted with most of DC’s major stories. And so DC I think looked at that and came to the conclusion that okay, people just don’t want new right now, they want the familiar.

But like.....DC’s problem IMO was never that they were trying new stuff? The reason so much of their new and original storylines weren’t gaining traction or bringing in readers and kept shedding old readers had absolutely NOTHING to do with them being new and previously unseen storylines, which makes falling back on nostalgia very much a non-solution to entirely the wrong problem.

No, DC’s problem for years has been that they’ve been all about spectacle instead of story. There’s ZERO emotional pay-off to any of their biggest plot twists or character beats, and emotion is LITERALLY what people read stories for. Its all about racing to the climactic action packed finish of every storyline and then immediately resetting everyone back to square one and jumping straight into the next big story, without ever giving the events of any of their stories time or reason to MATTER to the characters.....and if they don’t matter to the characters, our proxies that we’re viewing these stories through, then why should any of it matter to us? Why should any of it linger, dig in roots, resonate with us as moments that left an impact and that we accordingly want more of?

And again, like because I’m a Dick Grayson focused blog I’ve obviously largely been focused on how much I dislike the SPECIFIC reactions or non-reactions to so many of the major beats in his stories.....but it was spread throughout their entire line.

Bruce and Selina almost got married....but why should anyone care outside of Tom King’s title when nobody else seems to, no other characters feel anything about this, and Bruce in none of his other appearances seems the same as ever without any reminder that he just almost got married but then didn’t.....and if the characters don’t ever seem to be affected by or feeling a need to revisit or reflect on recent stories, why should we bother remembering them either? 

Jason was dramatically and fucked-upily (yes its a word, I totally looked it up and everything) exiled from Gotham....and then all of that is undone in a single issue with one low-stakes awkward conversation between him and Bruce. Damian quits as Robin and goes off the map and everyone in his family is like “hey don’t we have a littler brother, I feel like we did maybe” for one panel per story arc, and that’s it. Roy’s back from the dead and everybody’s like oh hey cool instead of the kind of return we used to get like when Donna came back and everyone was like oh shit, this MATTERS, because we MISSED you....just like Dick’s death never mattered to anyone but fans of his character because much like I was just saying earlier with them not really giving me a reason TO emotionally invest in Dick and Babs’ relationship if I wasn’t already, same thing with the aftermath of Forever Evil. They didn’t give anyone else reason to emotionally invest in that as something that HAPPENED to Dick and that he was AFFECTED by....because the writers didn’t bother writing him as all that affected by it and it was just like oh he’s a spy now, all that was last year’s content, we’ve moved on, keep up.

And on and on it goes. Ric Grayson was the same problem all over again. Rinse and repeat down the line with everyone from Wally to Donna and etc etc etc.

THAT’S why DC’s stories have been falling flat. It has nothing to do with people not being interested in new ideas, characters or directions, its that’s ALL they were giving us, but it was like just reading wiki summaries of events just alongside pretty art, but no real emotional weight or substance to anything we were reading....and thus, literally nothing that we couldn’t get much the same outcome from if we just...stuck to reading wiki summaries after the stories were over, with no real need to follow along with them. For years most fans have basically just been about keeping up to date with changes in the characters’ lives, but without feeling any real need to watch those changes unfold and play out.

And so honestly I worry we’re just gonna be subjected to a company wide rehashing of old and familiar storylines, directions and character beats, but repackaged and delivered in the exact same way DC was delivering us their new stories and ideas these past years....and its basically going to have the same results, because its the same problem. They didn’t actually fix anything by switching gears, they just shuffled around the actual issue.

And DC’s just gonna be like well now wtf are we doing wrong, we were so sure this would work, everyone LOVES nostalgia right? Did we pick the wrong stories and character beats to bring back?

When really its like......it honestly doesn’t matter WHICH stories and beats they rehash, because its not about them picking the ‘right ones,’ the real keepers, the stories that everyone really WAS eager to see brought back or made new again.....

Its about like, the only reason any of those stories or beats or dynamics stood the test of time and are still familiar and well-known....is because the stories AROUND those moments and ideas gave us reason to emotionally invest in them and retain them as crucial to our view of the characters and things that would resonate and stay with us for a long time.

It was never that any of those ideas or stories were just so innately brilliant that they couldn’t help BUT linger in the overall reader consciousness...it was the fact that we CARED about what happened in those moments and stories.

*Shrugs* But I mean hey, what do I know? I’m just a dude on the internet lolol. 

[logically-asexual]

Hold me like you mean it

summary:

Logan’s feelings for Virgil and the fact that now Virgil barely notices him are stopping him from getting any work done. Janus offers a way for Logan to cope, by disguising himself into Anxiety. but is this really what Logan needs? and what’s in it for Janus, anyway?

alternatively, an angsty story about rejection, denial, and manipulation.

note: this fic is completely written with a total of 9 chapters and 9k words, but I will be posting the chapters every couple days in hopes to build up hype. this is my first time writing something longer than ~1k and also my first time writing in A While. but I tried really hard and I’m very proud of it so I hope you like it.

note 2: please don’t take this as a guide to learn about unhealthy relationships, it's a theme in the story but it’s not meant to be educational in any way.

warnings: (for the whole fic) unrequited love, rejection, manipulation, unhealthy relationships, gaslighting, dependency, dubious consent and non consent for kissing, sad ending, depression (vaguely described), angst in general, nightmares. let me know what else i should add.

Read on AO3

Chapter 1

| Next |

words: 1,217

Logan sighed as he tossed another paper ball into the bin. His eyes were starting to burn from the strain, but he was determined to have the plan finished by tomorrow. He had started typing his ideas into his computer, but the light began to hurt as the sky became dark, and he couldn’t risk anyone seeing his room’s light on from the hall, so he had turned on a small lamp and tried again with pen and paper.

He pulled another blank paper sheet and started over. It was kind of ridiculous, when he thought about it long enough, to spend this much time trying to figure out the best way to talk to Virgil in the following days, but he had identified his lack of communication with Anxiety as the most important and urgent issue to resolve in his table of priorities. After all, Thomas had become more anxious in the past weeks. So, in order to be heard, he needed to be able to collaborate with Virgil, which would also keep Thomas’ mind clear and stop him from procrastinating so much.

Another list of ideas had almost filled the page when Logan was startled by a knock on his door, followed by the sound of his pencil dropping to the floor. He hurriedly turned the paper over, stood up, and went to open the door, hoping to end whatever interaction that was about to happen as soon as possible. He was surprised to find Janus standing on the other side. At least it wasn’t Virgil, but Logan knew either of them could easily detect the smallest sign of nervousness, and Logan was definitely nervous. It was late and he shouldn’t be working.

“Good evening Janus, is there anything I can do for you?” Logan greeted from where he stood, poking his head out of the barely open door. The sooner this conversation ends, the better, he repeated to himself. His hand tightened around the doorknob as he waited for Deceit to say something, while the other was staring at him with a slightly amused look on his face.

Just when Logan was about to tell the other to stop wasting his time, Janus spoke. “I came here to ask for your opinion on an idea I had, but I can tell you’re trying to hide something,” he said as he crossed his arms and looked into what was visible of Logan’s room, before turning his gaze back into Logan’s eyes. “So spit it out already.”

Logan glanced quickly towards the papers on his desk and back at Janus with an expression as neutral as he could manage. “I am trying to hide the fact that I am working late at night, because I must be an example to the rest of the Sides and keep a strict, healthy schedule to encourage them to do the same. Happy?”

“Of course.” Janus said, apparently satisfied, but he only gave Logan a second to feel relieved before he pushed past him into his room. He walked directly towards his desk and, out of all the objects laying on it, he picked up the one Logan dreaded the most.

Janus looked the paper sheet over as a wide grin formed on his face. Then, he held it high and began reading out loud. “Strategic Plan to Communicate Effectively with Anxiety. Updated version 5.2. Step one: approach Virgil (gently) after our next discussion and point out the arguments he made that were helpful. Step tw-”

“That’s enough.” Logan interrupted, as he snatched away the paper. “What do you want?”

“Oh you know me, I just love it when you all insist on hurting yourselves and Thomas in the name of irrelevant lies.” Janus said with a sarcastic tone, increasing Logan’s discomfort. He continued, with a mocking smile. “If you’re going to hide things, I’d prefer you do it for something useful instead of some crush.”

Logan blinked rapidly and felt heat rising to his face. “What? What are you talking about?” He took a moment to look at Janus’ unimpressed expression, while he pieced together what the other Side was implying. “You think I have a crush on Virgil? No, no. See, I have a table of problems that hinder my productivity and therefore Thomas’ that I need to address and lately Virgil hasn’t been listening or interacting at all with me, which has stopped any of my other projects from being considered, so the most logical solution is to fix that as soon as possible through effective communication with him.” He had to take air in once he finished his explanation, realizing he had uttered it all in one breath. He watched expectantly as Janus raised an eyebrow.

“Right...” Janus said, as he once more took the paper from Logan’s hand. “And what role exactly do Step six, “partake in movie nights when Virgil chooses the film,” and Step eight, “stand closer to his position on the stairs when the twins are making him uneasy” play into this… productivity thing?” Before Logan could defend his reasoning, Janus went on, now with a slightly softer expression. “Listen, Logan. I know you have a selfish motive behind this, you don’t have to hide that from me. I’m not Patton. I won’t judge you.”

Logan swallowed, embarrassed to admit this feeling, both to himself and to Janus, and replied with a whisper. “I just… miss him, and I want us to be friends again.”

“Is that all?”

Logan nodded, looking down at his shoes. After a moment, he added “we used to understand each other well, and I had an easier time working then, with him, with the rest of the Sides, and by myself.”

“Very well. If that’s the case, I think I can help.”

With the intention to ask what kind of help he meant, Logan turned his gaze back up, only to be shocked by the sight of Virgil standing in front of him. He inhaled sharply and took a step back, not moving his eyes from Virgil’s tilted smile. Once his mind caught up with what happened and what was being offered to him, he immediately refused. “No, Janus.” (Saying the name out loud helped him remind himself who really was in front of him) “I want to make things right with the real Virgil. Staying in denial and pretending things are fine won’t help anyone.”

“But it will help you, L.” He heard in Virgil’s low voice, but with Janus’ usual intonation, it didn’t match well. “You said yourself that you can’t get any work done because your mind is occupied with missing me. This way you can work on our relationship while taking the edge off.” Janus took a step towards him and put his hand on Logan’s shoulder.

Logan considered it for a second, before settling on the same answer. “No. I’m sorry, Deceit, I’ll follow my own strategy.”

Janus’ expression fell, and he shifted back into his usual appearance, but he kept his posture straight and his head high. “Fine, but my offer is still open for whenever you are ready to accept it.” With that last statement, he gave Logan his notes back. Then he walked out of Logan’s room, shutting the door behind him, leaving Logan alone in the dark.

| Next |

notes: (yes, i just talk a lot, sorry) welcome to the journey! hope you enjoy :D and if you like it pls leave a comment.

also the title is from Four Tequilas Down by dodie, (which is a big mood for the story)

[votederpycausemufins]

another chapter of the scattered au story I'm writing. tagging @helleborusangel because ❤ and @hermitcraftheadcanons since they made the au with their community.

Now then... where have we seen those names from last time before? hmm, maybe Grian knows.

Grian coughed a bit as the magic keeping him alive faded a bit. Though snow mostly covered his wings, he could still see a few visible patches of formerly red feathers, now a bright purple. For the most part, he was trying to ignore that, instead focusing on the bots. “A-Alright. Wh-who don’t w-we know a-about y-yet?”

“Well Bdubs hasn’t had any death messages yet.” Grum answered while trying to force one of his arms to move since it was stiff from the severe cold. “Also nothing from Jeven, Beef, Keralis, Joe or Hypno.”

“And then Ren and Etho have had deaths, but nothing that tells us where they are. Well, unless you count Etho in the overworld since he got killed by a monster.” Jrum said next. “Oh, and False and Stress are both near water cause they drowned a few times, but it looks like they stopped a while ago.”

Grian gave a shivering nod, trying to warm himself up a bit more by rubbing his arms. “A-anything important that we kn-know other than that?”

The bots looked at each other for a few moments before looking back to Grian. “Well, we’re pretty sure it’s nothing… but…”

“Wh-what is it?” Grian asked, breathing into his hands.

“So out of everyone, Impulse has been dying the most. With just about everyone else, they’re stuck with something they can run from. Like Daddy with the illagers and Cub with the cave spiders.” Grum started before allowing Jrum to continue.

“If you weren’t making things better, you would probably dying lots and lots more from the cold, but then Impulse keeps getting killed by guardians, and if they don’t, he dies anyway to drowning.”

Grian nodded before he again nearly died to the cold, instead his survival instincts getting him to use magic and heal himself up as well as warm him and also the bots. When it stopped again, he was panting. Using so much magic was detrimental to him, especially in this situation. “G-Go o-on…”

“Well, the time between his previous death and a drowning death is getting longer. Only a tiny bit, like half a second or less, but it’s always going up and not just fluctuating.”

Grian nodded. “Th-that’s not completely unusual. R-repeated deaths to th-the same thing c-can make y-you m-more resistant. Y-You’ve probably n-noticed that w-with Scar and him c-crashing into things. It m-might be happening with others, b-but not consistently e-enough for you t-two to n-notice.”

Jrum went to hug Grian but then was stopped by Grum. “Wait, we’re still metal. We’ll just steal his heat.”

“B-but I want to hug him!” Jrum complained. “I-I’m scared! I don’t like this! I want to go back to the shopping district!”

Grum hugged Jrum instead. “I’m sure there’s some sort of explanation for this, and if anyone’s going to figure it out, we probably can. Everyone seems spread out, but you and I stayed with Dad. I’m guessing the magic keeping him alive kept us with him. He’s not really in the best condition to do much other than staying alive, so we’ve got to do it ourselves.”

“But what can we even figure out?”

“W-Well, you t-two already t-told me about th-the other h-hermits. A-and what w-was u-up with Imp-pulse. I’m s-sure y-you can d-do plenty w-with more t-time.”

“Exactly, and we also know that whatever is causing this can be affected by Watcher magic.”

Jrum pouted. “That doesn’t really narrow it down.”

“But it narrows it down a little! Which is better than nothing! And it does remove the possibility that helscraft is responsible.”

Jrum stared at Grum for a few seconds. “I don’t know what that is.”

“Right, no mayoral reservoirs. Um, it’s like hermitcraft, but evil.”

Grian smiled as the two bots talked. Even in a bad situation, he was glad they seemed mostly fine. He, on the other hand, felt horrible. Sure, he was keeping himself from freezing to death, but that was all. Taking all this damage wasn’t something his body really appreciated, nor was using so much magic. It was draining him, and there was nothing to eat up there.

Grian tried to purposely use his magic to summon something, anything, to eat. Even if it were a spider eye or rotten flesh. He wished a zombie would even spawn, but the top was covered in powdered snow and mobs refused to spawn on or in it. Still, if he had the energy, he could force a spawn. The thing was, he didn’t, and even attempting made his hearts deplete more. He was just so hungry.

His magic forcefully kicked in to keep him alive, but it just made things worse. It could heal him, but not keep him fed, so it was just at a stalemate as it healed the damage from starvation. But the more he used the magic, the worse he got, and finally, the amount of damage he was taking was greater than what was being healed. And then, he died.

Grian immediately gasped upon respawning, the magic of the feat leaving him feeling temporarily revitalized. He could still find some aftereffects of using so much magic, namely that even after respawning, his wings were still the wrong colors.

Jrum was on him in an instant, the cold metal frigid against his skin. He could hear Grum complaining, but Grian didn’t care, hugging the bot back. If he got cold again, he would likely just end up using more magic. If anything, right now was the perfect time to use some. Grian pulled back from the hug with that realization and summoned an entire stack of cooked steak. It hurt a bit to use enough magic for that, but it would likely keep him alive much longer. And if he did die, he could do it again.

“A-Alright… If we’re g-going to try anything… i-it’s going to b-be now. I w-want one of y-you to jump o-off the m-mountain.”

“What?!” Jrum exclaimed. “Won’t we just die?!”

“I-I’m h-hoping that y-you being r-robots a-and made of m-metal m-means you c-can take m-more f-fall d-damage.” Grian explained through chattering teeth. “S-sort of l-like i-if I were w-wearing armor. I w-would s-still be c-careful a-and go down a b-bit a-at a time, b-but you should r-respawn. A-and if y-you wouldn’t, I-I’ll b-be able t-to make you r-respawn.”

“Are you sure you can do that Dad?” Grum asked, sounding concerned. “You’re already not doing so well.”

“R-Respawn h-helped. I-if we’re d-doing it at a-all, i-it’s going t-to b-be after th-that.”

The bots still looked worried, but then Grum stood up. “Alright. I’ll do it. Jrum, do your best to watch me for signals when I’m low on health so that way dad can be more prepared if something goes wrong.”

Jrum nodded and followed Grum to the edge of the small area. The older bot was able to get down a few blocks safely, finding that Grian was right about taking less fall damage as one that would have just been enough didn’t do anything. But after that, the mountain was much more sheer. Grum tried to take the best path that didn’t need jumping for more distance, which would just deal more damage, as well as shorter gaps between ledges.

He paused on one cliff, staring down at the cloud layer which was still much further below him. Unless he could find a path with very little or no damage, he wouldn’t be able to make it down there. After a few more minor descents, Grum signalled back up to Jrum, who in turn signalled to Grian. Almost immediately, Grum could sense what felt like a thin veil of magic wrap around him like just before they had moved to this season. It felt a little weaker, but Grum could tell his Dad meant it when the respawn was helping.

The robot climbed down a bit more, trying to be extremely careful every time he felt the magic waiver slightly. He was slowly getting closer to the cloud layer, but he definitely wasn’t getting to it now. All he could really do now was die from fall damage, or hope he jumped and landed in a shallow pool of water. Technically, a large pool would work too, but he was a machine, and wasn’t sure how well he and water would mix just yet. Plus, the current situation made too much water seem like more of a concern.

He tried to look for entities, using his extra mechanics for that, but with the cloud layer, he wasn’t having too much luck. Plus, at that height anything he would see would be small, and any zooming function was currently non-functional, specifically asking for an update that couldn’t currently be done. Grum looked back up and signaled one more time before jumping off the edge.

The first few seconds, all he could think about was looking at whatever was below the clouds. But then he actually got below the clouds. Of course, he was able to quickly turn around, using his robot functions to take pictures of the surrounding area, but after that was a different story. Even after getting pictures, he was still falling, and it was terrifying. Grum has already had people messing with his brain, and that was scary and painful enough. Actually dying seemed like something worse. As a robot, he couldn’t make tears, but he still couldn’t help but cry when he realized his fate.

He completely forgot about the veil of magic around him as he continued his descent. All Grum knew at that time was fear. He looked back up, hoping for some sort of comfort, but all that was there for him were clouds, and then he finally crashed into the ground.

The robot respawned just fine, no need for Grian to mess with anything. As soon as he was back on the mountain, Grian pulled Grum into his arms. The shock from dying had left the bot quiet, but it was quickly fading and he was crying again. “Y-You were s-so brave G-Grum. I-I’m s-so p-proud of y-you.”

“It was so scary.”

“I kn-know. I kn-know it’s s-scary. But y-you did s-so well.” He said, then also pulling Jrum into the hug. He wished they didn’t have to go through this. They were still kids.

As he could feel the cold trying to take him, Grian’s mind wandered. Ever since they had gotten here, he had the feeling that something about all this was somehow familiar. He wanted to figure it out, but everything was so cold, he just couldn’t focus.

.

.

Two and a half weeks ago:

“Since when do you show up to these meetings?” Someone asked, making Grian look over to them.

“Yeah, nice to see you too.” He said with a roll of his eyes.

“Doesn't answer the question.”

Grian sighed. “It’s just something to do. I’ve got a lot on my mind and not many projects left to do since we’re wrapping things up. The meeting just happened to show up when I needed something, so now I’m here.”

“Well, glad to have you. It’s actually a pretty big meeting today!”

Grian rolled his eyes. “Oh is it now. And you think Pin would agree with that?”

“He would indeed.” As a different Watcher sat down. “And he would also agree with saying it’s nice to see you.”

Grian chuckled. “Hi Pin. What have you been up to?”

“Essentially prepping for this meeting. Once Noah, Zem and Yus get here, we’ll be able to start. So I’m glad you’re early since otherwise you would have come in the middle of it all.”

“Can I at least get a hint about what we’re going to talk about? Is someone getting upped to our level? Or have we found someone new to just help take the load off of things?”

“Neither actually.” Goofball spoke up. “We’re doing something else like Evo. no scouting this time though.”

Grian couldn’t help but bounce in his seat a little. That would be the perfect thing to distract himself with. “Nice! Do you need help with towers? And do you have a world prepped or not yet. And there’s a good number of players? If you guys need any help, I’m definitely in.”

“Well, Noah’s pretty sure we need a few more towers. They’re not as grand as you had in Evo, but of course we need a good way to incorporate bedrock into the designs and Yus had been having builders block.”

“I have not!” a new voice spoke up, and Grian turned to see Zem and Yus, the latter lighting up when they saw Grian. “Xellllll! You’re here! Oh it’s been so long! It’s amazing to see you! How have you been? Is Hermitcraft treating you well? Builds have been fine?”

Grian pushed Yus back a little. “Yeah, I’m fine. I mean, technically one thing is up, but I’m trying to ignore that and so I’m here instead.”

“You know Yus isn’t going to let you leave without saying anything.” Zem said gruffly as he sat down. “Plus we can’t start until Noah gets here, so better spit it out.”

Grian shifted awkwardly in his seat. “I… well it’s kind of weird… I may have made sort of another NPC Grian… or two.”

Zem and Goofball both facepalmed while Pin looked nonplussed and Yus was excited. “Oh my gosh! I bet they’re so cute! What are their names?”

Grian sighed. “Grumbot and Jrumbot. Mumbo and I made Grum for an election I set up and then I built Jrum myself. But they’re not exactly like NPC or even Robot Grian. Everything in Hermitcraft is much more vanilla, so we had to build them pretty big to fit all the redstone and what not in. So, taking them to next season isn’t really an option.”

“Says the person who time traveled, and broke the world border, and-” Goofball was saying before Pin shut him up.

“I think what he’s trying to say is that hasn’t stopped you before. I’m sure you can still ship them off to your build world. And even if you can’t, we can take care of that when you leave for next season.”

Yus jumped up at that! “Yes! I can be the best unc- no, wait, aunt! Aunt sounds better! I’ll be their aunt!”

Grian laughed at that, as Noah finally came into the room. “Sounds exciting in here. What am I missing?” Pin and Goofball replied with ‘Grian’ at the same time Zem and Yus answered with ‘Xelqua.’ “Nice to see ya. Well, now that everyone’s here for once, we want to get this show on the road?”

“We should indeed.” Zem stood back up. “Now, as a recap for Xelqua, we are creating the Scattered experiment. A simple version is that it is the space to the Evolution experiment’s time. We’ve set up a world with all the new biomes for the upcoming updates, even the ones that most cannot access. The residents will be spread across dimensions and biomes and their goal is to reunite.”

“Sounds creative.” Grian nodded. “I’ve got a few questions though.”

“Ask away.” Pin spoke up. “More minds to think of anything we might have missed would help. Especially since you’re the one with hands-on experience.”

“Thanks. But I know with Evo, it was easy to know what was going on because everyone was in a close location. Whenever a monument showed up, word was spread easily. Are we just relying on chat for that?”

“No, we’re actually disabling the chat for the residents. Messages can still be sent by others, but that would only really be death and advancement messages.”

Grian lit up a little at that. “Oh! Clever. And if they use specially named weapons and mobs, they could find a way to actually send messages!” Then Grian frowned. “It still doesn’t answer my question though.”

“Right, well we are creating small builds that will appear at every person’s spawn. We’re sure not everyone will be leaving their spawn immediately, so those will assist those who haven’t and act as markers in the future.”

“Oh! And based on the person’s situation, those could give tools that they need!”

Noah jumped up a little. “Pin! Write that down! Write that down!”

“I’m writing, I’m writing! Get off my back!”

“That does sound like a good idea. But here’s also some notes that we’ve taking in other meetings.” Goofball said before yanking some papers away from Pin and handing them to Grian, who looked them over.

“Hmm, so I’m guessing by this one note, there are going to be hybrids or shifters included in the group. Maybe even naturals?” Grian asked, glancing up from the notes. Before he could get an answer, he was asking about something else. “And if you’re planning to have someone in the void, it’s going to be hard to mark their spawn. Also about the void, is this rotator going to be able to appear there too? I’m sure the void will kill them, but will the spawn itself make them resistant or what?”

“All good questions Xelqua.” Zem nodded. “We are going to create a gateway like structure for the one in the void as he will be in a position that leaves him with no sense of his surroundings, so it will give him that.” And after he said that, Pin wrote it down. “Some resistance for the cycler seems like a good idea. And lastly the hybrids, there are currently a few of them, but if you look on the other page, we have mob adaptions listed. Certain people will be spawning in loops that will have them adapting to their surroundings. One in a flower field will be a moobloom, one underground will gain sculk traits, someone on the mountain may be associated with a goat or arctic fox. Not everyone will go through that, as we need some control to test, but we believe that we’ll have a good selection.”

Grian nodded, pushing the papers back. “This sounds good. I mean, as long as you’ve got people who would be a good fit for something like this.”

“Oh! We definitely do!” Yus nodded. “If you want, when your season ends, you can visit us. We have it all set up so it will start when your season ends, so that way you’re not missing out.”

“Well, I’ll see how things go.” Grian replied. “I know I’ve still got some things to finish, but I should be ending soon, so I might see you all then.”

“Well, if not, I’m sure we’ll see you later.” Noah said. “I wouldn’t mind help when we get into recapping things for the records.”

“That sounds good to me.”

From there, the meeting proceeded on nicely. Nothing signalled to Grian what was around the corner for him. He never realized who the experiment was for. And then he went home.

When he got back to hermitcraft, he took what the Watchers said to heart and went looking for Mumbo. He wasn’t leaving the bots- no, he wasn’t leaving his kids behind. Even if he had to break a few rules to make it work. He was a Watcher, and nothing was enough to stop a Watcher. Well, except for another Watcher.

.

.

Grian had been keeping himself alive a bit longer, refusing to eat so he could save it for after he summoned even more. With his periods of blanking out from using Watcher magic, time felt like it was passing faster, so soon the moon was in the sky once more.

Grian tried to ignore it, but the cold of the night made everything worse. He was using more energy after the temperature drop to keep himself alive and sort of warm. It also didn’t help that so much of the magic was used to warm him, leaving the bots to slowly freeze. They may not be able to feel the cold, but ice was still freezing their joints, making it harder and harder for them to move.

Grian looked over to the cliff. He still had lots of time before he died again, but if he reset himself now, he would have more magic. And this time instead of food, he could summon something to let the bots warm up. Or maybe even...

Grian pushed himself up and walked to the ende, letting himself fall. It was still painful, but the energy filling his body when respawning made it so much worth it. Immediately, he summoned a bed before pulling himself into it. Compared to everything else, the sheets were so warm. He let his magic seep into the bed, forcing it to work. And then the sky started moving, time seeming to speed up and then it was morning.

As Grian pulled himself out of bed, he was glad to see the message in chat that told everyone he had been the one to advance the sun and moon. While it might not have been too helpful for most, suddenly having daylight or just being able to know what time it was could be useful. But now that he had used the bed, he moved the bots into the sheets, hoping it would help warm them up.

The avian considered just sitting next to the bed, trying to rest normally, but something suddenly caught his attention. There was… it felt like some sort of magic. It was trying to form nearby, but there wasn’t enough energy. Grian thought maybe it would be some sort of mob. Maybe a skeleton and he could get lucky with a bow, or a zombie and iron. So he used more magic to finish summoning whatever it was.

Grian’s eyes widened at the small monument of sorts that appeared in front of him, made of ice and bedrock. Suddenly, his mind made the connection. That was one he built for the Scattered experiment. And that’s where he was now. For a moment, he was stunned, glad to know that information. Based on what he knew, he and Impulse were getting the worst of it, but that would be getting better soon. In fact, the bots had already noticed it with Impulse.

But then that made him remember something else. The bots. Grum and Jrum were children. The hermits would get through something like this. They were probably some of the best people to use for this experiment. But no, Grian drew the line and kids being involved.

He tried to use more magic, but he was too worn out. For now, he couldn’t do anything, but he was going to raise hell once he got out of here.

[johnkrrasinski]

𝐄𝐱𝐢𝐥𝐞

Chapter 5: Now I’m in Exile

full masterlist // series masterlist // commission open // support my work

Pairings: Dark!Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 8,310 

Summary: Steve Rogers; a Hollywood A-lister and your clandestine occasional hookup. Best friends since childhood, but people change and friendships fall out. Now you were merely strangers with benefits. What happens when one day you stopped being his doormat to be a better man’s queen? The selfish Steve Rogers would not like it. How far is he willing to go to get his favorite possession back?

Warnings: smut, non-con/dub-con, dark Steve (in later chapter), angst, Steve Rogers is an asshole in this one, no redeeming qualities. (MUST BE 18+)

A/N: this series is dedicated to the lovely @belovedcherry​​​ who commissioned this story and developed the concept. thank you for being a friend when i truly needed it. i’m really glad that you trusted me to write this story for you. with all my heart, i sincerely hope you like it. this series will be updated every day.

The calling tone reverberated in your hand as the beaming grin on your face mirrored on the screen. With every passing second, your anticipation grew. You couldn’t control your fidgeting so you took a deep breath and-

“Hey, boo!” Natasha’s voice modulated.

You lifted your right hand to the front camera’s level, revealing the rose golden Cartier wrapped finger as it glimmered under the light.

“Oh my God! Did he…?”

“Mhm,” you nodded. “I’m engaged, Nat!”

Natasha put a hand over her mouth, “holy shit! Girl, I’m so happy for you! Congratulations!” the gaiety on her face was palpable, you could feel it through the screen. There’s a reason why she and Wanda were the first people you passed the happy news to. After your parents of course.

“Thank you so much! I can’t believe it. Eight months ago, I thought I’d be single forever but here I am…”

“Yeah, things escalated quickly for you! Now you are someone’s fiancee and seven months pregnant. It’s mind-boggling,” she spoke like a proud sister. “I’m beyond happy for you. Really, I am.”

“I know this is probably too soon but, will you be my maid of honour, Nat?”

“You know damn well there’d be no wedding if you didn’t ask me to. Hell yeah, I will!”

“Ah, yes!” you hurrayed in excitement. “Alright, I’ll catch up to you later, okay? I gotta call Wanda too.”

“Do whatever you want boo, it’s your day.”

You hung up the phone and went through your contacts list, then clicked the phone number under Wanda’s name. The excitement bubbled up in your chest as you pictured the smile on her face when she sees the new lustrous thing on your finger.

Eight months earlier…

“Hey, y/n. It’s me, Adrian. It was a pleasure meeting you last night. How is the dress doing?”

“She is going for a dry cleaner. It was lovely to meet you too, except for the drink-spilling stain of course.”

“Sorry about that. But it got me your number and I would’ve done it again if that’s what it costs.”

You smiled down at your phone under the warm glow of the morning sunlight. “You showed me pictures of your dogs and cat so it’s a win-win situation for us both.” Wink emoji.

“Perhaps you and I could chat more about my dogs and my cat over a cup of coffee?”

“Will you promise you won’t spill the coffee on my shirt this time?”

“You have my word.”

“I’ll consider it, then.”

“Next Friday, at 7 PM. Write that down on your calendar.”

“I didn’t even say yes.”

He sent an adorable picture of his pomeranian dog looking up at him with pleading eyes. “How can you say no to this face?”

“Say no more. I’ll see you next Friday.”

-

Two weeks after the date.

You regurgitated your guts out in the toilet bowl and held up your hair, trying not to let the vomit splotch a strand of it. This was the third time you had to run to the loo to spew the queasiness in your body. You felt dizziness clouding your head. What the hell is wrong with your body? This had been a daily occurrence for the past one week.

You sat on the toilet lid after everything you swallowed earlier was out. You recollected every food that had made its way into your digestion the past couple of days… Did you eat something inedible? Perhaps that ice cream in your refrigerator had passed its expiration date, but you only bought it three days ago at the grocery store and you swore it could still last for two more months.

Maybe that shrimp that you ate at the Chinese restaurant with Adrian last night was stale. Ugh, you’re gonna need to talk to Adrian about this but you didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. Perhaps, it was just another sickness caused by an unknown bad food.

But you also retrospected the shift in your body for the past couple of weeks. Your period was late this month… It should’ve started three days ago, what is happening? Could it be…? Oh no, there’s no way. You and Adrian hadn’t even moved it to the bedroom yet, so that means… If you are, then… It must be… Steve’s.

Oh hell no.

You recalled, the last time you and Steve met up for your weekly (sometimes more) hookup appointment was the day after you and Adrian met up for a coffee, which was your very first date with him. You didn’t know there would be plenty more to come so you went to what you had planted your soles so deep in, which was Steve Rogers’s penthouse in the upper east.

He had you on top with your arse facing him because he enjoyed the view better than your face. You struggled to bounce yourself up and down on his massive size. He could be such a sluggard sometimes but a man like him would always get his way, and if he needed to fuck out some tension, then he’d use you as a masturbation aid for as long as he wanted.

His grip on your hips was ruthless, you knew it was going to cause some bruises tomorrow but you couldn’t care any less. Not when he was pulling you down this deep that you could feel him penetrating your womb. His grunts filled your ears with eroticism and you picked up your pace to help him reach his climax. You shut your eyes with your mouth hanging open as soft moans escaped through your lips. You clenched around him and you felt his cock throbbed, you knew it was coming. Literally. Your coil shattered just a few seconds before he released his seed deep inside you. He pulled out and went to the bathroom to clean himself up and left you rumpled on the couch.

He left to Atlanta the next day to shoot a new movie. Something about an organization reinforced by the Nazi during World War II, and how the Captain leads an elite combat unit to the battle against an organization called Hydra. You didn’t know that until you looked it up on the internet.

You hadn’t received another booty call for him ever since. He was probably sleeping with twenty-something-year-olds models in Atlanta though.  

And you had made peace with the tragic reality you were stuck in. You had accepted the reality that you and Steve were like riding down a dead-end street. There was no making love on Sunday mornings and have brunch together afterwards. There was no settling down in a countryside house where your kids could run around barefoot on the front yard. There was no marriage vows and walking down the aisle in white for you.

But all that changed when you decided to take a pregnancy test and the result revealed that you were indeed pregnant. You took three more and the results were all the same. Fucking hell. What the hell are you going to do now?

You had to call Steve, right? He was the father after all. You couldn’t tell Adrian because he would despise you for sleeping with another man and possibly carrying his child and he probably would never want to talk to you anymore. He’d probably regret knowing you at all. And you didn’t want to send him away. You liked him, he was good for your heart and the more you explored him, the more mesmerized you become by his magnetic force.

You were distraught. You didn’t know what to do, you didn’t know whom to call, so you just sat there in the tenebrosity of your room, out of options and out of clue.

Eventually, you collected your nerves and you dialled Steve’s number. He didn’t answer. He told you once that he didn’t like being called unless he called you first so you never did, but this time, you had to speak to him. “Please, pick up…” you prayed while on the verge of breaking down completely.

You were directed to his voice mailbox.

“This is Steve Rogers and if I’m not picking up that probably means you shouldn’t be calling me.”

Beep. “Hey Steve, I’m really sorry for calling you this late but I really need to talk to you. Please, it’s urgent.”

Three hours later and there were still no callbacks. You had sent him twenty-eight text messages and his voice mailbox was full. If you waited one more goddamn second, you’d lose your mind. So you picked up your phone and bit the bullet and typed the words; “I’m pregnant and you are the father. Please call me back so we can talk about it.”

It was around 4.30 AM when you checked the time on your lock screen. You were fatigued; both physically and emotionally. You had to unwind from every quandary that impinged you today. It was a lot and you were at a complete loss, but you’ll figure it out tomorrow.

You didn’t sleep well that night, you kept waking up whilst it was still dark out, and you had to wake up at 7.30 tomorrow for work. You kept looking at the sleek device that was left unmuted on your bedside table in case Steve called back. He didn’t though. You only slept for an hour and you really wanted to take a day off but you’d lose your mind if you were left alone with your thoughts and no distraction. So you got out of bed, took a shower and prepared for work, with your thoughts filled with the future of this baby growing inside you and Steve. Why hasn’t he called back or even text at all? Does he really think so little of you?

The impulse to check your phone and call and text him every five minutes was adamantine. You tried to control the itch of sending him another text and voicemail but it failed until you read the words ‘not delivered’ in red under the last text message that you just sent. You tried to resend it over and over again and even tried to write a new message but it was the same result.

You moved to your call feature but after a single ring, you were diverted to voicemail. It took you a few seconds to realize that Steve had blocked you. You went to the last media to reach out to him and it was through his Instagram account. You didn’t even follow each other and you were certain that he received thousands of DMs and notifications every day from his obsessive fans. He had 39 million followers for God’s sakes, the hell is one message from you going to mean anything?

But you were despondent and you needed someone to go through this with, especially the father himself. You did it anyway without thinking twice and told him that you were pregnant and you needed to talk to him. You even sent a picture of those three pregnancy tests and attached it on your message. You couldn’t stop biting your lip and tapping your foot throughout the entire way to your work in the train. Man, were you really going to raise this child alone?

-

Three days later and still no signs of him attempting to return your messages. You had slowly accepted your fate that you were going to carry and raise this child alone. You still hadn’t told Adrian despite talking to him every day and it crushed your heart whenever you heard his elated tone. You could tell that he was really into you and he wanted to take this relationship further but sorrowfully, one way or another, you were going to have to tell him the secret growing in your belly and you were going to have to slaughter this exquisite potential. You wondered if the circumstances were different or you had met at another time or in another universe, would Adrian be the one you were meant to be with?

You made a promise to yourself that you were going to meet him tomorrow and tell him the truth. Delaying it wouldn’t make it any easier and it wouldn’t prevent the doom from happening. If anything, it would only elongate the hurt. So you picked up your phone after you cerebrated it on your mind and clicked on Adrian’s chat room; “meet me at the Drive Brew Cafe tomorrow? Got something I’d like to talk about.”

“Is it something really urgent or you’re just looking for an excuse to see me?” Wink emoji.

“Oh, stop flattering yourself. We really need to talk.”

“Usually, I’d ask a person the matter before I’d decide that it’s important enough for me to meet them in person but I’m giving you a pass.”

“Very generous of you. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, y/n.”

-

You arrived ten minutes earlier than the time you both agreed to meet at. The cafe wasn’t too crowded, thank God, so you immediately ordered a cup of Machiatto for Adrian and a cup of hot chocolate to calm your nerves. After the barista called your name, you walked to the corner booth before anyone could occupy it first. You were going to need some privacy. You sat as your hands trembled from edginess. You couldn’t stop fidgeting and tapping your foot as the second passed by on the clock.

Exactly on 6.30 PM, a dashing brunet in a dark grey vest and rolled-up sleeves entered and you stood up to greet him. He just came home from work and man, it was impossible for him to ever look bad even for once, you were so lucky but life just kept finding a way to eliminate the people you cared about.

“Hey, you look good.” his British accent was thick. He kissed your cheek and embraced you with a warm smile.

“So do you. How was work?” You both sat on the opposite chairs of the booth.

“The ordinary. We had a meeting with a director of this historical film to get us to fund the project. How was yours?” The genuinely curious look on his face nearly changed your mind. Oh, how you wish you could hold on to this moment where you could still have him a little longer.

“Nothing new, just another day at work. This one’s for you by the way.” You didn’t know what more to say when your mind was cluttered so you stalled by passing over his drink.

“So, what’s so important that you needed to see me?”

“Adrian, you know, I really like you, right?” you took his hand in yours as you stared into his striking eyes. “And I’ll always be grateful that you were foolish enough to ruin my dress that night.”

He was perplexed. His eyebrows were furrowed. “As much as I enjoy your companion, I’m sure that you didn’t call me to meet you only to thank me for wrecking your dress, right?”

“Yeah, but um… I just, it’s been wonderful knowing you. And… Oh God, this is going a lot harder than I thought.”

He nodded. A dejected look on his face that you wished you could wipe out. “Let me save you the trouble… You are breaking up with me.” He didn’t say it as if he was guessing, he said it as if it was a declaration that he’d figured out before you could even formulate the words.

“Adrian… I’m pregnant. And you’re not the father, so don’t worry. I know when you first asked me out, this isn’t what you signed up for. So I’m setting you free. I’m sorry.”

You expected him to get up and walk out of the door, leaving you with your alienation but none of that was detected on his expression or his body language. “Who is the father?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”

“Adrian…”

“Don’t I at least deserve to know who my girlfriend is sleeping with before I even took her to my bed?”

Girlfriend. Huh. Well, that’s first.

“Steve Rogers.”

“Steve Rogers the actor?”

“Yes…”

He snickered. That drew a mystification out of you. “What’s so funny?”

“So you’re into the arsehole type.”

“…How do you know what kind of person he is?”

“The movie that we had a meeting about today? He’s going to star in it and I’ve met him a couple of times at some parties. Not the nicest guy, eh?”

“I don’t… I don’t know what to say.”

He sipped a bit of his coffee. “How did you get involved with a bloke like him?”

So you told him everything; the beginning of your friendship, the fallout, the moment he took your V-card in your dorm, and how years later, he still had you on a chokehold. He didn’t seem to mind one bit that the woman that he had been seeing had a history with someone. He’d dealt with much worse scenarios in his former dating lives. He wasn’t going to let other man’s neglected baby stand in the way of what could be something beautiful.

“I’m not walking away.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m staying. I like you and I know you feel the same way too. We are going to raise this baby together. No child deserves to grow up fatherless. I’m going to be its father.”  

“Adrian, but…”

“No buts, we’ll get through this together. Now, let’s enjoy these tasty drinks before they get cold, yeah?”

So you nodded, too dumbstruck by the man before you. You drank your hot chocolate that was cooling down and let his presence soothe you better than the sweet drink on your tongue.

-

Steve went back to New York after spending nearly four months in Atlanta, shooting his movie. Man, he’d lost count on how many extras he had fucked in his hotel room but nothing felt as good as your pussy. He thought about your last text before he blocked you. You had claimed that you were pregnant with his baby. You must’ve lost your mind to think that he’d buy that shit.

So he picked up his phone, unblocked your number and pressed the call button. Three dial tones and a familiar voice answered. “Hello?”

“Hey baby, meet me at my place tonight.”

“Who is this?”

“Hillarious, y/n. I’m too fucking tired for jokes okay? Come here and suck my cock then maybe I’ll listen to your jokes.”

“Is this Steve Rogers?”

“Fuck yeah, it’s me, y/n. Who else do you think I am?”

A pause jammed the line. “I’m done, Steve.”

“What? The fuck do you mean you’re done?”

“I sent you thousands of texts and calls five months ago and you couldn’t even lift your fingers to answer.”

“I was in the middle of shooting, y/n. You know better than to call me while I’m working.”

“Oh, screw you, Steve. I’m pregnant and you didn’t even care? How much of an asshole can you be?”

“You were actually serious about that?”

“Of course you think I was joking. But don’t worry, it’s none of your concern now. We’re done. Don’t call me anymore.”

“Wait, wait! Y/N!” you cut off the line. “Ah shit.”

He tried to call five more times and you neglected every single one of them. In fact, you instantly blocked his number after the last phone call with him. You didn’t want to be associated with him anymore. You thought that Steve had forgotten about you since he blocked your number first so you never had to do it yourself. But of course, an entitled scoundrel such as he is would never stop taking and taking until you had nothing more to give.

It took you years of anguish, an unforeseen mishap and a beautiful stranger that ended up being the stupendous love you’d been looking for to open your eyes to the rotten core of Steve Roger’s heart. He ever only lusted for your flesh, he never gave a shit about you as a person.

You lived for the hope of it all, you cancelled plans just in case he’d call, and you never once suspected the pitfall, but you were no longer that foolish girl anymore. You had met a real man now and he led you to the path of love and happiness and Steve was no longer the most intrinsic thing on your mind.

-

Steve was going apeshit. He had never been rejected or denied before, he always had it so effortlessly. Especially by you. He thought he’d always have you by the palm of his hand, he thought whenever he asked you to jump, you’d always say “how high?”, he thought whenever you’d think about walking near to the door, you’d always turn around with a few sensual touches and sugarcoated words, but the renunciation that came out of your mouth sting like a bitch and he didn’t like his ego being trampled over.

He went to sleep later that night, dreaming about caressing you and kissing you as a lover would. Never once did he ever have such a dream about anyone before. Maybe he belonged to you more than he had realized all this time.

-

It was his fourth time this week of standing on the street of your apartment building after you returned his plenteous gifts that you certainly never even asked for or needed. Why would you? You could easily buy that necklace jewellery, that overpriced velvet dress, and those designer shoes with your own money. And even if you couldn't, your boyfriend could easily afford all those things for you too. But that motherfucker used his money to buy you shoddy gifts such as poorly designed accessories and tacky books and yet you happily accepted them? What a closefisted fool.

But who are we kidding? The sole reason why you didn’t accept those gifts is that you no longer cared about him. Those inducements didn’t work on you anymore. You were much happier with a better man now. What do you have to lose?

Rather than dwelling in self-pity and resentment, he hid in Range Rover in a black baseball cap and Tom Ford shades from the paparazzi and waited. Waited for her to come out. He had been religiously stalking every social media you had from another private account to track your activities. The last photo you posted on your Instagram was a picture of you and the scary college roommate of yours that he’d forgotten the name of. It was last Saturday.

“Always a delight to catch up with this one. Love you @natasharomanoff.”

under 281 likes and 32 comments. He scrolled through every single one of them and searched for any clue that might indicate your next move. Found one.

Wandamaximoff: “Don’t forget about me!! :(” so they are still friends apparently.

Natasharomanoff: “Same time next week? 💕”

“Absolutely,” you replied to the red-head.

Gotcha. He’ll be there.

So here he was, waiting for you to come out of that building to grab an Uber because he knew you weren’t so into driving. Except for that late-night rendevous of course, because he told you once that he’d hate for a single soul to know there was something going on between you and him. You were a secret and he’d like to keep it that way. Sooner or later, people are gonna talk and headlines are going to break the internet.

Two minutes later, you stepped out wearing a beige coloured cable knit cardigan and a grey jersey maxi dress underneath with a necklace around your neck. He couldn’t see it from this distance but the item had made a few appearances in some of your recent Instagram posts, and he already knew that you wore it wherever you go. It was an initial necklace of the letter ‘A’ in silver.

He hated the arising thought but he couldn’t help but think how ethereal you looked in your casual, maternal clothes. Perhaps even more than when you wore those petite dresses that always made you look uncomfortable whenever you wore them. You walked with grace and there’s this elegance that you just exuded without trying too hard. You could be wearing the most boring clothes or doing the most mundane things like looking down at your phone to text your Uber driver and you’d still look enchanting.

Man, how could he had been so blind all this time?

It shredded his heart even worse knowing that the growing fetus in your belly was his, but when that baby borns, another man would hold it instead of him and the kid would grow to learn that another man was its father instead of him. That motherfucker. He didn’t have any right in raising that baby. You were bearing his child. Not Adrian’s. You belonged to him. You always did. Fate had interlaced your paths long before you were given birth to this world. No one knew you better than him and vice versa. Not even that former roommate of yours or Wanda. Only him. He had to have you back. Whatever it takes.

He was so inflamed with debt and feebleness of his childhood that he turned into someone he used to loathe when he was younger. He strayed so far away from the path that his mom had paved for him to walk in and he wasted the one good thing in his life that kept him going when he had nothing. But he couldn’t turn back now, couldn’t cross out the mistakes that he did. The best he could do is make use of what he is capable of now and utilize it cleverly.

A scheme was formed in his head… He’d have you back in no time. One way or another.

-

Months went by and his patience emaciated. He had it all drawn out in his head but he had to be very careful. If he rushed or stepped on the wrong stone, he’d end up being decapitated and his career would burn to ashes. Especially with how the paparazzi and the media were always busting up his ass, like hunters with foxes. He couldn’t have that. He had worked too hard to see it all crumble beneath his feet.

He rejected all film projects and public appearances offered by his agent slash good friend, Sam Wilson. Sam was getting a little frustrated by Steve for being unreasonable. He was his most ambitious client, never one to say no to a good script and occasions that could advance his career and generate more profit for both of them.

But after he returned from Atlanta for his last movie, he had been shutting most people out. Sam was always his most trusted confidant, he was his agent, after all, it was his responsibility to make sure the client that earned him the most income was well in health and aptitude. But he was scratching his head trying to get Steve to open up to him.

Sick of Steve’s shortcoming, he called Steve and told him to come to the office.

“Fuck off, Sam. Why can’t you just talk on the phone?”

“Get your ass down here or I will come to your house myself.”

He groaned and hauled himself to Sam’s office, not in the mood for Sam’s garrulous nagging.

-

Steve knocked on Sam’s door and he saw Sam sitting in his usual black and white attire in his ergonomic chair. He had a frown on his face instead of his usual conceited womanizer charm. “What’s with the long face?” Sam asked.

“Nothing. I’m just worn out.”

“Cut the bullshit. Last time you got your ass to work was six months ago. What the hell is happening with you?”

“I just haven’t found any good script that interests me, Sam. And I told you, I needed a short break. I’ve been travelling nonstop for the past few years to shoot films and press tours, and now I just need to hit the pause button.”

“The Steve Rogers I know isn’t one to rest. He was power-hungry and always craved for more. You also rejected an Oscar potential role. Something’s going on and it’s deeper than just needing a break. C’mon, talk to me man. As a friend, not as your agent. Let me help you.”

It took him a few seconds to brace himself. He didn’t need to tell him the entire truth, he just had to ask Sam fora favour and then the Steve Rogers that made him millions would come back. “You know anyone who’s good at editing photos?”

“…What?” Sam was perplexed.

“Just let me know, Sam. You got any connections to editing experts? Hook me up.”

“What is fueling this?” Sam was bewildered. He looked at Steve like he had just grown two heads out of nowhere.

“Just trust me on this one, alright? You link me to a good editor and business will back as usual.”

“I know a guy.”

-

Your bachelorette party was fun. You, Natasha, Wanda and a few of your fellow colleagues were invited to the tea party at the garden of The Berkeley in London, which is the hometown of your fiance. You loved London and you always had such a good time whenever you paid it a visit with Adrian.

Now that the weekend was over, it was time to pick up little Nathan from your parents’ house. A beautiful baby boy was born three months ago and he was your parents’ joy. You never told them that the real father was the scrawny kid who used to lounge around on their couch every Wednesday afternoon when there was nothing much to do. Your parents loved Adrian as their own and it was all that mattered.

This baby is going to grow up with so much love from his parents and grandparents. From your chosen family who will become his aunties and uncles. He is going to be raised right in gentleness, affection, and sincerity. And it would never matter how he was conceived into this world in the first place.

You refused to leave this baby for more than five minutes but Wanda and Nat kept insisting that you needed some time for your own. One bachelorette party wouldn’t hurt. It’s only one weekend. Besides, your grandparents were obsessed with baby Nathan and they were going to take such good care of him while you were away, celebrating your single life with your girlfriends before you spend the rest of it with someone.

Now you were back home, you couldn’t wait to see your baby. You had been thinking about him endlessly in London and you missed holding him close to your chest. So you put on your coat and took your keys to drive to your parents’ house but you were stopped by a text message before you could open the door of your car.

“Enjoyed your bachelorette party?” An unknown number wrote.

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Who the hell is this?” your thumb typed and pressed the send button.

“You know me. Better than anyone, just like I know you too better than your fiance.”

Your heartbeat quickened. “Stop texting or I will call the police.”

But before you could hit the send button, a picture of your face popped on the screen. But what disarrayed your mind wasn’t your face, it was the body. You were stark naked with your knees on a mattress and your ears teared up, and your lips were wrapped around a shaft.

What. The. Fuck?

“Got plenty more.” the unknown number threatened.

Another picture of you lying on the same bed, except this time you were on your back so your tits were clear cut visible and your mouth was parted slightly like you were moaning. A hand was wrapped around your throat and yours were pinned above your head by another one.

You were frozen in place and the warm autumn air descended into zero degree celsius. Your breath hitched and tears started brimming in your eyes. Who could have these pictures of you?

“I’ve got many more if you’re curious just how much of a slut you can be.”

“Stop. What do you want?” your fingers trembled.

“Meet me at the New York State Pavillon tonight, at 11 PM. Alone. Bring your baby. If you dare to report this to the cops, I will send these pictures to your fiance and post them on every existing site on the internet.”

The words didn’t leave any room for argument or further questions. So you drove to your parents’ house to pick up Nathan for the last time ever.

-

Adrian was working late tonight. He told you over the phone that a big project was in the work and so he and his team had to stay a little longer in the office to get it done as soon as possible. You were a bit relieved because that means, you could save yourself from whatever was bound to happen when you arrive at the abandoned historical world fair.

“Don’t forget to drink water. I love you.” You reminded him.

You wrapped Nathan in a blanket to keep him warm and you placed him in the infant car seat next to you. Your mind couldn’t stop flashing back to those pictures. Who could you possibly have done so wrong that they thought exaction would be the most fitting comeuppance. It took about 35 minutes via Grand Central Parkway which was the fastest route so you took it. Your mind also couldn’t stop asking questions, so many questions… But most importantly, who could this person be? Could it be… No, no way. You knew him. That was the last thing he’d ever do. Not because he wasn’t a nefarious person but because the world was constantly throwing themselves at him, offering him dollars and women.

He had too much in his plate to look over to yours and wanted to steal what was in it too. After months of not a single contact made, he must’ve had forgotten about you right? C’mon. This is ridiculous. But if it’s not him, then who could it be?

You arrived at Flushing Meadows a half-hour later and then you texted the number. “I’m here. What do you want?” you kept Nathan inside, fearing that whoever the culprit is might hurt him. So you stayed inside as consternation overcame you.

A few minutes later he answered, “step out the car and bring the baby.”

“Don't hurt my baby, please. Take me, but let him return safely to his father.”

“He will. Now, do as I say or I will publish these pictures.”

You trembled. You unlocked the door of your car and stepped out of it deliberately holding Nathan to your chest. You were careful to keep him from crying. The crisp air sent shivers down your spine. You closed the door and waited. Your eyes roved to all over the desolated site. Until it landed on those familiar blue eyes that held more ice than the air.

“…Steve?”

The man you used to know was different now. His face that used to be clean-shaven was now covered in a glorious beard that made him indistinguishable. His dusty blonde hair was slightly longer and he dressed in dark clothes that amplified the sinister atmosphere circling him.

You held Nathan closer to you with one hand behind his head, trying to keep him quiet. “Don’t be like that, let me see my son.”

“No. He’s not yours.” You spat.

He scoffed. “Say whatever you want, sweetheart but it’s my blood running in his little veins. In fact, I think we can take a DNA test and send it to your fiance, how about that? Also, how is Mr and Mrs. Y/L/N?”

“Leave my parents alone, Steve.”

“Are you going to cut that attitude of yours or do we have to do this the hard way? Either way, I don’t mind.”

“I’ll be good. Just please, don’t involve my parents.”

“Good, I know the good girl I knew is still somewhere inside you. Now, drop your phone to the ground and smash it.”

“…What? No! How am  I going to-”

He furrowed one eyebrow at you and you instantly understood the peril if you repudiated him once more.

You took out your phone from the pocket of your coat and dropped it to the ground. You stomped it with your foot until the screen was cracked, but Steve wasn’t satisfied enough with its damaged state so he stomped it harder than you did until it was smashed into two.

He led you to his Range Rover that he parked in an empty street and opened the backseat door and you slide into it with Nathan still tucked under your neck. Then he closed the door and walked to the driver’s seat and drove away to God knows where.

“Where are we going, Steve? Nathan needs to sleep. He can’t-”

“Quiet. He’ll be home soon.”

You didn’t dare to ask more questions. The vacancy in his eyes that were reflected on the rearview mirror was petrifying enough as it is. You sat and stared out the window and think about Adrian. Was he home yet? Did he try to call or text you? What would he do when he realizes you weren’t home? You couldn’t help but think that this morning was possibly the last time you’d ever see Adrian. God, you missed him already. You prayed to whatever God was listening that he would save you and your son soon.

Please Adrian, please do something. I love you.

The soft hum of the engine made your eyes feel droopy. You tried your best to stay awake but it was nearing midnight and the jet lag was still encompassing you so the fight in you to stay awake resolved. You gave in to the lethargy with Nathan dozing on your lap.

You were woken up by a shake on your shoulder and you found Steve standing on the open door. “Get up, we’re here.”

In your still languorous state, you got out of the car hugging Nathan close. “Where are?”

The sounds of crickets saturated the ambience as only the faint glow of the moon illuminated the trees around you. There was nobody around except you and Steve -and Nathan if a three months creature counts-. You put two and two together… Did Steve take you into the woods?

“Steve, what are we doing here?”

He didn’t meet your eye or answered you but instead, he walked toward what looked like a mid-century modern wooded oasis perched on a sloping site and set on stilts. The trees blended with the wood side exterior and wraparound decks. You had no idea whose house this belonged to but it was enchanting.

“Go ahead.”

You approached the resident that was incandescent with yellow lights, giving you a little peek to the furniture inside. You hoped whoever owned this property wasn’t sleeping yet, it was literally in the middle of the night, what the hell was Steve even doing taking you to a stranger’s house?

“Steve, I really don’t think this is a good idea…” as you stood freezing on the terrace. “Can we go back now? I really don’t want Adrian to worry.”

He fumbled with a key and unlocked the entrance. “Get in.”

Your eyes scanned the room to make sure there was no one around that might bust your ass tot he police for breaching before you stepped in. Your eyes peregrinated to every corner of the interior, relishing in the smell of oak and firewood.

He then took you for a quick tour to every section of the house without saying anything that would actually straighten your befuddlement. The decorations were full of vintage and antiques. “You like it?” Steve asked.

“I mean… it’s lovely for sure.”

“Good, then that means we won’t have to redecorate.”

“Wait, wait… What?”

“I bought this house for us, sweetheart. I knew you’d love the cozy design and it’s a perfect place for Nathan to grow up in.”

“Steve, what the hell are you talking about?”

“We’ll work things out. I’ll stay here with you for the rest of the weekend and I’ll only leave when I need to work. You won’t have to worry about anything else, I’ll take care of it.”

“God, you are crazier than I thought. I’m going home.”

He stopped you by blocking the entrance door and glared. “You’re not going anywhere, sweetheart.”

“Steve, get out of my way.”

“You are mine. That baby is my son, you hear me? This is where you belong.”

“I’m gonna call the cops.”

“With what? Your phone?” He derided. “You don’t even know where the hell we are.”

“Adrian’s gonna come looking for me.”

“No, he won’t. Because I’ve sent those pictures of you to him and to your boss, who is it? Tony Stark? And you don’t have any life to get back to. This is your life now.”

Your heart sunk. No, no, he can’t be. He promised he won’t if you did what he said, right?

“You’re lying…”

“I did. I sent it while you were snoozing in the car. Shit, I’d pay a million bucks to see the look on that asshole’s face when he realized just how much of a dirty slut his fiancee is… Well, ex-fiancee now.”

“Why would you- you promised you wouldn’t if I did what you asked me to.”

“Well, that agreement has changed,” he said it so nonchalantly as if he hadn’t just pulverized the life you had built for yourself, the happiness you had stacked on a shelf that took you years to collect; a great job, a loving boyfriend, an adorable baby.

You wanted to lash out, you wanted to smack him in the face but you were too wounded by what you just heard. If you returned to Adrian and your work tomorrow, would you still even have them? Would they even accept you at all? You knew better than trying to report a powerful man such as Steve Rogers to the cops, he could bribe them, he could get a qualified lawyer. He could also make you lose the battle you never wanted to be a part of even if you were the victim, he could easily paint you as the mentally unstable woman that wanted to blackmail him for money.

The media had never captured pictures of you sneaking out of Steve’s apartment. Steve never took you for a stroll in the park or Sunday brunch because that’s all you were; a secret. Steve never wanted to be seen with you and Steve never wanted to share you with the world for whatever reason. Steve didn’t mind being photographed by models and other film stars, but not you. And now, he wanted to keep you in this little vault or calaboose so that you’d never escape and the traces of your history would be erased forever from the world’s memory.

Because Steve Rogers was no longer the man you used to ride around the bicycle with during the summer or the scrawny romancer you used to know, but he was a selfish man, a man with enough ego and ego to completely metamorphosed himself into whatever he wanted to be, no matter how ruthless and perilous that person he is. And now here you were, a mere object for him to assert his powers on, and you knew it wasn’t because of his love for his son or for you, but simply because he always got his way. Always.

“Now you can stay here, accept your new life with me and raise Nathan together, or you can face the disgrace that your fiance and your boss see you as. You think he’s gonna let you come back to his house? You think your boss is gonna shrug it off and let you come back as if nothing happened? No. You’re dispensable, and one way or another, you’re gonna come back to me. Even if you don’t, I’ll find a way to make you.”

“Why me? You could have every other woman in the world… Why me, Steve?”

“Because you think that you can repudiate me… You can’t. You think you can take away control from me… You can’t,” he gritted. “Not a single person in the world can.”

The tears in your eyes fell the floor as your legs wobbled. “Now, let’s not keep our son awake any longer yeah? Put him to bed. And then… You can be the good housewife you were meant to be and perform your duties.”

So he led you to the nursery room and you put Nathan in the crib. You wanted to fight, you wanted to reach that door and run… Even if you don’t know where you were going, as long as you could escape from this maniac. But you knew better than running away to in the middle of nowhere at midnight, in the cold with your son. You also knew better than thinking that Steve wouldn’t do whatever he could to get you back under his feet… so what was the point in countering anymore? Men like Steve Rogers always wins.

After you put Nathan to sleep, he led you to the master bedroom and ordered you to strip. The routine revokes old memory. “Get on your knees,” he commanded as he sat on the edge of the bed, like a king waiting to be served.

You did as he says and stood between his spread legs. “Take off my pants.”

You unzipped it and pulled it down along with his briefs. “Good girl, now, open.”

You parted your lips, wide enough to fit him and circled your tongue around the tip. Just like you used to because he liked the buildup and you knew it better than anyone. He grabbed a fistful of your hair and tugged on it harshly then inched himself back deeper into your mouth. You hollowed your cheeks to accommodate his girth as he hit the back of your throat each time he went back in.

“Ah fuck, I’ve missed that sweet mouth of yours…” He picked up the pace and you looked up to him. His face contorted in pleasure while you were feeling anything but. You feel repulsed, you wanted to push him away but you couldn’t. He closed his eyes, relishing in the feel of your mouth around him and threw his head back.

He moaned as he controlled your movement faster, trying to get himself off. Your eyes teared up as you looked up at him, and his cock throbbed. He climaxed deep inside your mouth as he kept your head down so every drop that he had was spilled down your throat. He kept you there until he had no more to offer and then he pulled himself out. “Get on the bed, ass up, face down.”

You followed his command and waited until you could feel him kneeling behind you. “Just like old times, huh?” He chuckled. You could feel the tip of his cock nudging your clit and then he invaded your body through your entrance. “Shit, you’re still so fucking tight. Did that asshole ever fuck you at all?”

You didn’t answer but moaned instead as you could feel him stretching you like he used to. And no matter how many times he had fucked you, you never truly got used to it. Adrian’s face came in flashes; you recalled how he made love to you, how gentle he would be with you and how intimate your lovemaking session was, a stark contrast to how Steve would treat you. You also compared their sizes, Adrian was average compared to Steve. Whenever Steve entered you, it always felt like an intrusion, an unforeseen attack, rather than your fleshes weaving into one.

He retracted himself and then pushed back in brutally and you whined. He held onto your hips in a bruising grip, as he pounded into you because he was never one for a tender start; he only had wanted to get himself off and that was it. “Does he fuck you this good? Bet you think of my dick when he fucks you.”

Your body jolted every time he jerked himself forward and he groaned and grunted. He hammered into you relentlessly and incessantly, causing you to clench around him. The wetness made squelching noises as you could feel your impending orgasm approaching, forming a dam inside you that was ready to break any second now. He sped up and he screamed in pleasure as the coil inside you broke, you reached your peak at the same time and he buried himself deep inside you, spilling every drop that he had deep in your womb.

“Bet that British asshole doesn’t even make you cum, huh? And I know you always fake it to get him off you.” He sneered as he detached himself from you and got off the bed to clean himself off to the bathroom.

You laid there in the same position, feeling voidness creeping up your heart like you once were; unwanted and alone. Steve had stripped you of your pride, dignity and honour once and even after you managed to climb out of that pit, he found a way to drag you back down once more and locked you under.

And there was nothing else that you could do except accepting your fate as his perpetual prisoner, living under the corruption and unforgiving authority of Steve Rogers. You could only hope that once Nathan is grown enough, you could somehow sneak him out of this confinement to live a much better life and eschew himself from turning into the monster that his father is.

[hualianff]

T.F.T.A (I.H) III 《II》

Irodori – Hiroaki Tsutsumi “I can touch up some patches of the walls that look washed out?”

“Uh, no you don’t have to-“

“-oh! And I can vacuum the carpets in the morning before work, during the day, and at night once everyone leaves so the floor will always be spotless-“

“No, really, that’s a bit much-“

“Does anything in your office happen to need dusting?“

HX sighs. This human never stops.

First, it is the food and drinks he delivers to the employees on each floor–without being asked to. His employees are filthy slobs when it comes to dealing with their customers as it is; the extra vacuuming would admittedly be appreciated. Though, HX has no complaints when XL personally brings him fresh coffee and pastries from the bakery on the corner.

Then, it is the excessive cleaning that has somehow become one of his biggest priorities, courtesy of XL. HX supposes this is what he needed a custodian for in the first place. But he can’t help but wonder how YY found a human who is so damn eager to be worked like a slave.

“Mr. Xuan, what cleaning fluid brand do you prefer the bathroom floors to be mopped with?” Xie Lian asked, still sitting in the lone chair in front of HX’s desk, one hour after he first entered. Here he was, going through a laundry list of sterilization questions while HX was still trying to process just how ugly the human’s work uniform was.

He’ll have to do something about that.

HX was, by no means, generous or fashionable. Hell, he currently had on all black–the inner and outer robes being different shades–and cheap sandals that exposed just how pale his skin was. He sported the same skull earrings since first getting his ears pierced, and he kept his hair back in a simple, low ponytail that felt like a rope of lead at times.

They surely must make quite a pair, like the dark and mysterious goth teen meets the wrongly-dressed happy-go-lucky old man. There is no doubt HX beat XL in age by a couple of hundred years, yet, XL somehow still gave off wise-beyond-his-years energy. A man who has seen and been through plenty of life’s obstacles.

Such fragile beings, humans were.

“Um, Mr. Xuan?” XL spoke up again when HX didn’t answer his twentieth question right away. “Is it alright if I call you that? Or should I call you Black Water?”

HX’s frown deepened, sincerely considering how XL should address him. It was not like XL knew the truth behind the title Black Water, and for that reason, it felt improper for the human to speak a name he was not aware held so much power.

“Mr. Xuan is fine,” HX says curtly.

“Oh, okay. Mr. Xuan it is.”

HX exhaled with thinning patience. He placed his elbows on the desk, preparing to shoo his new employee away so he could work in peace.

“You can just call me Xie Lian. I hope to be of the best assistance to you, Mr. Xuan,” XL adds quicker than HX can respond. “By the way, about those cobwebs surrounding the hallways lights-”

Seriously, was this guy out of his mind?

From XL’s perspective, he believes he hit the jackpot with this job. Not only is it incredibly low-stress compared to his previous hustles, but XL often finds himself to be most useful in keeping Black Water company. Yes, XL is aware HX strives to be as antisocial and non-confrontational as possible. And yes, a boss-employee relationship probably shouldn’t cross a certain line into the best friend zone.

But whenever HX happens to be nearby, and XL bounds over with a dozen updates on his work and random stories that he can’t help sharing, HX begrudgingly stays and listens.

“See? Doesn’t dusting make everything nicer to look at?“ XL questions with a sunny smile, gesturing to the bookshelves on one side of HX’s office. He was a quarter of the way through with this task when his boss walked in.

HX merely grunts, then plops down in a chair different from the one guests typically sit in. It appears to be a new addition to the room. In XL’s eyes, more furniture means more growth in self-care for one’s personal space. In this case, HX’s working environment.

Naturally, XL approves with a satisfied nod. He also can’t stop the next words from tumbling out of his mouth.

“By the way, I noticed your tastes in literature differ across many subjects: Folklore, politics, ocean science…”

HX raises an eyebrow at this comment.

“What about it?” he asks, a little blunt, a little curious.

XL continues dusting in between the shelves. He faces away from HX and is glad his boss can’t discern his nervous expression. XL knows he has his nosy moments, knows that he often unintentionally crosses others’ boundaries in order to connect, which irks people all the time.

Maybe this is one of those moments.

Still, XL wants to try.

“Do you want to tell me about them? I’m quite the avid reader myself, and some of these titles look positively compelling,” XL says, skimming a hand down the exquisite spine of one of the books. He turns his head just enough to sneakily eye HX’s reaction, who hasn’t changed his seating positions the last forty minutes.

HX’s arms remain crossed over his chest, staring straight ahead at the wall of bookshelves XL insisted on dusting and tidying. His obsidian eyes noticeably sharpen, jaw slightly relaxing.

HX doesn’t say anything for a long minute. One minute bleeds into two, and then three.

XL sighs, a bit disappointed. He doesn’t want to push HX’s limits, nor initiate conversation he is in no place to discuss. Quietly, XL turns his attention back to work.

But as XL squats down to straighten out some books on the lower shelf, the image of black robes gliding along the floor catches his eye.

HX walks to one of the middle bookcases, caressing his fingers along his vast collection until he pauses on a book with an emerald green cover and characters glimmering in gold. He plucks the novel out of its homely crevice, opening the cover to flick through the worn pages.

XL takes this as his cue to approach, waving around the feather duster in anticipation. HX shifts to show the human the open book, finger pointing to the section header.

“This one is a myth about a parasitic ghost who latches onto its host and feeds off of sadness, sorrow, despair,” HX explains slowly, deliberate with his words. XL’s mouth opens in an “oh” shape, expressing interest in his features.

HX brings the book closer for XL to see.

“It’s one of my favorite reads,” HX murmurs, focusing on the text. XL blinks in astonishment, feeling especially honored that HX shared this with him.

It has only been one month since XL started working at Paradise Deals, and despite HX’s “I don’t care” attitude when it comes to basically anyone ever, XL definitely considers them to be friends.

And that is honestly the most he could ever ask for.

“Then I’ll be sure to put it on the top of my list,” XL chirps, tapping the book with the duster.

The corner of HX’s mouth tugs upwards.

*** Flor y Sangre – Sophism, Isabella LeVan, A Million in Vermillion One day, as XL rides the elevator up to the eleventh floor, it stops at the third floor first. The doors open to reveal a man with a green dress shirt tucked into black-and-white checkered pants. The same checkered-patterned suit jacket hangs loosely over his shoulders.

The man’s dark hair is long enough to cover his ears, making him appear quite young. Side bangs obstruct his eyes, but upon seeing XL’s face, the strands fly out of the way as he shakes his head in surprise.

“YOU!” The man seethes out, stomping into the elevator with clenched fists.

“M-me?” XL looks around, then points to himself questioningly.

“What are you doing here!? And what the hell are you wearing!? Am I supposed to fall for a dumb disguise like this?” The stranger fires back, voice getting more high-pitched as he jabs an offending finger at XL’s nose.

XL is beyond confused. He glances down at his custodian attire, the nameplate thankfully still in place. It’s in navy this time, courtesy of Black Water’s kindness is providing XL with more than one work outfit that doesn’t automatically suck the soul out of whoever sees it.

There is an awkward beat of silence.

The elevator doors close, XL now pressed with his back against the wall, nervously fiddling with the mop in his hands.

“Do I know you?” XL asks, forgetting his manners in a panicked state while searching his memories, trying to recognize the man in front of him.

“Fucking rude, as always,” the man sneers, giving XL a nasty stink-eye before backing off. “If you won’t reveal your true self now, I’ll just follow you until you do.”

“Excuse me? I have no idea what you’re talking about,” XL rushes out, sneaking in a few bows here and there. “Perhaps you’ve mistaken me for the wrong person?

The man crosses his arms as if seriously contemplating XL’s words. His eyes shift from XL’s face, to his attire, to the mop, and then finally, up towards above XL’s head.

He decidedly shakes his head, unconvinced.

“No, I’m not that gullible. How convenient would it be that the first time I see you in who-the-fuck-knows-how-long, you’re stuck like this,” he hisses lowly. “Weak. Useless. Ignorant.”

Now that makes XL’s eyebrows rise into his hairline. He’s been harshly insulted before–regarded as pitiful and lacking potential in many areas–and likes to think his skin is thicker because of it. But to be directly attacked by a man whom he has no memory of meeting before? XL can’t help but feel like this is entirely uncalled for.

How does this man even know him?

The elevator doors slide open, having reached the eleventh floor. On the other side stands Black Water, wearing an expensive-looking suit with navy lining and silver cuffs. His foot stops its tapping on the ground where it had been denting the carpet.

“Xie Lian, I’ve been looking for you,” Black Water says, completely ignoring the other man in the elevator. “I’m meeting with a few clients on the east side of the city, and I need you to handle the documentation.”

He holds out a huge briefcase with the same fish symbol as the ones on the doors in the hallway. As XL steps out of the elevator to accept the briefcase, an interested “Xie Lian, huh?” sounds from behind.

“Pardon me, sir, if I can’t recall our first acquaintance. But did you need something from me?” XL asks while turning around, attempting to hold out an olive branch once more. Next to him, Black Water pulls out his phone and mindlessly scrolls down the screen.

“I can’t believe you actually did it. Got yourself a name and everything,” the man says, disbelief coloring his features. Then his eyebrows pinch together in a sudden display of anger. He locks eyes with XL, those amber eyes looking eerily similar to his own. “You disgust me.”

Before XL can react, the elevator doors slam shut instantly with a loud boom, masking the sound of fingers snapping right next to him. XL jerks at the sound, hands white-knuckling the briefcase.

“Do you know who that is?” XL asks his boss, tilting his head. This encounter has left him awfully confused and a little worried about his job. Would this affect what his boss thinks about his impact in the workplace?

It seems this trouble is needless when HX eyes simply narrows his eyes at the closed doors, a stormy expression on his face.

“No one to concern yourself with.”

Bonus:

XL finds out QR is the lower-levels’ boss, who holds an apparent grudge against him…? Once QR had come across XL in the elevator, he sticks around like an unwanted pest, somehow having the time to harass XL many hours a day.

XL: “Why does this guy keep following me around and insulting me?”

XL eventually cleans QR’s floors too because he has time and it seems QR won’t leave him alone.

HX: “Give me back my custodian!”

QR: “Fuck off! Why are you so defensive about mortal scum?”

XL, wiping down the doors, whistling: (´∀｀*)

[muddyhippy]

A Tangled Problem 

Adorable artwork by the ever-lovely @smolghostings

Updated on AO3 here

Lily padded into the common room still quite sleepy but with a single goal in mind. She’d got up out of Jonny’s bunk whilst he was still fast asleep, carefully extracting herself from his cuddling arm determined to get washed, dressed and make a nice breakfast for everyone.

 She’d had another bad nightmare and Jonny had stayed up late with her telling stories and singing. He made her feel safe and cared for enough that the nightmares stopped being horrible and scary in her head for the rest of the night so she wanted to let him sleep and make a tasty breakfast. Her plan was going quite well when she washed and dressed but was too excited and distracted by recipe ideas when tackling her locks and then quickly got stuck, literally, when it came to brush her hair.

 Lily’s hair was a thick mass of candyfloss-soft silvery tangles at the best of times but last night’s upset had obviously made it ten times worse.

 Her brush got stuck and no matter what she did it wouldn’t come free.

 It hurt when she tugged and pulled and struggled. Enough to make tears prick her eyes.

 So she headed to find the one person who’d be probably best to help.

Without ceremony she headed directly to the person she wanted who was sat on the sofa where they usually were this time of a morning, making use of the quiet, completely absorbed in their music to the point they didn’t notice her approach until she climbed into their lap.

 Tim physically startled to suddenly have a lapful of Lily appear between his chest and his guitar and stare intensely at him.

 “Um hello Sweetness?” he began, thoroughly on the back foot.

 “Tim! Help!” She pleaded by way of greeting, tears already spiking.  

 He tensed, fully poised to unquestioningly murder the shit out of whatever that had prompted this response.

 She pointed.

 Tim’s eyes alighted on her very tangled-in-hair brush caught up in her tresses. His eyes ran a quick diagnostic that helpfully returned the report ‘Ouch’.

 “Oh.” He considered why she was showing him this and came up with nothing, “Um why—?”

 “Because Jonny’s asleep,” She explained simply, “and you’ve got the prettiest hair, you tangle it all up in your goggles but it always ends up nice and untangled again so you’ve got to be good at hair-brushing.”

 That, that was an impressive leap of logic he had to give her that.

 “But Raphaella…?” He began weakly.

 “She has really pretty hair too and it’s even longer than yours but it’s never tangled! Yours does so you’ve got more practice at fixing it. Please?” She sniffed, “I’ve tried and tried and it only hurts more.”

 Tim took pity on her, that snarl up did look painful and it was obvious everything she’d tried had made it worse.

 Plus, she was doing the look that Jonny warned him about, the whole ‘her-eyes-take-up-half-her-face-look’ that made his insides get twisty and him want to fix whatever the matter was every time she pulled it.

 He suddenly understood why Jonny was willing to do as much stuff as he did. Lily was bloody hard to say no to when she looked like a particularly sad octokitten.

 “Um, alright then.” He carefully put down his guitar to give the small, miserable child his full attention.

 It really was a disaster. Tim considered his approach whilst ignoring the growing warmth in his chest at the idea that the little girl who’d joined them not that long ago apparently trusted him enough to ask for help with something personal that had left her vulnerable. He couldn’t remember the last time that had happened. Probably Bertie. Best not think about that then.

 “Okay Sweetness, can you turn around for me so I can get to the brush please?”

 She sniffed again, “Okay, thank you Tim,” she pressed a heartfelt kiss to his bearded cheek before turning around obviously utterly convinced that he’d got this and she trusted him implicitly that he’d make this better.

 Fuck, he hated Jonny for not being awake.

 Tim, not for the first time since Lily joined them, regretted being an only child with absolutely no sibling experience to deal with situations like this.

 Ah fuck it, he’d do his best.

 Using his enhanced vision, the patience he used when cleaning and repairing his weapons and the comb he kept in his coat pocket but would never admit to, he very carefully, painstakingly, detangled her hair.

 After half an hour he managed to free the brush from her head then proceeded to comb all her locks clear so she would be tangle free for the next five minutes at least. Maybe he’d have to ask Ashes to show Lily how to plait properly since he’d seen Ashes wear some excellent styles over the years and their hair length was closer to Lily’s than Raph’s was.

 He’d never bothered to learn, he liked having long hair, it was something that was his own rebellion after strictness at school and whilst he was completing his mechanical engineering apprenticeship. It was easy to tuck it up under a cap after all.

 He’d tried not to show how heartbroken he’d been when he’d been conscripted and shorn short again. Bertie had known of course and told him he was still just as handsome. During the time in the tunnels his hair had grown out again since no one was really paying attention to uniform rules in the depths of the war.

 He’d kept it long ever since. He wasn’t sure if it was out of defiance or as tribute to Bertie who’d never been able to keep his fingers out of it when they were alone together.

 Tim mentally shook himself, now was definitely not the time to start down that track. That route led to months locked in the armoury, building non-stop. Or murdering Jonny repeatedly for being a dick (or just being present). Neither of which were viable responses right now.

 “Right then, I think we’re done, turn around for me Lily.”

 The little girl shuffled around on his lap to face him, she shook her head slightly, smile immediately blossoming across her face. “It feels so nice! Thank you!”

 Little arms engulfed him in a grateful hug, enveloping him like the octokitten she masqueraded as half the time.

 The master-at-arms was unspeakably relieved he’d not fucked this up, “You’re very welcome Sweetness, now, let’s show you how to brush your hair without it getting all tangled up. Sound good?”

 “Yes please! Jonny helps me a lot but he doesn’t know as many tricks.”

 “Jonny doesn’t have as much patience, he’s had longer hair a few times but mostly because he couldn’t be bothered to cut it.”

 “Did he have hair as long as yours?”

 “No. Just to his shoulders.”

 “Oh.” She considered, “Mine’s already nearly that long.”

 “I had noticed.” He couldn’t help grinning, as she tried assess the length of her hair first by tipping her head forwards to see, realising that wasn’t working then using her hand to feel the end of her lengths whilst trying to look out of the corner of her eyes. Her little tongue poked out of the corner of her mouth in solidarity and concentration.

 “I want to grow mine more.”

 “Oh yes?”

 “Yes! So I can be as pretty as Raphaella and you!”

 Tim felt both the blush and lump rise.

 “That’s, that’s kind of you to say Sweetness, but you’re lovely just as you are. You don’t have to look like anyone else to be better in some way.”

 Lily paused and thought about it.

 “Well, I won’t be exactly like you and Raphaella,” she conceded, “my hair’s a different colour.”

 He couldn’t argue with the statement, she was a lot lighter than even Raphaella, “That’s very true.”

 “But I still want it long. I think it’ll be even nicer long.”

 Tim couldn’t help but smiling at that very familiar conviction, “Then I best show you how to look after it then shouldn’t I?”

 Lily beamed, lighting up the way she did whenever any of them took time to show her something. It was why they all, without exception, took time to demonstrate things to her. They might be immoral, immortal space pirates but none of them were above wanting to feel like a hero for teaching a kid to tie her shoe laces, flip pancakes or make belt holes. “Yes please!”

 Which is why Brian walked in twenty minutes later looking for his fellow chef to find Lily and Tim in the middle of a hair brushing lesson, The child sat on the master-at-arms lap facing him, little tongue was back poking out in concentration, a long hank of Tim’s glossy tresses held reverentially in Lily’s tiny hand, her other carefully brushing it through as Tim talked her through the method of working in stages, his hands guiding hers, starting at the bottom and slowly working up to the roots.

 Brian cleared his throat

 Mechanised eyes zeroed in on the pilot, “This isn’t what it looks like—” Began Tim, colour rising dramatically in his face.  

 Brian raised an eyebrow.

 “Tim’s teaching me to brush hair properly so my brush doesn’t get all tangled up in my hair again because that hurts!”

 Tim sighed, utterly defeated.

 “You know,” commented Brian, attempting to sound innocuous, “that looks exactly like what’s happening.”

 Lily looked puzzled, “That’s because it is.”

 “Quite right too,” Agreed the pilot, “looks like you’re doing a good job.” Brian took closer notice of their youngest crewmember, her usually wild mass of waves looked decidedly neat with that glossy sheen that only came with extensive grooming. “Did Tim do yours earlier?”

 “Yes! He’s really good! I got my brush stuck in my hair and he got it out and brushed it really nicely! I asked him because he has really pretty hair and is good at getting tangles out of it after he wears his goggles. He’s really gentle and clever at it!”

 Brian was amused to watch battle of emotions war over Tim’s face pride, pleasure, embarrassment and fury all crossed his face, clearly annoyed that this moment of softness with Lily was being witnessed.

 Brian found he didn’t care all that much for Tim’s comfort, this was more important. Tim and Lily were bonding over something other than guns, completely unprompted. This was good progress. The fact that Tim was obviously trusted enough by Lily for her to ask his help and that he’d clearly given it freely said a lot about how comfortable they were becoming together which wasn’t bad for barely three weeks on board for Lily. Then again, last week her nightmare-stricken visit to Tim’s room that night she couldn’t find Jonny had probably cemented him as a ‘safe’ adult she could go to when the first mate wasn’t available.

 Brian hoped the rest of them would become as easy to approach eventually.

 It was nice to be reminded that deep under everything, he and his crew, at a push, could remember how to be kind.

 “Right well, I’ll leave you to finish. Would you like me to start breakfast Lily?”

 The child paused, looking conflicted.

 “I am more than happy to.” Brian clarified.

 Relief flooded her little face, “Oh um, yes please.”

 “Did you have a plan?”

 “Scrambled eggs and bacon and pancakes.” She recited her intended feast immediately. Jonny liked pancakes, said his mummy made them for him sometimes when she had the time and they were still his favourite if he had to choose.

 Bacon had been a completely new food for Lily, but she loved how the saltiness of the slices complimented the sweetness of the pancakes, she wanted to learn how to make the syrup Ashes liked to go with it too. Eggs were very special because they were a treat on her ship, they had a few sealed cartons that they opened for very special events. On Aurora she could have eggs for every meal if she wanted AND they were fresh! In shells!

 Brian had explained gently that eggs were more of a breakfast food and it was better to have them in one meal a day rather than more because she might get bored of them. (Also he was worried how much more omelette/poached eggs/boiled eggs/scrambled eggs/frittata/fried egg combinations the crew could endure with a smile and he really didn’t want to put off their newest member from the job she liked. Thankfully Lily took instruction and hints with equal grace).

 “Sounds good to me!” Approved Tim, feeling that she shouldn’t feel all that bad about not cooking one meal.

 Brian smile widened, pleased she was deciding to spend more time with Tim, “Me too, right then, I’ll get started, you can join me when you and Tim are done. See you later.” He left the scene as the two continued their lesson.

 “Right then, reckon you can do the rest before Brian finishes?”

 “Yeah!”

 Tim arrived to breakfast on the table, Lily holding his hand, the two looking decidedly neater than normal.

 As the others began to gently tease and pass the pancakes Brian looked over the group, his family, and couldn’t help but smile.

[heloisedaphnebrightmore]

Talk to me, please! [Oliver Wood x Reader] - Requested

Title: Talk to me, please! Pairing: Oliver Wood x Slytherin!Female!Reader Word count: 4.2k Published: 8 October, 2020 Author: Heloise Daphne Brightmore Warning: Swearing Notes: I got this request from @leeayda04​ and I just loved writing it <3 Now I didn’t know if I was supposed to write male or female, therefore I went with female, but do let me know if you want me to change it.  Summary: After your fight with Oliver, you decide to make him suffer a little. Unfortunately things slowly get out of hand and you don’t know how to turn things around, before you lose him. Request: [x]

“Hey! I was wondering if you can make a one shot where oliver is dating reader the popular charming slytherin and he kept forgetting about thier date that make reader furious and end up having a big fight where reader gave him silent treatment” - @leeayda04​

Harry Potter Characters Masterlist | Masterlists

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Oliver was a sweetheart. The sweetest boyfriend you have ever had. He always made sure to shower you with his love, he held onto your hand as if he never wanted to let go, he hid face in the crook of your neck just to feel a tad bit closer. If you didn’t stop him, he would have screamed to the whole Great Hall how much he loved you.

You were quite popular, and Oliver prided himself in calling you his, only his. You have had quite a few people around you who wished the two of you would break up already, wanting a chance with you finally, but you two were way too in love to care.

There were some Gryffindors who whispered behind your back, and grimaced at the sight of you together, but he ignored the disgusted looks he got for being in a relationship with you, a Slytherin, because he adored you more than he thought he could show.

Whilst he was indeed the best boyfriend in your eyes before, things have changed recently. To the worst.

You were sitting in Madam Puddifoot’s tea shop, your eyes wandering towards the door every couple of seconds. Your eyes shot up as you heard the bell above the door each time it opened, but he was never the one to step into the shop.

You looked at your muggle watch, which you got from Oliver for your 17th birthday. You furrowed your brows as you realised he has been late for over an hour already. You heaved a deep sigh, storm of thoughts swirling around in your head. You placed the leftover of your cup of tea on the top of the saucer, before standing up, placing your jacket over your shoulders and leaving the café behind.

You wanted to scream, you wanted to cry, you wanted to tell him what an ignorant boyfriend he has become, but you just couldn’t form the words you wanted to say. Until now. The tightening feeling in your chest, the little ball in your throat made your jaw clench. You shouldn’t have felt as if you have gotten used to this feeling. You were angered by Oliver’s behaviour. He has always been the kindest, sweetest boyfriend you ever had, but recently the boy had been everywhere but beside you.  

It was not the first time he didn’t appear on your date, nor the second or third. You have warned him on numerous occasions, but the boy seemed to prioritise everything, but you. His excuses were always the same. He got busy, he had an extra quidditch practice, he had to study. It was getting tiring and you couldn’t swallow it anymore, it was too much.

You strutted towards the Gryffindor common room, your steps loud and hurried against the concrete ground. You expected the stairs to go on about their way and make it harder for you to get to the boy, they were moody after all, but everything seemed way too smooth as if you were supposed to let your anger out on the boy.

You barely reached the Gryffindor common room, a student just leaving, the door still opened behind him. You quickly stood in front of it, sliding through the hole, immediately facing your boyfriend’s laughing form on the couch.

Oliver was seated on a sofa in front of the fireplace, the Weasley twins seated on his right side, whilst each Percy and Lee occupied an armchair for themselves.

“Khm.” You cleared your throat to get Oliver’s attention, but he didn’t seem to hear you. Fred looked at you first, followed by his brother George. You found it easy to make a difference between them, you have been around them for far too long.

It wasn’t a good relationship at the beginning, but slowly they started to warm up to you, even if they still enjoyed teasing you here and there. However, looking at the deathly glare you projected at them, they knew better than to try anything.

Fred nudged Oliver’s shoulder who was in a conversation with Percy. You didn’t really concentrate on what they were talking about, you only caught a couple of words about lessons and exams. Oliver looked at Fred with a raised brow, before he followed his eyes, finding you staring at him with a stern look, raised brows and folded arms in front of your chest.

“Love, what are you doing here?” He asked nonchalantly, making you frown at the clueless boy.

“I think that should be my question.” You hissed in anger. “You shouldn’t be here, instead you should have been with me in Hogsmeade.”

“Oh, for Godric’s sake, I forgot, love. I’m so sorry. I will grab my coat and we can go.” He shot up from his seat heading towards the male dormitory, but your voice stopped him.

“Oh, no you don’t. I was waiting for you over an hour, Oliver.” You groaned and he flinched as he heard his name. You didn’t use it often, nor did he use yours. You preferred calling each other in all kinds of endearing pet names. “This is not even the first time.”

“I’m sorry, okay?” He spoke as he turned around and started walking towards you.

“Sorry isn’t going to cut it, Wood.” You hissed, your jaw clenching in anger. He flinched once again, realising that the conversation was going to get heated very quickly.

“Maybe we should go somewhere private, love.” He tried to convince you, but you didn’t listen. If anything, you got even more worked up.

“Don’t call me, love and don’t try to tell me what to do!” You groaned as you stepped back from him. “Are you scared that people will realise what a shitty boyfriend you can be? Because that’s what you have been recently. At first, I understood, you are the captain of the quidditch team after all, sure you have some obligations, but it has started becoming a thing where you completely forget about me.” You didn’t even realise when you raised your voice, but at this point you didn’t even mind. You were way too upset with the boy.

“I didn’t mean to, I promise. I’m so sorry.” His guilty expression and apologetic look made you want to step closer and pull him in for a hug, but you stopped yourself. He has promised you so many times already that he would pay more attention, but recently his words meant nothing to you.

“How many times are you going to apologise? I can’t even take your words seriously anymore.”

“What?” He grimaced at your words. “What else do you want me to say? I fucked up, I apologised.” It was his turn to raise his voice this time, his Scottish accent thickening as his anger rose.

“But you keep fucking up non-stop, Wood. It’s not once or twice! You have left me; you have forgotten about me on numerous occasions. How long do I have to keep accepting your apologies when you keep repeating the same mistakes over and over again? I’m tired, Oliver.” You groaned, your tone irritated, still slightly breaking after each word.

“I don’t understand you. I told you, I’m under constant stress. We need to win the Quidditch cup, we have to focus on all the extra practices, I have to get ready for the exams, I literally am non-stop studying. I can’t always hang around you when you ask.” You have heard all his excuses before, they weren’t anything new, but the idea of you asking him to hang around you, got you worked up.

“I’m in my 7th year too. I have as much responsibilities as you do and if anything, it’s not even me who initiates to meet up, but you, so then you can completely forget about it. What do you think how it feels when your boyfriend keeps promising sweet little dates, but attends to none?” You shook your head as you exhaled deeply. “If you continue like this, you will be single before you even realise it.” You huffed.

“What?” His eyes shot up, capturing your stern gaze. His jaw hang law in surprise, his eyes wider than ever. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“You will have to figure that out, Oliver.” You shook your head as you turned around and left the stunned boy behind. You expected him to come after you, to try to stop you, to try to talk to you, but he didn’t even move. He stood in the Gryffindor common room with the same shocked expression across his face as he watched the portrait hole, whilst you headed towards the dungeon, knowing you would cry the night away.

You barely arrived at your dormitory, you threw the door open and flopped down on your bed. You wanted to scream, you wanted to be angry, but instead teardrops after teardrops ran down your cheeks, heart-wrenching sobs left your lungs.

The thought of losing Oliver hurt like hell. You loved the boy more than you thought you would ever love someone, but you couldn’t put yourself through so much pain all the time. His ignorance hurt you and you just couldn’t do this to yourself anymore.

You weren’t sure if you wanted to break up with him or if you just needed some break from him to try and figure things out on your own, but you were certain that you needed to concentrate on yourself now. Only on you.

As the morning came, you woke up with bloodshot eyes, each accompanied by small puffy bags under them. Your headache was pounding hard against your skull, making you groan. You got yourself out of bed, dragging yourself over to the bathroom, almost stumbling back as you recognised your reflection in the mirror.

“Really? This is how I look because of some stupid boy? I’m pathetic.” You scoffed at the sight of you, scolding yourself. You were always a strong person, always there to support others. The sight of your pale skin, pain-filled expression and swollen cheeks gave you an encouraging kick in your backside. You were having none of this. You were stronger than to let yourself go over someone who didn’t seem to care about you.

You finished your morning routine, dressed into your uniform and walked back to your room. You halted as you felt all 3 pairs of eyes studying you with a worried look. Pansy walked up to you first, placing a hand on your shoulder.

“We heard you last night.” She said with a sympathetic look. The girl wasn’t an angel per se, but you could always rely on her. She wasn’t a social person, but those who were close to her could enjoy all the benefits her friendship included, which meant she was to kill for those she cared about, almost literally.

“Thank you for worrying about me, Pansy, but I’m fine. Things just got a bit harder recently, but I’m good.” You explained with a reassuring smile. She knew the story back and forth, but she also knew you. You didn’t have to say much, she understood that you were dealing with it on your own. She nodded in response, before she took her wand out and pointed it in your face. “Hey.” You stepped back abruptly, but she chuckled at your behaviour.

“Calm down, I don’t think you want to go out like that.” She grinned at your unappealing look. You rolled your eyes and let her perform some easy spells. As she finished, you turned around to look into the mirror beside the door and you couldn’t stop a little smile from crawling up on your lips. “Not bad, huh?” Pansy winked with a proud smirk.

“Don’t get too cocky, I’m naturally good looking.” You scoffed, before your smile turned into a playful grin.

“Right, Ms. Confidence. Let’s get some food into your system.” She shook her head as she started pushing you out the door, your other two roommates following behind.

You walked up to the Great Hall, Pansy talking about Draco Malfoy for the umpteenth time. The girl was smitten, and Draco knew about it, but he seemed to be rather ignorant towards her. You never dared to voice it to Pansy, deep down she knew, but it felt good for her to crush over someone.

As you reached the Great Hall, you immediately headed towards the Slytherin table, taking a seat beside Pansy, who decided to sit next to Draco. You chuckled at the two. Draco rolled his eyes, very obviously wishing for the girl’s disappearance, whilst Pansy just chuckled happily enjoying the boy’s mere presence. They were definitely a comical pair, but it was somewhat helpful, it lightened your mood.

You took a piece of scone from the middle of the table, buttering its top, before you shoved it in your mouth. You enjoyed the sweet taste spreading around your tongue, when you felt a presence beside you. You turned to the side where Oliver decided to take a seat, his eyes eagerly watching you. Your heart sped up, as you saw the hurtful expression he was wearing. You wanted to pull him closer, hid his face in the crook of your neck, just the way he loved it, but you didn’t move. Your logic won over your heart.

“Can we talk?” His tone was weak, almost pleading, but as guilty as you felt, you knew you shouldn’t have. It was all his fault to begin with. You scoffed and turned back to your breakfast, taking another scone and repeating the process. “Love, please.” He reached for your hand, but you just pulled it away. You didn’t look at the boy though, your new game was to pretend that he never even existed. “I’m begging you, please talk to me.” He tried again, his voice breaking your stern wall protecting you, but before you could have given in, Pansy interrupted you.

“Can’t you see she doesn’t want to talk to you? She doesn’t even want to see you, Wood. Now, off you go, your playmates are missing you.” She snarled, clear disgust showing in her voice. She never liked the boy after all, but she did ignore his existence for your sake.

“Y/N-” he started, but Pansy let out an animalistic growl. You had to swallow a laugh that was about erupt from your lungs. You didn’t look at the boy, simply waited for him to leave you be, just like he did so many times before.

He studied your face, waiting hopefully even for just a stolen glance from you, but you never looked at the boy. You didn’t want to, and it irritated you that it took him so long to understand. Finally, he stood up and left your table, heading back to his own.

“Thanks, Pansy.” You smiled sweetly as she nodded in reply and turned back to Draco.

-

Days passed by since you have last talked to Oliver. The boy was restless, apologising to you in every corner, declaring his love for you on every occasion. You felt weak against him. You have never kept such a distance between you and whilst you were strong on the outside, you wished nothing but to throw yourself into his arms, enjoying the warmth of his body against you.

Oliver was also at a breaking point. He scolded himself for his ignorance in each and every waking moment. He didn’t know what to do, he felt useless, nothing he has tried worked. You built up a wall between you and he had no idea how to take it down. He knew what an idiot he has been, and he kept beating himself up for it, but he was running out of ideas on how to get you back. 

He couldn’t have known that you were slowly giving in and you couldn’t have known that he was slowly giving up.

Oliver was sitting in Potions, listening to Professor Snape, his complete attention on the teachers. You tried to steal secret glances from the boy, but he didn’t return them. This was the first time he didn’t try to look at you, he didn’t send you apologetic notes, he didn’t ask one of his friends to convince you to talk to him. Were you losing him? Your chest painfully tightened at the thought. You didn’t want to give in to the negativity, it wasn’t lost yet. That wasn’t possible, you wanted to believe.

A piece of scrunched up parchment flew over to your table, your heart jumping in anticipation. You looked at Oliver once again, but he firmly concentrated on his notes, instead of searching for your reaction. You looked down on your table, opening the piece of paper.

I’m guessing Oliver and you are finally over. Go on a date with me, love. I’m sure you would enjoy my company.

Be at the Slytherin common room entrance on Saturday by 11am. I don’t accept a no; we both know it’s been coming.

Marcus

You frowned at the note, a grimace spread across your face. You turned around to look at Marcus Flint, captain of the quidditch team of your house, arch enemy of Oliver. You shook your head in a reply, a silent scoff leaving your lips. As you turned back around, you caught Oliver’s eyes, your heart skipping a beat as your gaze locked. However as quickly as it came, Oliver turned away, not wanting to see you. He was just as hurt as you were.

The week slowly passed by, but Oliver haven’t tried to get close to you again. If anything, it was his turn to ignore you and you didn’t know what to do about it. You wanted to walk up to him and apologise for ignoring him, but your pride was winning over your heart every time.

You sat at your table in the Great Hall, hunched above your lunch, your face hidden behind your palms. You kept heaving deep sighs, Pansy groaning at your annoying behaviour. You tried to ignore the younger girl; she didn’t have enough experience to know how it felt being eaten up by your own stupid thoughts.

You huffed as you pushed your face further into your hands, wanting to disappear. You didn’t expect a hand to grab your arm and pull you up from your place.

“Was I not clear enough?” You stumbled as Marcus pulled on you, his hands painfully wrapped around your arm, surely leaving red marks on the surface of your skin. “It’s past 12pm already. Did you try to stand me up? I think I have clearly told you that I don’t accept a no.” He growled as he started pulling you after him, dragging you out of the Great Hall, numerous pair of eyes on you.

You tried to pull your arm out of his firm grip, but the boy was stronger than you. “I did tell you I didn’t want to go with you.” You groaned as you pulled on your arm again, but your attempt was once again unsuccessful.

“If you haven’t noticed, I wasn’t asking you. We are going on a date.” He hissed in anger as he dragged you after him. You struggled against his hold, before a second hand joined in, holding on to the same arm Marcus lead you by. You looked up to see Oliver, who pulled your arm back, forcing Marcus to let you go.

All of you halted as you massaged your arm, a bright red handprint decorating the surface of your skin. Oliver’s jaw clenched, his gaze full of anger as he watched Marcus with a disgusted grimace.

“What do you think you are doing?” He asked your housemate, his low and firm tone even scaring you for a second.

“I’m taking her on a date.” He hissed, clearly upset about Oliver’s arrival.

“I don’t think so.” He stepped in front of you. You wanted to stand up for yourself, you didn’t want to feel like a damsel in distress, but you were dancing on a thin line and you didn’t dare to risk the last hope he was giving you by helping you out.

“I don’t think you have a say in it, Wood.” He scoffed, clearly annoyed by Oliver’s behaviour.

“She doesn’t seem to want to go with you.” He looked back at you for confirmation and so you shook your head. “I strongly suggest you disappear now, Flint.” He growled, his tone almost animalistic, his voice threatening.

“Why, what are you going to do, huh?” Marcus taunted the boy. You couldn’t see the face Oliver was making, let alone if he has whispered something, but Marcus took a step back, his jaw tightening in anger. “Enjoy yourselves, then.” He spit in anger, before he turned on his heels and left the two of you behind. You frowned at the unexpected events; a confused look spread across your face as you looked up at Oliver.

“You okay?” He asked as he finally looked at you, or your arm at least, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You replied as you hid your arm behind your back. “Thank you. For helping me.” You offered him a small smile, but he didn’t return it.

He simply nodded. “It’s okay.” He heaved a deep sigh, not knowing what to do, just like you, standing in front of him, not finding the right words. “Well, see you.” He spoke up again, tears pricking your eyes as you realised the most you could muster was an awkward conversation. It slowly started downing on you that your relationship was indeed over with Oliver and when he walked past you, heading back to the Great Hall, it felt like he was walking away for the last time.

You didn’t have the power to turn around, you just watched the floor in front of you, trying to understand when it has all gone bad. You removed an escaped tear from your cheek and sniffled as you tried to get yourself together.

“Y/N?” You heard his voice from further away. You quickly cleared your cheeks and turned around with a fake smile plastered across your face. He heaved a deep sigh, making you wait in anticipation, before he continued. “I know I have done some pretty shitty things, but I never meant to hurt you intentionally, you know that right?” He asked, his gaze filled with guilt.

“I know, you didn’t.” You were struggling against the tears that wanted to escape, but you firmly held them back.

“I know you probably don’t want to see me, nor do you really want to talk to me, but-“ he gulped loudly, trying to find the right words, fearing of pushing you away even further. “when you walked out of the common room, I didn’t believe you were really giving up on us. I really thought we could solve it just like always.” You wanted to scream at him, you wanted to tell him off for thinking you have given up on him. “I’m really sorry for disappointing you.” He gave you a saddened smile.

“I’m sorry for ignoring you.” You blurted out, but you didn’t regret it. “I just thought you would deserve to feel how hard it is to be ignored. I never thought it would actually get this far.” His eyes widened in surprise, but you couldn’t see it, your gaze was fixed on your shoes, drawing random patterns on the ground.

“You didn’t want to break up with me?” He asked, his tone full of hope. Your eyes shot up as you quickly shook your head. “Do you think, maybe we could try again? I know my words don’t weigh much, but I don’t want to give up on us, I really want to show you how much I care about you, how much I love you.” He stepped closer, stopping right in front of you.

“I want to, but I’m scared. You really did hurt me.” You sighed deeply.

“I know, I did.” He whispered, reaching for your hands as he took them into his, caressing the back of your hands with his thumbs. “I promise to pay attention to you more, just like I did before. Being apart made me realise that I want nothing more than being with you.” He confessed, his voice defeated, but still hopeful. “Please, love.” His pleading chocolate brown eyes, his guilt-filled, apologetic tone was all you needed.

“I can’t say no to you, can I?” You chuckled sweetly, a sound he has been craving to hear once again. His arms sneaked around your waist, yours wrapped around his neck, engulfing each other in the warmest hug you could possibly share. He hid his face in the crook of your neck, finding his favourite spot, your presence making him relaxed once again.

“Thank you so much.” He murmured against your neck, his breath tickling your skin, making you chuckle.

“I love you, Oliver. But you better not break my heart again.” You scolded him as he pulled back, his eyes meeting yours.

“Not even in my nightmares.” He shook his head, leaning closer and hinting a lingering kiss on your forehead. “I’d rather you broke my heart.” He whispered as he leaned down to your lips, kissing you feverishly, hoping to recover the amount of intimate moments you could have spent together, loving each other just like you did before.

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[musical-shit-show]

Two Sides: Chapter 4

Previous Chapters: (1) (2) (3)

Characters: Musical!Beetlejuice, Female!OC, Lydia Deetz, Barbara Maitland, Adam Maitland

Warnings: anxiety, supernatural elements, cursing, kissing, sexual references, strange dreams (?), mentions of death

Word Count: 1,878

Author’s Note: So it has been a while since I posted this fic...I’ve honestly been distracted by other writing ventures but I forgot how fun this story was to write, so I will be updating more frequently (if anyone is reading, that is). As always, comments and constructive criticism are welcome! Enjoy :)

Chapter 4

“Oh, fuck oh fuck oh fuck what did I do—” Cassandra started to panic, all blood draining from her naturally rosy face. She checked the business card again, frantically scanning it for any more information on the frightening being that had suddenly appeared in her room. Beetlejuice looked absolutely elated. He straightened his tie as he eagerly crossed towards her, his hair still glowing a vibrant green that illuminated the entire room.

“Shh, hey, hey, hey, new girl, listen,” the demon cooed, fostering a false sense of security to quell her anxiety, “I just wanted to show my appreciation, what with you saying my name and all.” He extended his hand. Chipped black nail polish accented his fingertips. “Put her there.” 

Cassandra had barely extended her hand towards his when, like lightning, Beetlejuice yanked her forward, causing her to stumble. In one fell swoop the demon caught the living woman, dipped her clumsily, and placed an entirely non-consensual kiss on her lips. 

The ever-present smell of decay was increased exponentially now that Cassandra had come in direct contact with its source. She held her breath, paralyzed by the sudden and rather forceful kiss. When he finally released her, Beetlejuice sported a smug smile, licking his lips in what he thought was a seductive manner. Cassandra wiped off her mouth with the back of her hand, using every bit of strength in her to keep from vomiting at the taste of filth on her tongue. 

“I can’t thank ya enough for setting me free, doll,” Beetlejuice said, running his hand through his sickly green hair. His frantic energy made Cassandra even more anxious, “Being dead is fun and all but sometimes a guy’s gotta stretch his legs back into the world of the living, ya know?”

Cassandra’s head was spinning. ‘So, this guy is dead?’ she thought at lightning speed, ‘And I somehow set him free—whatever that means—by reciting some word from a fucking business card?!’ Beetlejuice noticed her slack jawed expression and grinned coyly.

“I take it you don’t know who I am, do ya?” he said, knowing the answer. If she had known who he was, she would’ve never been naive enough to read the card out loud. 

“No,” she said quietly, feeling a slight quiver in her voice as she spoke to the specter, “I mean, I’ve already met two dead people today, but they didn’t look anything like you. Who exactly are you, again?”

“I’m the ghost with the most, babes,” he replied, adjusting his coat, as if smoothing down the ratty suit jacket would make him look even the slightest bit presentable, “That word you so generously repeated three times is my name. Don’t wear it out.” The man grinned, and Cassandra scanned him again, noticing he had what appeared to be light green moss growing on his face. 

The striped suit, the green hair and moss…it triggered a strange sense of déjà vu. Suddenly, her mind flashed back to her eerie dream from the car ride. A look of dawning realization crossed her face, causing the demon to smile as if he were reading her mind.

“Yeah, that little vision you had earlier?” he said, smiling proudly, “That was all me. Breathers make it so easy to get into their heads, especially when they already have an affinity for the strange and unusual.” He quirked an eyebrow, studying her confused expression, “Though, not strange and unusual enough to see me when you arrived.”

“So, you’re invisible to everyone unless someone says your name three times?” Cassandra questioned. The specter nodded his head, “And I ‘set you free’? What exactly does that mean?” 

“It means I can affect the human world again,” he said with casually, whipping out a cigarette and beat-up purple lighter, “Lyds banished me a couple of months ago because I might’ve accidentally set fire to some shit around the house. Major bummer. But thanks to you, BJ is back, baby—” 

“Whoa whoa whoa,” Cassandra said, cutting him off, “You know Lydia too?” She felt her blood begin to boil as another secret her roommate kept from her was revealed. 

“Oh yeah, ‘course I do,” the demon said as he silently held out his pack of Marlboros, totally oblivious to the woman’s anger. Cassandra waved them away and he shrugged, taking a long drag of the cigarette wedged between his wide fingers, “She and I go way, way back. Adam and Babs too. In fact, they—” Suddenly, the door swung open, causing the demon’s mouth to clamp shut. Lydia stood in the doorway, her thin frame heaving with fury.

“Hey, asshole,” she said, her voice quiet and controlled, “How the fuck did you get back here.” Lydia marched up to the ghoul through a cloud of cigarette smoke, grabbing his tie and pulling him downward a few inches to meet her eyeline. 

Though Beetlejuice presented himself as a terrifying demon, Lydia’s rage had him shaking in his striped suit, the cigarette that hung loosely in his mouth moments before falling lightly thumping onto the hardwood floor. He silently pointed at Cassandra, who had her arms folded across her chest, her fingers gripping her arms tightly as she stared at her roommate. Lydia’s expression softened, and she let go of her ghostly companion and crossed to her roommate, who was growing redder by the second.

“Cassie, how—” 

“Oh, I don’t know, Lydia,” Cassandra snapped before the question could even be completed, “maybe if you didn’t leave weird summoning cards around, I wouldn’t have accidentally met another one of your friends. I take it that he’s a ghost, too?”

“Well, technically I’m a demon, but—” Beetlejuice started, thoroughly loving the drama. Lydia held up a hand to silence him once more. She pointed to the door.

“You,” she said, her blood still boiling from his shenanigans, “Out. Now.” Beetlejuice narrowed his eyes, and with a snap of his fingers, he vanished. 

“Look, Cass,” Lydia said, pinching the bridge of her nose, clearly overwhelmed, “I had nothing to do with the card. Beej did. I didn’t think I’d have to tell you about him because I assumed he was still good and banished. I’m really, really sorry.”

“Just, please tell me what’s going on?” Cassandra said, a clear strain in her voice, “I honestly don’t think my heart can take any more surprises today. Full truth, no secrets.” Lydia exhaled deeply and sat on the edge of the bed, motioning for her roommate to follow.

She recapped as much as she possibly could in a short amount of time. Lydia told Cassandra all of the important points: meeting Barbara and Adam after moving in, running into Beetlejuice on the roof, wreaking havoc, travelling to the Netherworld.

“He tried to do what—?” Cassandra blurted when Lydia mentioned Beetlejuice’s scheme to become human, “Were you not, like, 15?” Lydia shrugged.

“It was a green card thing,” she deadpanned. Cassandra cracked an incredulous smile, and Lydia broke into a giggle, “Seriously though, I weirdly understand why he did it. He wanted to be alive again so badly, and I had a plan to get rid of him. Turns out ‘marrying’ him gave him a dose of reality and me a chance to send his ass back to the Netherworld.” Cassandra raised her eyebrows in agreement, still trying wrap her mind around how marrying a ghost (demon? spirit? eldritch horror?) would bring them back to life.

“So why did you let him back, after all the shit he pulled, I mean?” Cassandra asked. Lydia picked at her black nail polish, which began flaking onto the bedspread. 

“I, well…I saw how lonely he was,” she confessed, “That’s what made us such good friends in the beginning; we both felt invisible.” Casandra smiled sadly, thinking to her own feelings of isolation; Lydia had partially saved her from those feelings. Although her loneliness had manifested in other ways, she understood how comforting it must’ve been to find someone who shared that feeling, even if they happened to be a dead guy with green hair dressed in an obnoxious striped suit.

“So, even after I killed him,” Lydia added casually, “it only took him a few months to show up again. Came topside again for some bio-exorcism a few towns over, and jumped at the chance to bury the hatchet.” She smiled fondly. “I didn’t mind, either. He’s a pain in the ass, but he’s my pain in the ass.” 

“Did someone say ‘pain in the ass’?” Beetlejuice materialized once more, this time with a bag of popcorn and a ‘Go Lydia’ pennant. “So, did I miss the catfight?” he asked gleefully, waving the small flag eagerly. Lydia pinched the bridge of her nose and Cassandra stifled a laugh. Her life had truly taken a turn to the ridiculously absurd over the course of one afternoon.

“Get off her bed, weirdo,” Lydia scolded, “I was just catching up Cassie on everything, since someone decided to be a dick about me banishing them for scaring the daylights out of some very important clients—” 

 “Now, now, Lyds, let’s not point any fingers here,” the demon retorted, brushing the dust off of his ancient suit, “You wouldn’t want to embarrass me in front of our guest, would you?” Lydia stuck her tongue out at him, and Beetlejuice sneered, the two of them acting like annoyed siblings. Cassandra suppressed another giggle, not wanting to encourage any more bickering. 

“Cass, this is Beej,” Lydia said, turning to her, “Or BJ. Don’t call him by his full name unless you want to banish or summon him. If you wanna get rid of his stupid ass, just say it three times in a row again. Really works when he’s being a prick.” She smirked while Beetlejuice still pouted. Cassandra was still studying him intently, fascinated with his entire being even after Lydia had explained his presence. As ghosts, Barbara and Adam were interesting to say the least, but Beetlejuice was something completely different.

Lydia gave an exasperated sigh, also feeling quite overwhelmed by the day’s events “Also, we were gonna maybe play a board game or watch a movie or something soon. You in?” Cassandra nodded, still trying to absorb all of the information that had just been thrown at her. She decided it was in her best interest to act as normal as possible now so she could bombard her roommate with even more questions after the weekend was over. Lydia then turned to Beetlejuice, who was oddly quiet, “You’re more than welcome to stick around too, Beej. If you behave yourself, that is.” He rolled his eyes, muttering something indistinct to himself. 

“What was that?” she asked, her tone far more threatening. The faintest streak of white appeared in the ghoul’s hair, indicating that he was actually afraid of her.

“Nothing, oh best friend of mine,” he said dully.

Lydia smirked again, and glided towards the door, turning her attention to Cassandra, “Seeing as you’re the one who summoned him, it might be in your best interest to get to know our little demon friend a little better while I set up tonight’s activities, eh Cass?”

“Lyds, I don’t—”

“Hey, what do you mean by little—?”

--------

Thanks for reading! Like/reblog/comment if you enjoyed or have any comments/suggestions!

[wrenhyperfixates]

Of All the Places

Chapter 4

Pairing: Loki x reader Series Summary: Washing up in a small town in Oklahoma was definitely not part of Loki’s plan when he came to conquer Midgard. There is one good thing about it, though: No one recognizes him as the one who just wreaked havoc in New York. So, Loki plans to recover from the battle and move on with his life. The only problem? He’s not sure he can leave you. Chapter Summary: Loki continues to struggle with his emotions as he tries to figure out his bond with you. On top of all that stress, he finally learns what the rest of the world is hearing about New York. Chapter Warnings: long, angsty, and fluffy A/N: Woohoo! Fourth chapter is here! Totaling almost 5,000 words, the longest thing I have written to date. Any comments, questions, or predictions? I’d love to hear them and chat with you! Well, guys, gals, and non-binary pals, hope you enjoy :) Updates every Friday.

Tag List: @lucywrites02 @frostedgiantfavs​ @lunarmoon8​ @twhiddlestonsstuff​

✥ Start at Beginning ✥ | ← Previous Chapter | Next Chapter →

Disclaimer: Gif not mine 

Loki hadn’t slept well in days. Between nightmares and dreams of you, his mind was a constant hub of activity. He didn’t need as much sleep as you mortals did, but after the whole ordeal with Thanos, the lack of rest was taking a toll on him. You were the first to notice, and started hovering even more than normal, something Loki was reluctant to admit he liked. In his final days on Asgard, he’d made himself a complete loner, going so far as to isolate himself from Frigga. It was nice to have some companionship again. That was as far as Loki ever let his mind wander, though, cutting himself off before he could deeper analyze the constant pull he felt toward you. Certainly there wasn’t even anything else to analyze anyway, he convinced himself. You were, after all, only human.

Before he could get lost in thought again, Loki refocused on Matt’s caramel blonde hair as he chased him between the barn and the house. The boy’s light curls were the only thing he’d inherited from his father and looked almost exactly like Ana otherwise. It made Loki wonder how he never guessed he was adopted, seeing as he looked nothing like either of his parents. This fresh air was really starting to get to him, he decided, because he was continuously going down these deep contemplative paths in his mind. It was a constant loop of his feelings for you, his true heritage, and how he was taking advantage of your family. Then again, it may have been the traumatic, near-death experiences and hours of torture that was doing this to him. That was the one thing he always liked to forget about.

“Tag, you’re it!” Loki cheered as he tapped Matt.

The challenge in this game, for Loki at least, was not to overtake Matt’s strides too quickly. It was the perfect balance of fake chasing and finding just the right moment to execute the tagging. Still, he was having almost as much fun as the child was.

“Now you’re it!” Matt declared a few minutes later when Loki let the boy catch up to him.

If there was anything to admire about the kid, it was his tireless energy. Loki was glad to have found someone to keep pace with him as far as that went. His mind, too, was kept plenty stimulated by late-night talks with you. Ever since you’d showed him the creek a few days ago, you seemed to talk into the wee hours of the morning. He’d never noticed before just how deep and intelligent mortals could be. It was quite the accomplishment that you were changing so many of his opinions in such a short time. Then he realized he was thinking of you yet again and cut off the train of thought before it could persist.

“Loki. Matt,” Ana called, waving at them from the front porch.

After scooping the boy up in his arms, Loki jogged over to where she was standing. Matt was happily transferred to his mother’s arms as he was carried into the kitchen for snack time. The God of Mischief looked out over your land, trying to give in to the feeling of contentment he was so close to achieving. If only he didn’t constantly have that voice in his head telling him he was a monster, he didn’t belong here. Maybe then he could be happy. A part of him wished he’d lost his memory for real.

“Oh, there you are,” you said, walking out of the house. “I’m heading into town if you want to come with me and see if anything jogs your memory.”

“Yes. I would like that very much.”

As the two of you made your way to the car, you repeatedly tossed and caught your keys in a nervous pattern. Loki held the door open for you as you got in and quickly hurried around to the other side. He stared at a weird strap by his seat as he sat down. You saw his look of befuddlement and couldn’t help but let out a little laugh.

“Do you not remember how to use a seatbelt?” you asked kindly as he nodded his head yes. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you came from an alien planet.”

Then you reached across his seat to buckle him in. Unfortunately, it was a bit farther than you realized, and you fell into Loki, hand splayed on his chest, his hands immediately reaching out to steady you. For a minute, the only sound in the vehicle was your pounding hearts. You cleared your throat in embarrassment as you finished your task. The air between you held a distinct awkwardness, and Loki realized that this was the first time you’d been truly alone since the creek. It sent a thrill down his spine, even as he tried to ignore his racing thoughts. Determined to look anywhere but in your direction, his eyes landed on Mama, scowling in the window. She’d made it clear that she wasn’t keen on him spending so much time with you and Matt. If he was any smarter, any braver, he would listen to her and just leave already.

“So,” you began, clearing your throat again and driving off, “how are you feeling today?”

“I am quite well, thank you. I do believe I am fully healed.”

“Promise to still take it easy, ok?”

“Alright.”

You lapsed into silence as you cruised along the road. Loki stared out the window, hoping to find some clarity in the scenery streaking by. You were a mortal, he should not have felt any sort of attachment to you. Then again, he hadn’t spent time with one since the Middle Ages. It had all been so dreadfully dull back then, but things had changed. You and your family were so exuberant, so captivating. But he was a god, and he should not concern himself with that. In fact, he should be on his way of this planet, which was maybe not so miserable, after all.

Before long, you reached town and pulled into a small parking lot of a building with a sign that said “24 Hour Convenience Store” and had many light-up neon signs, declaring they were open. You got out and Loki followed suit.

“Anything look familiar yet?” you asked. “I know you don’t live here, but maybe you passed through.”

Lying was his specialty, and it’s what he should have done now. He could hear himself in his head, his silver tongue weaving a tale about how things were coming back to him. Then he could pretend to contact someone and create an illusion, so you believed he had a happy reunion with his family. It would be prefect; he would leave and you wouldn’t worry about him. He truly wanted to believe it would perfect, anyway, but it wasn’t. Not if he never saw you again. There must be something special about you, he decided, and the Tesseract brought him here so he could figure it out. That was it. That had to be it.

“I am afraid not,” he replied. “Perhaps I came from the other way.”

“Yeah, maybe. Don’t worry, we’ll figure this out,” you comforted him with a hug, mistaking the reason for his sadness.

His body went stiff in your embrace. He hadn’t been hugged in centuries. Granted, that was in part his fault because he was afraid receiving hugs from his mother would hurt his carefully crafted image. Now here you were, holding his body against your warm frame. Once his mind cleared a bit, he awkwardly hugged you, too, and gave your back a few uncertain pats. He should not have been encouraging this behavior, but he was. Maybe if he caused some mischief he’d feel more like his old self. Or maybe he didn’t want to be that person anymore. It was all too much. He was exhausted by the incessant back and forth of his thoughts. He untangled himself from you and gestured to the store.

“After you,” he said.

You pushed open the glass doors and were greeted by the cashier as you walked in. Loki followed you to the back where the refrigerator section was, and he chivalrously held the milk that you’d come to pick up. You also grabbed some coffee grounds and then proceeded to checkout. After setting down the items on the counter, Loki turned over a chocolate bar in his hands, feeling like a child as you took it out of his hands and put it down with the other items. You grabbed a few other bars too, flashing a smile at Loki and keeping up a conversation with the clerk all the while.

“And who’s your new friend?” the cashier, whose name tag said Mr. Berkeley, asked you.

“This is Loki. He’s staying with me until... Well for a while,” you finished, not sure how much Loki felt comfortable revealing.

“Where’re you from, sonny?”

“Unfortunately, I cannot remember. It seems I had some kind of horrid accident,” Loki explained before you could fret anymore. He was very tired of being called son by people when he was a thousand years their senior, though. “I was very lucky to have found my way onto their farm.”

“Well, that’s quite a story. You should talk to the newspaper, get the word out.”

You shot an “I told you so” look at Loki to which he responded with one that said, “We’ll talk about this later.” Before either of you could say anything, though, the news came on the TV which Loki hadn’t realized was on.

“Do you have cable back?” you inquired as Loki began to panic. “It’s still out on the farm.”

“Nah. I got a satellite on the roof. Just got it set up again this morning.

You nodded along as the anchors began the next story. “New York is still reeling from damage, but the group of superheroes, going by the name of the Avengers, is leading clean-up efforts. The perpetrator has still not been caught-”

Loki discreetly turned the TV off with his powers before you could hear any more. He’d have to make sure the satellite took significant damage before leaving.

“Dang it. I just fixed that damned thing,” the cashier said.

“What was that all about?” you asked, completely bewildered by the sudden influx of information. “What happened in New York?”

“I guess you missed it in the paper last week,” Mr. Berkeley explained. “Some crazy group of aliens attacked, led by some power hungry god. Supposedly it was Thor’s brother, but they haven’t disclosed that information yet. Reckon they want to wait until he’s caught, avoid a panic.”

“Oh my god. That’s terrible! Gosh, you miss one paper,” you laughed, trying to keep the mood light.

A dark cloud passed over Loki’s features, even as Mr. Berkeley laughed along. Despite those SHIELD agents covering this up, word had still gotten out in some capacity. He had to be careful, or else he was going to get caught, and then you’d be in danger. He cursed under his breath. Your safety should be the last thing he was worrying about, and yet it was the first thought to come into his mind. A little kindness thrown his way should not make him into the mess he was. Of course, there were so many other things to like about you, too, and he kept finding more. He didn’t want to, he didn’t want any of this, but the Norns were punishing him for something. What would have happened, he wondered, if he’d listened to Thor and just held on that fateful day? If he hadn’t let go of the staff and fallen to what should have been his ultimate demise?

“Sonny, are you alright?” Mr. Berkeley asked as you laid a hand on his arm.

“Fine, but I think we should be going. I’ll meet you outside.”

He jerked away from your touch before you could do anything else and stalked outside. At least the satellite was hanging half off the roof with a huge dent in its side. He opened his door and got into the car as you unlocked it and raced over to him.

“Loki! Loki!” you called as you hurried over. “What was that? Are you ok?”

“Nothing! Nothing at all. Can’t you see I’m fine?” he snapped, struggling with the seatbelt. “I’m fine,” he whispered again.

“Hey, look at me,” you soothed, filled with compassion and placing a hand on his cheek. “Whatever it is, just let me know. I’m here for you. Talk to me.”

Loki’s eyes fluttered shut as he enjoyed the warmth from your palm. He let go of the seatbelt and took a few deep breaths, just like his mother had taught him. A part of him wanted to hang onto this anger, knowing that it might finally drive him to leave. He knew from experience, though, that acting in moments of blind rage would never lead to anything good.

“Is it New York? Did you remember something?” you gasped. “You had felt it was important in some way.”

“Perhaps,” he said after one last steadying breath. “It may have triggered something. But really, I am just a little tired. Maybe I am not as healed as I thought.”

He turned his head away and rested it against the window as your hand dejectedly fell into your lap. It’s not that he wanted to pull away, but he knew it’s what was safest for you.

“Ok then. We’ll go home.”

Loki whispered his thanks and succeeded in buckling up. He closed his eyes as the car started and a wave of emotions crashed over him. When you said home, he immediately pictured the farm. He knew he shouldn’t, but he did.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Loki holed himself up in his room for the rest of the day, working through the new information he’d learned. He pretended to be asleep when Ana came to bring him some dinner. Notably, you had not been the one taking care of him, and he cursed himself for pushing you away. He didn’t even bother trying to convince himself it was for the best; he knew it wasn’t. After so many years on his own, he finally had a friend, and he drove you away. Why he expected anything less from himself, he didn’t know.

At some point, he fell into a restless sleep. The food from last night was still on the bedside table, but it was now joined with the Snickers bar you’d bought for him yesterday. Someone had also come and tucked him in. Maybe he hadn’t lost his friend, after all. He opened the chocolate and took a bite, delighting in the sweet and nutty flavor. He polished it off, then waved a hand over the rest of the food, causing it to disappear. He wasn’t much in the mood for eating it, but didn’t want you to worry. He nearly ran into John as he walked into the hallway with the empty tray.

“There you are!” John exclaimed. “We were getting worried. Do you need the doctor?”

“No, I am quite alright, thank you. I think I just needed some good sleep,” Loki lied.

“Only if you’re sure. Take it easy today, though, ok?”

“That’s an order,” you said, appearing behind your brother-in-law and taking the tray from Loki. “Are you hungry? You missed breakfast, but I can heat up some leftovers from you.”

“I am fine,” Loki began, but noticed you frown. “Though, I suppose I could do with a small breakfast.”

“Great!” you said a little too brightly. “I’ll meet you down there.”

“Loki, can I talk to you for a minute?” John asked, pulling him aside. “What exactly happened yesterday? We heard about New York, but it seemed like there was something else bothering them.”

Loki felt a pang in his chest at the man’s words. As if the news weren’t upsetting enough, he’d been rude to you. He could only imagine how you would feel if you knew he was the one who had caused the mayhem. He wanted to pin the blame on someone else, but the blood was on his hands and he knew he had to take some responsibility. Doing that would help him change, which he recognized was absolutely necessary after all that had happened.

“I fear I may have upset them,” Loki started, shedding his old ways by telling the truth. “I was not feeling quite right, and I turned them away. Now they clearly blame themself for it. I deeply regret it, but I am not sure there is anything I can do.”

“Just talk to them. Apologize.”

Loki did his best not to look shocked, but the last time he said sorry was when his parents caught him playing tricks on Thor, and even then it was done begrudgingly. He wasn’t even sure he could make it sound sincere.

“Listen, I’ve got an idea,” John said. “We’re heading to the city today if you want to tag along. They’re off to get some gifts for Ana while I’ve got a few potential distributors to meet with. I’m sure they would be thrilled to have your company. Unless you’re not feeling well, of course.”

“No, I’m feeling fine. That is a great idea. You have my thanks, John.”

“No problem. Now, you’d better head down for breakfast before we both get in trouble,” he laughed.

With a final nod of gratitude, Loki took off down the stairs. His light footsteps went undetected as he neared the table, once again giving him the opportunity to eavesdrop on Mama’s suspicions.

“I know something else must’ve happened yesterday. You weren’t upset over nothing.”

“It’s just the New York thing,” you replied. “I’m fine. Really.”

“You tell me what that boy did right now or so help me I’ll kick him out of this house myself!”

“Mama! He didn’t do anything wrong. I get that what happened with James hurts, believe me I do, but you can’t let it run your life. You have to be able to trust others, to trust me,” you pleaded.

“How dare you drag your brother into this,” Mama shot back, her voice cracking. “How ’bout you trust my gut when it tells me that boy is trouble. I swear-”

She was cut off by Loki doubling back and thudding down the stairs, making his presence known. He’d heard more than enough of that conversation and wouldn’t allow you to feel any more hurt than you already were.

“Good morning,” he coldly said to Mama as he walked in, nostrils flaring slightly before he regained some composure. “I am not interrupting anything, am I.”

“Only our entire lives. Why don’t you go to the police, huh? And what about the missing person ad? Why haven’t we gotten that out yet? I don’t know what game your playing, but when I figure it out, believe me you’ll be sorry.”

“Fine! You want to know what I am doing here? I do not know. I have no idea why I ended up here or why I have stayed as long as I have. So when you ‘figure it out,’ by all means, please let me know.”

“Fine!” Mama shouted as she stormed off.

Loki was comforted by the fact that in his little outburst, he hadn’t technically told any lies to you. Half-truths? Most certainly, but no outright lies. Now that he was left alone with you, though, he felt embarrassed he lost his temper. He cleared his throat before speaking.

“I am sorry,” he said, not looking at you.

“Loki, you don’t have to say sorry for defending yourself. I understand.”

“That’s not what I’m apologizing for,” he confessed, now looking into your eyes. “Yesterday I was not feeling quite right, but I should not have snapped at you nor pushed you away like that. For that, you have my sincerest apologies.

“It’s really ok, it happens to everyone. I just care that you’re feeling alright.”

You stayed where you were standing, still hesitant to move toward Loki out of fear of being rejected again. So, it fell upon Loki to close the distance between you. He took your hand in his and placed a kiss to your knuckles as a light blush coated his cheeks.

“Thank you, darling. I assure you, I am feeling more than alright now.”

Whatever was about to happen between you next was cut off by the beeping of the microwave. You finished putting together his breakfast before sitting with him at the island. Though your relationship had been repaired, the conversation was still a bit choppy and awkward as you found your footing in the friendship again. John walked in just as you were cleaning up, whistling a happy tune.

“Ready to go whenever you guys are,” he said as he leaned against the doorframe.

“You’re coming?” you asked Loki, feeling worried for his health. “Are you sure you’re up for that? I can even stay behind with you if u want.”

“Please, do not change your plans on my account. I am in a great condition to go.”

You still seemed reluctant, but agreed he could come as long as he let you know the second he started feeling unwell. He conceded, and you went to fetch your jacket with the promise you’d be back in a minute. John gave Loki a thumbs up, to which he replied with a very self-assured smile, bolstered with confidence by your latest exchange.

A few minutes later you were all piling into the car, with Loki insisting you took the passenger seat and that he’d ride in the back. He was very pleased to get the seatbelt buckled on the first try, and the two of you shared a laugh at the little inside joke. His cheeks burned slightly, remembering how you’d fallen against him. Over the next few hours, you passed time by talking, laughing, and singing along to the radio. Just as you were entering the city, a troubling thought occurred to Loki; the people here had heard the news. Even if it hadn’t been officially announced that he was responsible for New York, those rumors about him had to have included a description. Sudden inspiration struck as John parked the car.

“You don’t happen to have a hair tie in here, do you?” he inquired.

“Yeah,” you replied, reaching into the glove compartment. “Ana keeps some in here for emergencies.”

Loki thanked you as you passed it to him and quickly put his hair up in a low bun. When he turned his attention back to you, you were staring at him, and he gave you a charming, lopsided grin that had you ducking your head in embarrassment.

“Ok,” John said with a clap of his hands once you were all on the sidewalk. “We’ll meet here in, say, about 5 hours.”

“Sounds like a plan,” you agreed, before waving goodbye.

Now it was just you and Loki again as you took off towards some stores to look at some baby gifts for Ana. It would still be half a year before the baby arrived, but you were always indecisive when it came to purchasing gifts. On the way, Loki ducked into a small shop and bought a pair of sunglasses, furthering his disguise. Between that, the new clothes, and the different hairstyle, he felt pretty confident in his ability to blend in.

After two-and-a-half hours of shopping, you’d found a bunch of things to maybe get, but hadn’t decided on anything. You would go back and look some more, but you were bone tired after all the walking around. The fact that you were so exhausted made you concerned for Loki’s condition, too, not entirely trusting that he would tell you if he was feeling ill, despite his promise to.

“How are you holding up?” you cautiously asked, afraid of a repeat of yesterday if you pushed too hard.

“I am doing quite well. You, however, seem to need to stop for a spell. Come, let us rest for a minute.”

He led you over to the food court of the mall you were at and pulled out a chair for you to sit in. He glanced around at the options and, though there was nothing there that appealed to him, there was certainly something that you liked. Besides, he didn’t need to eat, but your frail mortal body would need some sustenance sooner rather than later.

“Can I get something for you to eat?” he offered.

“How about we go see a movie instead?” you proposed, eyeing up the nearby theater.

“Only if you eat something.”

“Wow. Look at how the tables have turned,” you laughed. “Fine, but you have to also.”

After a minute’s debate, you and Loki agreed on a comedy starring your favorite actor. It wouldn’t have been Loki’d first pick, but after all the stress and angst of the last 24 hours, he figured he could use a laugh. You also convinced him to try some popcorn and Pepsi. He wasn’t much a fan of the soda, but the snack was tasty enough. Though, you did end up stealing half of his after finishing your own, which was fine with him. The best part of the whole experience, though, was getting to hear your laugh over and over again. Loki thought it might be the most beautiful sound he ever heard. Well, perhaps the best part was actually when your arms brushed each other as you both went to put them on the armrest at the same time. Loki filed away all these little mental notes to dwell on at a later date. Or, if he were lucky enough to rein in his hurricane of thoughts, never again.

“Well, that killed a lot of time,” you said after the movie ended and you were stretching out, aching from having sat for so long. “We’ve still got some left though. What do you want to do?”

“I believe there was a library over by where we parked. Let us go there,” he said, quickly thinking up a plan.

By the time you walked over, there was only about twenty minutes left for him to complete what he needed to do. He hurried over to where the computers were, and though he wasn’t particularly adept with modern Midgardian technology, the directions taped to the wall were clear enough that he was able to look up a book. He sent you off to get it, claiming that the title had just popped into his head and that he was certain he used to love it, and that he wanted to check on the status of a few others. You obliged, hoping that seeing the book would bring back some more of his supposedly lost memories.

Once you were gone Loki quickly searched for information on what he learned was being referred to as the Battle of New York. Thankfully, there was as little information about him circulating as Mr. Berkeley had said. Mostly, it was just speculation and stories from people claiming they’d been there. A great number of posts and photos had been deleted, too, and Loki assumed that they were ones with more valid claims and information. Knowing how SHIELD is, Loki was sure it was all removed almost immediately, so he felt relatively safe but decided he couldn’t be too careful.

“I found it!” you said, setting the book down as Loki closed out the tab he was on.

“Wonderful! Thank you,” he replied, flipping through it. “Most unfortunately, the other books were checked out.”

You leaned over shoulder to look at the book in his hands. “That’s too bad. What about this one, though? Triggering any memories?”

“Well, I think I enjoyed reading. Other than that, I am afraid not.”

“That’s ok. We’ll keep trying.”

Your hand slowly drifted over to rest on his, and he gave you a brilliant smile. It made him wish he’d found a friend in the universe far sooner than he had. Then maybe he wouldn’t have ended up in the hands of Thanos, committing atrocities against his family and strangers alike. Then again, if none of that happened, he never would have met you. He was torn over which he preferred.

“There you guys are,” John said, walking up to where you were. “Ready to head back whenever you are.”

After putting the book back on the shelf, you were ready to leave. Loki hung back with John as you exited.

“Your plan has worked miracles, my good man. You have my sincerest gratitude,” he said.

“No problem, dude,” John said, patting Loki on the back. “Glad to bring a happy couple back together again.”

Loki’s steps faltered. Between his companion’s smirk and teasing tone, Loki knew it was meant as a joke. Mainly, anyway. John really was very off the mark, though. He and you were merely friends, nothing more. And surely that was just barely so, seeing as you were a human. There was no way you meant anything else to Loki. Right?

It wasn’t until you were back on the road, and Loki couldn’t stop looking at the back of your head, that he even began to realize just how much trouble he was in.

[shadows-and-flowercrowns]

Reforget (pt1)

There are lost loves that you can mourn for openly but the pain Elain feels now is something that needs to be kept secret. Because of this, Elain has been distancing herself from the rest of the inner circle for a few weeks. Tonight was supposed to be a care-free reunion with her sister but when Azriel’s name is brought up again, Elain begins to spiral. 

__________________________________________________

Elain fought the instinct to roll her eyes as she caught the nervous look her sisters shared.

They wouldn't confront her. They never did.

She took a sip from her drink, wondering if their timidness around her was part of the problem.

It had been like this her whole life, everyone walking on eggs shells around her like she was some fragile thing moments away from shattering completely. Even when they were small children, the two of them had done everything in their power to shield her from the realties of how bad things had become with their mother, so much so that her death had completely blindsided Elain. 

Both Nesta and Feyre had stayed silent through her relationship with Grayson. The only commented on how much they disliked him after he had ended things with her.

Elain ran an idle finger down the side of her glass, swirling the condensation building up on the side as she remembered back to the days where the grief of her cancelled engagement had utterly consumed her. She hadn't eaten much, stopped speaking to anyone unless it was absolutely essential.

Elain had let herself wither away as she mourned the loss of her love and the life she had planned on having. 

In a way, that had been easier. There was a peace that came with the freedom of being able to grieve openly. 

But this? This was nothing like it had been with Grayson.

She smiled, a bland thing that she knew didn't reach her eyes, back up at her sisters. She leaned forward, signaling for Nesta to continue on with her story about the most recent bout of shenanigan's Cassian had gotten into.

Elain didn't care about anything she was saying. 

Well, that wasn't true. She cared so deeply that it was driving her mad. 

It had been weeks since Elain had withdrawn from their circle of friends, making up paper thin excuses and cancelling well established plans. This was the first time she had even seen her sisters. 

Even this had nearly been ruined when Feyre had excitedly text back that she would make sure that Mor and Amren were free too. Elain had sent a rushed text back saying that she really needed some quality sister time. She wasn't ready to see the others yet. 

Still, she kept her ears perked, listening for even a hint of an update. She couldn't ask outright, it would give too much away but she was desperate.

"..anyway, that's when Azriel showed up. He made the two of them take off the elephant onesies and get back to work before HR got wind of what they were up to."

Feyre laughed, wiping her eyes. "Typical Az. How's he doing lately?"

Elain jolted, realizing with a start that Feyre was addressing her.

"Good." She said with a non-committal shrug. 

"Really?" Nesta asked, head cocked to the side, "He's been acting odd lately. Cassian said he won't talk about it but something is definitely up.” 

“I’m not sure. We haven’t talked. Not for a few weeks.”

Feyre nodded but Nesta narrowed her eyes at Elain. 

"This doesn't have anything to do with your disappearing act, does it?"

Feyre elbowed Nesta but she kept gaze fixed on Elain. 

"I don't know what you're talking about." Elain answered, a nervous giggle bubbling to her lips.

She quickly downed the rest of her drink to buy herself more time. She hopped off her stool, ignoring the tell tale wobble in her knees that told her that it was time to go home. 

"Come on, lets go dance!" She said with a little too much enthusiasm before marching into the crowd of people on the small dance floor, praying that they wouldn't follow. 

Elain needed to move, just needed to get away from them. Her eyes were burning and it would only be a matter of time before Nesta bluntly plowed into a conversation Elain wasn't ready to have.  

It had been a mistake to bring them here tonight. She had hoped that this could be the first step in bringing back a sense of normalcy in her life. At the start, she knew she wasn't strong enough to even hear Azriel's name in casual conversation so when she pulled away, she pulled back from the two of them as well. 

Elain had thought enough time had passed, she thought she was ready. She had told herself all day that she could handle this.

Oh, how wrong she had been.

After arriving at the bar, Elain had casually asked what her brother-in-laws were doing.

Simple.

Innocent.

Feyre explained that they were having a night out on the town and it was then that she spoke Azriel's name for the first time. Elain had downed the contents of the glass in front of her then too, quickly shouting to the bartender to make the next round a double before she realized that her sisters were giving her a strange look.

That had been several drinks ago.

A man touched her hips, pulling her in closer to dance. Elain leaned into his touch and, after a moment, let her hips settle against him as she danced in time with the music. 

There was no reason to feel guilty. 

None.

Not when Azriel had made it obvious that her feelings were just a one sided obsession that would never go further. 

The stranger let his hands trail over her, his finger tips brushing gently against the exposed skin of her arms.

Memories flashed in her mind, Azriel's scared hand pulling back from her with a jerk. The shame of it all twisting through her stomach once more as a wave of despair crashed over her.  

In an instant she was pushing away from the stranger, twisting and bouncing away until she was further inside the crowd of people. 

Though she become a regular in recent weeks, Elain hated this dingy little hipster bar on the west side. It was dirty and the air conditioner was shit so she always felt sticky in the summer heat.

The only good thing she could say about it was that the drinks were strong, making it so her memories of this place were nothing more than constant blur of bodies moving past her. 

She hated it.

Elain missed the nights spent at the quiet bar near the townhouse, the one with the booth they used to all sit around. That is where they should all be right now; in their booth, his arm tossed casually behind her as they all laughed at something ridiculous Cassian or Rhys had just said.

Her stomach surged as she thought of where he might be now.

Probably in a glitzy club downtown. Probably with her. Elain had gone with them to places like that, never truly enjoying herself but finding solace in his presence. Suddenly, it all became too much and Elain pushed her way out of the crowd to a trash can in the corner near the DJ stand. 

"Alright, its time for you to go." A gruff male voice was saying as she emptied her stomach. "We've got her." Nesta said forcefully from somewhere right behind her. Elain felt her sister's cold hands grasp her upper arm but Elain jerked out of her touch. 

When she was finally confident that she could walk to the front door without getting sick on the dance floor, Elain stood, straightening her back as much as possible. 

She could see Feyre near the door, her phone pressed to her ear, a frantic look plastered over her face as she spoke to whoever was on the other end. Rhys, probably. 

With as much dignity as she could muster, Elain walked towards her, shaking off Nesta's second attempt to physically steer her. 

As she neared Feyre, Elain flashed both of her sisters a look, silently daring them to say anything. Feyre glanced down at the floor, falling in step behind them but not before Elain saw the pitting look Feyre gave her. 

Anger licked its way through Elain, causing the skin on her chest and neck to flush. How dare they judge her after all of the mistakes they had done?

Had Elain judged them? No.

Not when Nesta had slept with half the men in the city.

Not when Feyre ran away from home with that psychopath. 

And Elain, who had always kept herself on such a tight leash would be damned if she let them judge her now. She didn't even care if it would cause a scene. Hell, it would be nice to lose control for once.

Elain threw open the front door and the night air washed over her. As she took a deep breath in, she let the cool air fill her lungs. She turned to face her sisters, ready to fight but froze. The hot anger that had coursed its way through Elain's blood so quickly disappeared as fast as it had come, leaving her cold and drained. 

She had expected judgement, maybe even disgust, but both of her sisters had a look of understanding that shook her more than she had ever imagined. 

Elain walked over to the side of the building, raising a hand to brace herself against the brick wall. The world was spinning and she needed something, anything, to anchor her in place. 

She hadn't even realized she was crying until Nesta threw an arm over her shoulder and Elain instinctively turned into her. She felt Nesta wrap her arms around her, pulling her in closer and Elain's chest opened as she let the tears fall thick and heavy. 

Shit.

Shit.

How had she let this happen? How had she let herself fall for a man who could  never love her in return?

He had been honest with her from the moment they met, confiding in her about his intimacy and trust issues from his abusive childhood. Still, they had grown close. They were able to find peace with one another when their friends and family became too loud. The two of them had traded in secrets of heart ache and pain until the hurt was soothed to be masked with laughter and joy. 

Elain had only ever wanted to be friends with him. She had been grateful to have someone she could open up to after the disastrous end with Grayson. 

She had never wanted these feelings but they crept up so slowly, infecting her very essence until every cell hummed with the desire to be with him. 

The pain with Grayson made sense. 

Of course, she should be sad for that loss. That was a pain that was commonly understood.

But how was she supposed to explain this?

How could she even begin to make people understand that the love she had for Azriel made her feelings towards Grayson feel like cobwebs? How could she let people know that, though he had never truly been hers, she had felt that her soul had somehow been made of the same substance? 

A slight intake of breath from Feyre caused Elain to pull back from Nesta's embrace. 

A black sedan had pulled up to the curb in front of them and Elain was able to make out Rhys in the driver seat. Feyre instantly rushed towards the front door but Rhys held up a hand, halting Feyre.

Elain wiped her eyes, startled by what she was seeing.

In the years they had been together, Elain had only ever seen her brother-in-law let his anger slip through his calm façade on a select few occasions. Those moments were tied to some of Elain's most painful memories: him returning home from Mor's court case saying that the judge had sided with her abuser, watching their father try to explain why he walked out their lives after their mother had passed away, finding out that Cassian's father had known he became homeless at a young age yet chose to do nothing. 

Now, he was visibly angry and she watched as his mouth moved, clearly arguing with someone before punching a button on his car's console. 

Fear washed over Elain. 

Rhys pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment before his shoulders relaxed. There was the sound of a soft click as the door unlocked before Elain was being pulled into the backseat by Nesta.

A stillness that settled over them. Elain couldn't make out the quiet whispers exchanged between Rhys and Feyre but Elain knew that they were talking about her. Elain wanted to apologize but the words were stuck in her throat Instead of saying anything, Elain leaned into Neta. Quiet tears fell down her cheeks as, in the darkness of the backseat, she admitted to herself that she truly was pathetic. Her chest burned with the shame of it all. 

She closed her eyes, so tired of the constant pain in her chest. She prayed for it to stop until the dark blanket of sleep settled over her. 

The next morning was terrible. 

It took longer than Elian would care to admit for her to roll herself out of bed and stumble into a warm shower. 

She felt sick.

Her head was pounding and her body ached in ways that she hadn't imagined possible. Then there was the shame. She cringed as flashes of last night resurfaced. 

She couldn’t remember how exactly she had gotten into her apartment and into bed. There was a vague memory of someone carrying her. 

Exactly what she wanted. Her brother-in-law to have to carry her into bed because her dumbass had fallen in love with one of his best friends and didn’t know how to cope with his rejection like a flipping adult. 

Elain wanted to crawl back in bed and pretend nothing ever happened but she made herself look at her phone. 7 messages from Feyre, 3 from Nesta. 

She knew what they would say.. That they were worried about her but she needed to knock it off because getting blackout drunk by herself in a seedy neighborhood was just an unnecessary risk for her to be taking. 

Still, it hurt to read them.

 The right thing to do would be to message them back at the very least but Elain didn't feel like being mature yet. Instead, she put on a fresh pair of leggings and a tank top to at least be a tiny bit presentable so she could stop by the coffee shop down the corner from her apartment. 

She could face the rest after she had a little caffeine in her. 

She pulled open her front door and let out a scream.

Sitting on the floor against the wall across from her door was none other than Azriel.

He had been dozing but her piercing scream of fright turned into horrified surprise had jolted him away. Now she was staring into his hazel eyes for the first time in week. With each blink, the sleep cleared from his face to be replaced by a cold anger.

"We need to talk." 

Well, shit.

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Part 2