#he keeps clicking his tongue whenever he doesn’t like my design and he’s SUCH a bitch about the smallest details everrrrr

[bananahkim]

Sometimes I like pretending that I actually talk to my ocs while I design them.

[misschifuyu]

hii <3

i would like to request a headcanon with kazutora, chifuyu mitsuya having sex with their s/o please? if it's too much feel free to ignore it :)

thanks <33 have a nice day/night

- hi there my love !! don’t worry, this request is absolutely fine, and it’s actually the first full nsfw one so I do hope you like it

Kazutora, Chifuyu and Mitsuya general n/sfw headcanons

genre: smut. the characters are depicted as their present selves

warnings: explicit content & language.

Kazutora

jumping right into it, i feel that kazutora is more on the make love side rather than blowing your back out. sure, if you asked him to be rough on an odd day, he'd happily comply. he's just more on the softer side

this is mostly due to his past; he knows what he's capable of, even after all those years since his toman days, so he'd be very precautious not to hurt you in any way

you'll know when he's needy, like you just will. kazutora will turn ever to touchy and try to remain as close to you as possible when he's trying to get you into bed

he doesn't really need words, but he'll speak if you ask him to

"i...really need to be inside you"

don't think this translates as skipping foreplay, though

very much the opposite. kazutora loves feeling up on your soft skin, leaving faint marks with his teeth that would gradually turn into darker shades of purple

he quite likes marking you up, it's really the only thing that could be mildly classed as rough, as he'd frequently leave teeth marks. he adores hearing your voice when he'd catch you off guard with a particularly harsh bite, squirming beneath him

this man is an avid lover of giving oral

he won't turn down a blowjob, but he'd sometimes feel a little awkward whenever you did. he'd ease into it after a few minutes, but he still preferred pleasuring you instead

between your thighs is his favourite place to be, no matter the time of the day. whether you're laying on your back or hovering over his face, kazutora will keep you there for a good while, voicing out praises at you as he basked in your reactions

if his tongue wasn't too occupied, of course

"god, i just can't get enough of you"

make sure to praise him just as much. he absolutely loves hearing loving nicknames from you whenever you tell him how much of a good job he's doing

it gets him even more riled up, and would frequently grind himself against whatever surface you were on

speaking of surfaces, though the bed is the most convenient place to indulge in you, kazutora isn't picky about the location, so long as it's somewhere inside

he's been known to take you whilst you watched a movie, on a counter as you waited for food to cook, even up against a wall when he couldn't be bothered to make it all the way to the bed

as long as he gets to watch your face twist into one of pleasure, he really couldn't care less where it was

a key point when having sex with kazutora: pull his hair

it can be in a ponytail or loose, doesn't matter; he will let out the prettiest moans ever if you just so tugged gently on his locks

it's a sensitive spot of his, so be sure to use it wisely. it'll take him some self control to not go absolutely feral on you if you do, so its best you tell him it's okay to let go before you play with his hair

whenever you start reaching your high, no matter if he's over or behind you, he will bury his face into your neck and suck on the skin, emphasising the already noticeable marks

during aftercare - because this man will pamper you after a session, no matter how long or short it was - he will trace over the marks with light kisses, asking if any of them were still sore

and, of course, a shower will be waiting for you as soon as he's done with that. it's a perfect excuse to spend so more time pressed up against you; a double win, in his eyes

Chifuyu

let's get one thing straight: chifuyu is ready to get it on with you whenever and, frankly wherever. it doesn't take much to get him all needy and, more times that not, he will approach you with the intention of getting in your pants, no matter what you were doing

of course, he will ask if you're up for it, too - consent is key, people

see, he's a very touchy, affectionate person. he loves being around you and will take up any chance to be near you. sometimes, though, this need to be close to you will escalated into something more. even if you were simply cuddling, chifuyu will, occasionally, start to feel his pants getting a little too tight for comfort

when things get going, he is an absolute sweetheart. treating you with care, he will melt into your lips, hands roaming around your body. he's not very talkative during foreplay, but that's mostly because his mouth is usually occupied

however, once your clothes have been discarded, something with click inside of him, making his only goal to leave you in an absolute mess by the time he was done with you

littering your skin with kisses and subtle bites, he will run his hands along your sides, causing goosebumps on your skin that he'd always notice, a sly smile on his lips whenever he did

he's a tease. whilst you try and push your hips towards him, he will simply place kisses on your skin near the area you most needed him to touch

you're going to actually have to tell him what you want before you loose sight of the playful smile that hung on his lips

"that's it...wasn't that hard to ask, now was it?"

chifuyu will get right to the point once he drops his teasing act, though, and expect a good two to three orgasms before he decides he's done with you

when it comes to positions, he likes those in which he can be closest to you. skin on skin is his favourite feeling, and the closer his face can be to yours, the better

when he's pounding into you, he'll bring a hand up to your face. he'd hold it softly, contrasting from his rough pace, and whisper out a series of praises

"you look so pretty like this...does it feel that good? tell me, i want to hear your voice"

a fun thing about chifuyu is that he's a switch, a big one at that. if you find the impulse to flip him onto his back, or simply take over, he will automatically slip out of his position in charge

this is when you'll be able to hear his pretty voice. although he will start with small whimpers here and there, by the time he's edging towards his orgasm he will let out a string of soft moans, grabbing onto you in any way he can as he does

when he reaches his orgasm, his grip will keep you in the position you were in, his body stiffening up as his eyes would close shut

this will be applied whether he's in control or not, honestly. chifuyu loses most of his focus when he's nearing his high, only having enough to call out your name

he may be shorter than most of the guys, but he has one hell of a stamina. one round will never be sufficient for him, and he'd certainly be up to waiting for you to calm down until the next one if it meant he could make you - and himself - see stars again

this will be when, as well as during aftercare, he will give you soft kisses against your skin, massaging areas such as your stomach and thighs as he'd let out hums of happiness

as said before, he's a sweetheart. sure, sometimes you'd be sore after being with him, but he'd always make it up to you with the most perfect cuddling session afterwards

Mitsuya

mitsuya is very skilled with his hands, as shown by his talent when it comes to designing and creating magnificent fashion pieces

watching him work is quite the sight, and even more so if you're familiar with other wonders he's able to do with those fingers of his

but, to start off, know that it will take him some determination to start anything up with you

he's a busy man with a lot on his mind, so it would take him a bit to hold himself back from just jumping on you because of the growing stress that had built up throughout the day

he's a respectful man and, therefore, will take his time and look for subtle hints to see if perhaps you'd follow his lead

when you catch his drift, though, he will be all hands on you

sex is a perfect way to wind down from his hectic schedule, and he couldn't ask for anyone else better to do it with rather than you

oral is key during foreplay. he will start by making his way down on you, his voice speaking words of appreciation between the kisses he'd place on your skin

watching you writhe from the position between your legs was something he thoroughly adored, your body jerking with every skilled move from both his mouth and his fingers

after a good few minutes of pulling his hair and high pitched moans from your behalf, he will lift himself away from you. this will be your turn to switch up places

and also when you'd see the truly, needy mitsuya

you see, he has very, very sensitive skin. his neck, his chest, his waist...with simple touches of your hand, you can reduce him to a squirming mess

when he's the one receiving oral, he will absolutely lose any sense of straightforward thinking, especially if you run your hands on his thighs whilst you peer up at him through your lashes

his moans are like music to your ears. he won't speak much, unable to actually form words as he shivers from the feeling of you between his legs, but his hand on your head will be enough to tell you that you're doing a good job

if he's sat up whilst you give him the blowjob, expect to be pushed down as soon as he reaches his orgasm. he tends to curl over when he does, his whole body turning into a trembling mess

he will make up for accidentally making you gag, though. in the sense that you won't be able to walk straight for the next few days

he may be sensitive, but he also isn't one to go slow when it comes to intercourse. he will also go for a few rounds, loving how you'd come undone before him every time

hold on to him when he does: the feeling of your nails digging into his back whenever he's on top of you always makes him pick up his speed, and he loves the marks that would appear afterwards

it was a way to know that he was taking good care of you

mitsuya isn't one to talk dirty, but he will shower you with loving comments during aftercare. he'd trace your skin with his fingers as you lay on his chest, both equally as tired and worn out

his sex drive is high, but so is his love for you

so he'd always prepare a bath for you afterwards, where he'd try and keep you awake with soft kisses and talking to you whilst you enjoyed the warm water

[apocalypticgargoyle]

Ok you amazing person. Demon Sapnap, but the reader is really sick or maybe is in an accident and ends up in hospital. Sapnap and Dream both visit and get jealous of eachother. Eventually Dream leaves and Sapnap is just there like 👁👄👁 And then after a day or two the reader is finally home and Sapnap is like really pent up because he has been jealous Horny and reader has been in hospital and he just rails them, but softly because reader is still weak. Basically jealous soft-dom Demon Sapnap.

This is just an idea- by no means do you have to write it :)

I'm begrudgingly writing Dre as Mr. Steal Your Girl for obvious reasons (/ j), but also I couldn't pass down this idea for incubus 3 ;) I'm also going to include a few other requests I had about Sap's backstory and some smut. enjoy!

𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋𝐒 & 𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐒. ⛧ 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐮𝐛𝐮𝐬!𝐬𝐚𝐩𝐧𝐚𝐩 (𝟏𝟖+)

warnings: smut (18+), spanking, degradation, thigh riding, domination, literally quoting the b!ble

here's a playlist for those of you that were asking for it. i would love to see what the rest of you are listening to :)

previous part

You opened your eyes slowly, the ache in your body fully coming to your attention as you noticed the metronome of beeps coming from the machines connected to the tubes in your arm. You turned your head, squinting as your eyes struggled to focus on the figure beside you. After a few minutes, your brain pieced together his features and your heart eased when you realized it was Sapnap. For some, obviously ungodly reason, his presence brought you a sense of calm.

His feet were kicked up on the edge of your bed, his eyes scanning over a magazine as he chewed on his bottom lip absent-mindedly. He was dressed more casually than he usually was, probably an attempt at blending into the general public. You reached out a hand, fingers brushing against the soft material of his dark crewneck to get his attention. His gaze moved to look at you, a smirk painting across his pink lips.

You cleared your throat, tongue feeling like sandpaper. “What happened?” You grumbled, reaching beside him for the remote to elevate your head.

He watched your movements carefully. “You got a fever and then passed out cold,” he reminded you softly, making you groan. “Dehydration.” You couldn’t remember what he was talking about, only feeling nauseous in the middle of the night.

“How long have I been here?” You asked, rolling your head on your shoulders as your neck cracked, your limbs popping as you moved slightly. The IV pinched your arm as you moved, making you hiss quietly, making his eyes focus on where it was attached.

He hummed in thought. “A few hours. They wanna keep you until tomorrow, just in case you die or something,” he shrugged, tossing the magazine on the couch in the corner of the room.

You rubbed one of your eyes, a yawn rippling through you. “And why are you here?”

He chuckled. “Obvious reasons,” he stated, nodding towards the bite on your shoulder. “Also, Saint Dream was the first on your emergency contact list, so…” You pulled your knees to your chest as you looked at him.

“Even if it’s just because you have a quota to meet, I’m glad you’re here,” you muttered and something flickered behind his eyes, a smug expression tugging at his lips.

He leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, feet planted on the ground. “You’re not part of my quota, baby.” Your cheeks flushed at his words but before you could respond, he tensed up, eyes clouding with a darkened gold. They always shifted when something was intruding. You furrowed your brows at him. “Lupus in fabula venit enim ad me,” he mumbled darkly, the venom of sarcasm dripping from his voice as a knock came at your door.

Clay stuck his head through the threshold, eyes softening at you. Sapnap watched him silently as he stepped inside, rambling off how worried he was about you. Clay seemed to ignore Sapnap’s presence as he settled a batch of roses on your nightstand. Sapnap rolled his eyes and once Clay finally acknowledged him, he made a face like he was smelling something rotten. Sapnap looked like he was ready to snap Clay in half if he approached you closer, yet his dark demeanor didn’t dissuade Clay. In fact, it seemed like Clay was hell-bent on ruffling his feathers more, pulling up a chair on the other side of you.

“I didn’t think he would be here,” Clay commented, voice dipping slightly as his sights shifted toward Sapnap, irises flashing brighter. You perked an eyebrow at him.

Sapnap scoffed, leaning back in his seat. “I’m here because she wants me here,” he commented, nearly with a boasting tone. “So, it seems like I’m in the right role to ask what the fuck you think you’re doing.” You kept silent as the two played their game of wits and egos.

Clay smirked at him as if he was in possession of some esoteric knowledge. It dawned on you that you weren’t sure how old either of them actually was. You had dated Clay for god knows how many years, yet you learned more about his past from Sapnap than you had in any of the years you were together. “It’s still in her best interest that she be given options that don’t involve your kind,” he gritted.

Sapnap laughed shortly, a cockiness settling into his appearance. “Oh yeah? In her best interest or in yours, you selfish prick.”

Clay’s jaw tensed, a sigh flooding from his nose. “We can do this more maturely, you know? Like fucking professionals.”

Sapnap shook his head. “I’m not up for negotiating,” the stated bluntly. “Go near her again and I’ll report you,” he assured, his deadpanned stare making your heartbeat quicken.

Clay swallowed, eyes glued to Sapnap’s as the pair of them flexed their dominant personalities. Clay’s eyebrow twitched as if he had thought of something, almost mockingly. “Begone, Satan, inventor and master of all deceit,” he began, making Sapnap roll his eyes again before cutting into Clay’s quote.

“-enemy of man’s salvation. Give place to Christ in Whom you have found none of your works,” he mocked. “Try and exorcise me all you want, feather boy.”

Clay’s hand moved to curl around your wrist and Sapnap leaned against the bed, as if asking Clay to make his next move. “Be alert and of sober mind. Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour-“

“Resist him, standing firm in the faith, because you know that the family of believers throughout the world is undergoing the same kind of sufferings,” Sapnap cantered without a thought. “It’s not even the right verse for this, stupid bitch,” he grumbled.

You cleared your throat, pulling your arm away from Clay and trying not to look as if you were slinking towards Sapnap. “You should leave,” you stated, Clay’s lips pursing at your words. “I need to rest.” Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Sapnap’s sly expression cutting into Clay.

After spending another night in the hospital, you were finally unlocking your apartment door and letting Sapnap help you out of your coat. You mumbled something about getting yourself a drink and he brushed you off, already doing it himself. Your mind was racing with questions after what you had witnessed between Clay and Sapnap. You hadn’t doubted the authenticity of Sapnap, but your mind still ran with what had happened to him. He handed you a water, sitting down on your couch as you paced slightly.

He broke into your thoughts. “Go on, tell me what you’re thinking,” he stated, unbuttoning his shirt slightly. You wanted to hex him about the fact that he probably already knew what was pounding against your temples to be asked.

You chewed on the inside of your cheek, rolling over your questions to censor some of them. “The bible’s been translated and reprinted so many times, how are you still…” you gestured with your hands, unable to explain where you were going with your statement.

He chuckled, brushing a hand against his chin. “It really doesn’t matter if it’s actually God’s word or not. It’s a guide, like an outline. Rules, I guess. Think about it like the Constitution.”

“I thought demons like… burned up when someone quoted the bible at them…”

His face fell a bit at this. “No, we just can’t read it,” his tone was almost regretful, sending guilt to pulse through your body because you had asked. “It’s like it’s in a completely different language, and each time I look at it, it shifts around the page. When you get dragged into hell, something happens with your eyes.” He huffed slightly, wetting his lips. “It's kind of like an isolation thing. He wants you to be completely aside from him.”

Your mind clicked, eyeing your heirloom display case. “Can I try something?” You asked, popping open one of the doors after he hummed in response. You fished out your grandmother’s rosary, the cross feeling almost heavy in your hands. You turned on your heel, bringing it closer to him before dangling it in front of him. His eyes drifted away from it, his gaze turning up to you. “Does this bug you?” You probed, making him snort. He took it in his hand, thumb caressing over the design.

He shook his head, chewing on his lip. “It’s a shameful thing really. I feel guilty whenever I look at this kind of stuff,” he muttered; you sat on the arm of his chair and looked over his shoulder. He turned, looping it around your neck. “Does it bug you?”

You held it away from your chest. “For different reasons, I guess.” You stood again, putting it back in its spot beside a photo of your grandfather. “Why’d you get kicked out?” You queried softly, peering over your shoulder.

He was watching you. “Maybe another time.”

“What about your childhood?” You asked. “Did you have one?”

“I know more about your childhood than I do my own. Why all the questions?” He countered with a soft laugh.

You shrugged. “I want to get to know you…” You mumbled, your hand drifting up to rest on your shoulder, feeling heat coming off of his scaring bite mark. “How do you know when to show up?”

He sighed, leaning his back against the chair and stretching his legs. “I can feel when you get anxious. Angels have some kind of block though, that’s why it took me so long to realize you needed me when that bastard was over here.” He shook his head almost like a new fire about Dream had been lit. His eyes flickered up to you. “Unless you weren’t scared.” You shook your head quickly at his joke. He chuckled. “How does it make you feel that I’m in your head sometimes?”

You approached him again. “Narcissistic,” you answered plainly, sinking to your knees before him. You ran your hands up his thighs, a smirk growing on his features as he sat up to be closer to you. “What happens after I die? Eternal damnation?” You questioned, as his hand went to brush against your arms.

He pressed his lips to your neck before digging his fingers into your hair as if he’d been waiting to touch you for days. You hummed as he kissed you, the slight scruff of his unshaven face feeling soft against your cheek. “You shouldn’t have to worry about that. I think I’ll make you immortal or something. Being with me should be enough damnation,” he jeered, making you laugh. “Most of my colleagues take the souls of their targets and leave, but I enjoy your company,” he teased.

“But you already have my soul, right?” The line felt strange coming from your mouth.

His lips brushed against yours. “There’s still an innocent piece of you that I haven’t tapped into. Everyone has it; I like it in you.”

Your eyebrows perked at this, fingers digging into his thighs to make him groan. “What do you mean?”

He kissed you briefly, actions getting needier the longer you were between his legs. “It’s completely pure. Untampered by sin or desire. When a demon gets it, they go feral,” he mumbled, nose pressing into the crook of your neck, teeth dragging across your skin.

You tilted your head to the side, fingers tracing over his zipper. “Take it from me,” you breathed, leaning into his touch.

“No,” he answered blatantly.

You moaned as his tongue slipped against your collarbones. “I want you to have it,” you continued, voice uneven. His fingers tugged at your hair.

His breath was warm against your shoulders. “I’ll take it after a few years. I don’t want it now.”

You pushed him away from you, his eyes already blown with lust as you looked into them. “You just said demons want it so badly. Take mine.”

He chuckled, hands dropping to your jaw. “No,” he repeated, voice light.

You sat back on your heels, looking up at him with a tilted expression. “Is mine not good enough for you?”

He wheezed. “No, it’s perfect. I just… After I take it, it’s like you’re dead. You’re not the same. Your humanity is gone.” He pulled you back up towards him. “I’ll take it when I’m ready to escort you to hell.”

You quipped an eyebrow. “Oh, so you just don’t want me to see your place?” You joked, making him roll his eyes. “Maybe Clay was right. What’s the verse about confession?”

His eyes darkened playfully. “For with the heart one believes and is justified, and with the mouth one confesses and is saved.” It was mind boggling how he could probably quote the whole Bible and was as… sinful… as he was. “Bring up Dream again, and I’ll make sure you can’t walk for a week.”

Your eyelashes fluttered. “You bargain for a fun game," you quipped.

He chuckled darkly. "It was more a light-hearted threat, dove," he muttered.

You sat forward and pressed your lips against his hungrily, letting him pull you into his lap as his fingers curled into the loose ends of your hair. Your fingers ripped at the buttons of his shirt, exposing his chest to you as he tugged at your own clothing. Your teeth dragged against his lips as his hips ground up against you, needy for friction.

You pushed your tongue into his mouth, moaning as his hands moved to your thighs, his blunt nails raking against your jeans. You rolled your hips against his lap, feeling him harden beneath you. He spread his legs further, coaxing you to grind against him as his hands pushed you down to rut against his leg.

You were breathless as you pulled away from him, one of his hands fisting in your t-shirt to bring you close to him, lips and tongue pressing against your neck. "I didn't tell you to stop riding my thigh," he commented darkly, bouncing his knee to make you moan.

Your hand wrapped around the wrist of his hand holding you in place, tugging your bottom lip between your teeth as heat spread across your body. He pulled your shirt over your head, your bare chest at his mercy. Your mind blurred at the sensation and the feeling of him sucking his mark into your skin, making it clear who you belonged to.

You moaned, digging your face into his neck as he rolled his hips against your leg. "Please, Sapnap. I need you," you whimpered, voice a soft whisper in his ear. He chuckled darkly, ripping your pants down your legs as you fumbled to unzip his slacks.

He pulled you onto him without warning, a groan leaving your lips as he suddenly filled you up. "Bold of you to beg for me after associating with that bastard," he bit, thrusting up into you. "I should tie you up and let you suffer for that."

You moaned at his dark tone, grinding your hips against him. Your lips ghosted against his as your cheeks began to feel warm from the stimulation. "I might like that," you jested, your sentence breaking with your voice as he harshly grabbed your hips, driving himself into you harder.

"You're lucky you're still weak," he nipped, voice swirling with lust and power. "I'd throw you over my knee for that comment." His fingers dug into your hips, grinding against you as you bounced on top of him. You moaned at his words. His hand snaked up to wrap around your throat, threatening to apply pressure as he continued to direct your movements, thrusting into you at a deep and reserved pace. "Dirty girl. You want me to punish you, don't you?"

When all you could do was mutter a small beg, he pulled you closer to him, lips meeting yours in a mess of hair, teeth, and tongue. He moaned into your mouth, the taste of his breath was addictive and bliss-inducing.

He pulled you off of him and onto the couch beside him, slipping his shirt the rest of the way off. "I'll fuck the angel lover out of you," he joshed, a hand coming down sharply across your ass; the pain making you moan his name, hands gripping the couch as he pressed your shoulders into the cushion.

He dragged your hips into the air, pushing into you again, rocking his hips against yours with a small grunt. His teeth were sharp against your skin as he pounded into you and an animalistic pace, your mind numbing at the feeling. He pushed your knees further apart to pump himself deeper into you.

You moaned as his weight settled on the hand pinning you to the couch, your hair sticking to your sweaty face as he spanked you again, hand gripping your irritated skin. "Good girl. Take it," he nearly growled, making your skin crawl with an added layer of pleasure. While his pace and mannerisms were ruthless, he was definitely holding back, knowingly going easy on you because of your already weak body. That didn't mean he wasn't reminding you of your sour attitude as he pulled your arm behind your back, his hips snapping against your own to firmly instill his name in your mind.

You reached for the arm rest, a grounding element for you as his motions drove you over the edge in a teeth gritting orgasm, boy flushing with goosebumps under his command. You rocked your hips back against him as he pulled out, jerking himself off instead of giving you the satisfaction of finishing him off.

You groaned as you turned to look at him. "Feeling okay?" He asked, pressing his lips to your shoulder blade. You shook your head quickly and his eyebrow quipped ever so slightly. "Good," he stated, pulling you up and onto the ground in front of him again. He grabbed your cheeks. "I still don't think you've learned," he muttered, leaning back into his previous position. "Blow me," he directed, tucking an arm behind his head. "And with the mouth, one confesses and is saved, remember," he taunted.

Your eyes flashed up to his devious expression as he leered at you from his commanding spot.

It was going to be a long night.

And you were ready for it.

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[cheelduh]

How to Not Kill a Ginger (High School Au!)

Part 5 to the series hehehe

Parts: 1 2 3 4

Pairing: Childe x fem!reader

Synopsis: Childe’s stomach stirs when you take care of him, and he’s not sure if it’s because of his major crush on you or just plain old diarrhea.

Warnings: Swearing. Graphic descriptions involving the true idiocy of teenage boys.

Words: Abt 2.6k

Note: Sorry I sort of half assed this. I have big ideas for the next part tho ✨😮‍💨

If there's one thing you're sure of, it's that Teucer knows how to throw one hell of a tantrum.

Him and his brother, Anthon, under your watch, manage to get into a petty squabble that's been airing for the last fifteen minutes. You've done everything, from offering candy to promising an extra hour on the switch, but your efforts do not bear fruit.

What did you tell Childe again? Oh yeah, that babysitting kids was a breeze. Apparently it's not a breeze. Maybe something more like a shart. A chunky, messy one at that.

"Listen dude," You reason to Anthon, the oldest of the bunch gently. "Where did you hide his toy?"

Anthon sticks a tongue out at you, and you nearly cry at the intensity of the insult. "Not telling."

Your patience runs thin.

"C'mon Anthon," Tonia lectures from her chair on the table like the godsend she is. "Just give him his toy back. You're being so annoying." She's taking the words right out of your mouth.

"Not until he apologizes!" Anthon crosses his arms, huffing. "He ate my cheese string!"

"There are more cheese strings!" You exclaim, opening the fridge to prove your point. "I'm sure Teucer's sorry for taking yours. Just pick another one."

"But it's not the same! He took the last cheddar and mozzarella one, now there are only mozzarella ones left." He speaks in between Teucer's wails. You wonder if this is a daily occurrence.

Tonia sighs, gets up from her chair, and hands the eldest her cheese string. "Just take this and give him his toy back."

Almost immediately, Anthon reaches a hand behind the tv table and pulls out the miniature Mr. Cyclops, then throws it point blank at Teucer's feet.

Teucer wails louder.

You pinch the bridge of your nose, shoulders sagging under the stress of being a temporary teenage mother.

Then you take a deep breathe, voice booming over Teucer's cries, Anthon's grumbling, and the clicking of Tonia's tongue. "Let's make a cake!"

Everything in the room stills. Even Teucer's loud cries comes to a halt, and he inhales so sharply that the streak of snot over his lip goes right back into its origin.

You wince inadvertently.

"Poggers!" Anthon cheers, and his siblings join in, laughing and clapping in excitement.

Tonia's eyes widen in confusion when she briefly pauses from her rally. "Wait a minute. What are we celebrating? We can't bake a cake for no reason! It won't taste nearly as good."

Everyone stops to ponder.

Then you snap your fingers in realization, and the kids huddle around you. "How about a 'get well better' cake for your big brother?"

They erupt in cheers again, but you shush them gently, wink an eye for extra measure. "We have to be quiet! He won't get better if we wake him."

The three nod in understanding and begin shushing each other, failing to conceal their giggles.

As you watch them making their way into the kitchen, bounce in their steps, you can't stop the warm smile that reaches your eyes.

That smile soon becomes a frown of horror when Anthon cracks an egg over Tonia's head.

-

The cake is not half as bad as you thought it would be initially. Between mixing the ingredients and ceasing the kids minus Tonia from being menaces to society, you were able to find middle ground.

Eventually Anthon found interest in finding ways to lick the batter whenever you turned around, and Teucer found comfort in your left leg, latching onto it as if it were a life line.

Just like how Venti latches onto his stupid little bottle of wine disguised as a water bottle. Seriously, you’ve never talked to him sober, and at this point are afraid of what’s he’s like lucid.

Tonia had been the only one taking things seriously for the most part, except for the sprinkles-to-icing ratio. She drowned the entire cake in sprinkles, the mere sight adding on the ghost of an ache in your teeth.

It looks like twilight sparkles took a fat dump on it.

"Okay besties," You inwardly curse yourself for giving into Gen-Z vocabulary as you brush your hands on the apron. "I think we've done a pretty decent job."

"It looks so pretty!" Tonia grins widely, eyeing the edible pearls she strategically placed. She quickly strikes down a finger Anthon tried to poke into the icing, with the accuracy of a true warrior.

You shudder at the thought of Childe teaching her how to stab someone with safety scissors.

"Can we add candles?" Teucer asks, but Tonia clicks her tongue in distaste.

"It's not a birthday cake." She crosses her arms judgementally. The power in her glare reminds you of La Signora, strangely enough.

You ruffle his copper coloured locks anyways, and his grip on your thigh tightens. "We can add candles if you want Teucer."

He nods his head and snuggles deeper into the side of your leg. Your heart warms up considerably.

After the candles are poked in, you try to shrug him off. "C'mon dude, just for five minutes. You don't want me to drop the cake before your brother can get a bite do you?"

Reluctantly, he obliges, and runs off to help Tonia collect utensils to take up to Childe's room.

Anthon's on door duty, kicking away any toys that serve as obstacles in your way like a professional soccer player.

Once you four make it up the stairs in front of the designated room, Anthon doesn't bother knocking. He barges in like he owns the place, chin up high and a signature smirk on his face that he probably learnt from his older brother.

Childe fumbles awake, kicking the air whilst in shock by the chaotic sound of the door hitting the wall and Teucer screaming "Happy Birthday!" at the top of his miniature sized lungs as he runs in to plop right on top of his older brother.

His bewildered expression soon turns into something of a loving smile as he begins to process what is happening, eyes lighting up despite the deep bags that frame them.

Tonia places the plates on his side table, right next to the empty soup bowl you placed there earlier. She climbs up onto the bed as well to join in on the hug.

Anthon approaches at last, hands in his pockets as he coolly acknowledges his older brother. Instead of a bone-crushing hug like the other two are indulging in, his opts for a fist bump that Childe happily reciprocates.

Then finally, between the shield that are his siblings, his cerulean eyes land on your near the doorway, then trail down to the cake in your oven-mittened hands. He averts his gaze back to your own, and grins so wide his cheeks start to throb.

"Big brother! We made you cake." Teucer moves his head from his chest to face him. "So you can get better."

Childe's laughs ring in your ears, but you don't shy away from the sound. It's a pleasant, something that you wish to hear more of in the near future. Sure enough he laughs a lot at school, but the genuineness of it at home, surrounded by his siblings, stirs something deep within you.

"How thoughtful of you." He ruffles his hair, then his eyes widen as he ushers the two off of him. "You guys can't be near me! I don't want you to fall ill as well."

"But-but how will we feed you the cake without getting close to you?" Tonia frowns, and her two brothers nod in unison.

You chuckle lightly, approaching the bed with the cake in your hands. "I'm sure he has enough strength to feed himself. The hugs and kisses surely must've energized him."

To be honest, Childe's all green in the face and the last thing on his mind would be to indulge in the cake. You understand the feeling all to well. With his nose clogged up, throat all sore, there's no way he'll stomach it. It took a lot of nagging on your part to get him to finish the soup earlier as well.

He blows the candles anyways, clapping along his siblings and letting Tonia drop a fat chunk of the golden cake onto his plate. You find it endearing, regrettably so. His dedication to keeping their dreams is admirable in more ways than you can count.

This is the same guy that wears meme shirts to school, topped off with douchey sunglasses to give him a pristine vibe. The same guy that punches holes in walls like a Kyle. The very boy that flexes his toned biceps in-front of you during lunch time, successfully ruining your appetite.

"Wait a minute..." Childe inspects the cake closely, narrowing in on the candles. "Why is there an eleven?"

Teucer scratches his neck sheepishly. "Those were the only candles we had left."

After another short-lived laugh, Childe manages a bite as everyone stares in expectation, the sound of a tight crunch enveloping the room, making you grimace in secret. If Childe feels like puking out his guts right now, he's doing a hell of a job hiding it from his darling siblings.

You're glad nobody forces you to take a bite, or it would've been a double homicide right then and there.

Soon enough, one by one the children file out of the room, satisfied with their visit. The reality is that they don't want to miss an episode of backyardigans.

Once they leave, you approach him with a napkin. He gets the gist, spitting out the remnants of the cake you slaved over for about two hours.

"Colour me impressed." You snort, moving the cake aside so you can take a seat on the open space next to him. "How're you feeling?"

"Amazing." He exclaims, eyes red like a crackhead's, nose runny, with goosebumps kissing his pale skin. He sure does look...amazing.

"Cool." You say, abruptly getting up. "I'm gonna vibe with the kid—"

His hand shoots out from underneath the blanket, clammy palms wrapping around your wrist to keep you locked in place. You gulp in anticipation.

"You kissed me." Childe reminds you, eyes twinkling in mischief, a vicious grin plastered over his stupidly handsome face.

You try not to choke on your words. "You have circumstantial evidence at most." No attempts are utilized to pull away from him.

He raises a teasing brow, and you give in because the tension is thick. Thicker than the tension between Albedo and Kaeya when the latter shamelessly unzips his front to show more of his biddies. You have no idea why he hasn’t been dress coded yet.

"Fine." You snap out of your impure thoughts, and huff out, frustrated all over. "I kissed you on the cheek."

"Still a kiss though."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes. Also, cute nails." He points out, hand moving down to grasp your fingers. The act is intimate, his caress gentle and caring. Despite his brash, violent personality, he shows you a completely different side to him that hatches butterflies in your stomach.

"Thanks." You show off the bright jewels on your index. "You have a real nail technician in the house."

Tonia has some serious talent.

When he taps one of the jewels, you slap his hand away. "Careful there dude. These cost me a fortune."

His chuckles die down and he smiles again, but this time apologetically. "They didn't trouble you too much did they? I know they can be loud."

"I like loud." You answer him truthfully. "They're fun to be around. Not nearly as chaotic as you."

He blinks in mock offence, eyes narrowing shrewdly. "You come into my house, talk to my siblings, and have the nerve to insult me? Right after taking advantage of me?"

"If you don't shut up, I'll also have the nerve to rip you a new one." You reply dryly with the innocent curl of your lips.

"Bet."

You're about to lunge at him and scream a string of obscenities that no one has ever heard of before, but the Archons are listening and you don't want his siblings to grow up without someone to look up to. Wait a minute—scratch that. You'd be doing them a favour if you wiped his existence right here and now.

You have a fragile heart though. So you sigh, and grab a fistful of sheets in both hands instead.

Childe's grin turns into a petrified scowl.

"Oh no," He pleads, weakly fighting you back. "Have mercy! Please!"

You have loads of mercy. Just not enough for him.

When you have him wrapped in a successful bundle, Childe can’t help but beam, laying limp in his confines.

“What are you smiling about?” You inquire, pulling out the medicine from his box, pausing momentarily in shock. “Wait a minute, don’t tell me you’re into these things you freak.” Head snaps up so fast you nearly suffer from whiplash.

He’s about to answer you but his words turn into a fit of shallow coughs.

“I’m into whatever you’re into.” Childe’s shrug is nonchalant. “Even if that means I have to be tied up. Kinky by the way.” He winks, and you roll your eyes, cheeks flushing in embarrassment as you hold the spoon up. The dark reddish medicine swirls in deep hues.

“Shut up and open your mouth.”

“Girlie, I don’t think you understand how contradicting that statement is.”

You momentarily wonder if it’s too late to abort yourself.

—

Childe awakens at the crack ass of night, sweat slick, sticky all over, tousled hair sticking to his forehead. He’s a panting mess, eyes darting around the dark room, inhaling, exhaling, mind in a haze from the fever. Gaining somewhat of a grip on reality, he fumbles around to turn on his lamp, throat parched and in need of water.

When he manages to find the switch, he recoils at the brightness, adjusting to the sudden change in his vision. On his side table, there’s a bologna sandwich tucked safely in plastic wrap, a glass of room temperature water, and a bottle of painkillers.

His eyes disregard most of the things, finding interest in the bright pink sticky note next to the painkillers. Unable to ignore the dryness of his throat and the pounding of his head, he quickly gulps a pill down with most of the water, instantly feeling the relief of hydration.

Then, he pounces on the note, giddiness overtaking him despite the pang in his muscles, and the general feeling of absolute shit.

I had to leave. Don’t worry about your siblings, they’re all tucked in and fine. Except for Anthon maybe. Apparently he’s mildly lactose intolerant and thought it was a good idea to overdose on chocolate milk when I was busy with Teucer. Anyways, get better soon stupid.

— Y/N

He safely tucks the note under his pillow, edges of his lips turned upwards, warmth flooding his veins when he takes another look around his surroundings.

The room itself is cleaned, floor cleared from the initial clutter and the cool shiny collector’s knives he buys off of Amazon safely hung over the wall, not littered on his desk like they usually are.

The homework he was supposed do, but most likely wouldn’t, is already completed, stacked neatly atop each other.

Childe swears his heart bursts in his chest, exploding into tiny particles that overheat his entire body.

There’s no way in hell a few days worth of homework is gonna bring his failing mark up, but then again it’s the thought that counts.

While the sandwich is catered to his nausea, bland and plain for easy digestion, an easy fill, it’s the best meal he’s ever had in his life.

[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.” 

[justafewsmallsteps]

Drabble Part 2 for the Reversal AU, now featuring some flirty Adrien and Not Having It Marinette. You can read Part 1 if you like. 

Title: The Other Way Around, Part 2 Pairing: Lovesquare (Adrinette)   Rating: G+ Word Count: 1147

Adrien Agreste was sweet, but way too much of a flirt for her tastes.

Marinette could deal with it just fine, was perfectly happy being friends with him, but she definitely never took him seriously despite how Alya insisted that he gave her special treatment. Pfft! As if.  

He was the kind of boy who could get anything that he wanted because of three things: 1. His status 2. His money 3. His looks.

He wasn’t manipulative or anything, and truthfully it was hardly his fault. People just went out of their way to do things for him, and he was used to it. He knew he could get away with things with a pretty smile, and while he didn’t take advantage of it for anything sleazy he certainly smiled a lot. If things just so happened to go his way then so be it. Ah, the perks of being beautiful and wealthy.

Still, there was a lot that Marinette liked about the boy who sat in front of her, so she could definitely see why so many people were drawn to him. Objectively Adrien was extremely handsome though it hardly mattered to her. As an aspiring designer, she was more interested in the clothes he modelled than the blonde hair and high cheekbones everyone else seemed to go gaga over.

Being a celebrity he was charming in every interaction and dealt with being the spotlight very well. Marinette thought it was admirable, especially when she knew she tended to clam up in front of cameras-- well, at least without a polkadot mask on. Who was she kidding? Mask or no mask, cameras were intimidating! She gave him props for handling attention so suavely.

The bell rang, signalling the end of class.

“Good morning my Maribell,” the boy greeted, turning in his seat to face her with his model perfect smile. “You’re looking lovely today as usual.”

She rolled her eyes, the bluebell color his reason for the nickname. “Good morning, Adrien. Thank you as usual.” She got up to pack up her stuff and head outside for break, knowing he’d pester her more soon enough. Just as she expected, he made sure to beat her to the door to open it for her and hold it for everyone else as they passed.

What a gentleman, Marinette thought sarcastically as she walked past. He had that knight in shining armor kind of appeal. Chivalry wasn’t dead, but it was probably an act. It wasn’t super fair. Adrien was a nice person at heart, but the way he made a show about it was the issue. The rest of the class all thanked him cheerfully, asking about what he’d been up to lately. Something or another. A fragrance, if she remembered correctly (and she usually did when it came to her friends).

She and Alya took a seat on the bench. There was an upcoming youth designer competition with a deadline coming up, and Marinette was on the precipice of inspiration.

When Adrien inevitably jogged up next to her in the courtyard, she was ready with a question. “How was your weekend?”

He feigned a sigh. “Spent the whole time missing you.”  

While Marinette shook her head and took out her sketchbook, Alya snickered next to her. She was a big fan of them getting together, much to Marinette’s confusion. They got along well, but that wasn’t anything special. Adrien got along well with everyone. Besides, why would he bother with her when he had hoards of fans willing to throw themselves at his feet?

He doesn’t want just fans, a voice reminded her. Adrien did want real friends--he’d admitted as much the first day they met. It was why she put up with his silly act. Deep down she knew he genuinely wanted to make connections to people.

Adrien thrived on attention, but for some reason he wanted hers often. It was a friendly joke between them now to see just how much he could push her buttons until she cracked a smile. It was all in good fun. She’d never tell him, but his corny humor was endearing.

“Missing me aside, did your cologne ad go well?”

He beamed. “Maribell, you remembered!”

Her face scrunched up as she sketched. The design had to incorporate recycled materials. Plastic and paper seemed the easiest to work with, but the sheen of metal and glass kept dancing in her mind’s eye. “Isn’t the fragrance literally named after you?”

“It is.” He stood next to her, distracting her enough with his proximity as he leaned in closer. “Do you think that’s cool?”

She took her pencil and tapped it up against his nose. “Nope,” she answered with a pop.

He flashed her a big smile.

They stared at each other for a few seconds before she snorted down a laugh “It’s ridiculous! What do people expect? Ah, the scent of my favorite teen idol! Are you going to magically appear whenever someone sprays it?”

He just grinned. “It wasn’t my idea, I’ll have you know. The company comes up with names and for some reason they thought it’d sell better if they literally used my name along with my face.”

“Oh yes. People are dying to smell like Adrien.” She put her hand over her forehead for added drama.

“What’s that even supposed to smell like?” Alya asked.

“Marinette’s dream boy?” he guessed with a wink.

It made her laugh harder. “It should smell as cheesy as your pick up lines!” She stuck her tongue out and kept giggling to herself as she sketched out new ideas. Now the image of a cologne bottle began to take shape--pretty colored liquid suspended in a lovely form. What did people do with those bottles once they were done? What about the boxes or the plastic packaging? Her brain filled with a slew of imagery.

“Can I see what you’re working on?” Adrien asked in meek curiosity, not wanting to distract her. He always showed an interest in her work. Sometimes he even offered to connect her to someone in the industry, but she never took him up on it. Maybe one day when she actually earned it then she would allow it. For now she was content to keep her head down and keep producing on her own terms.

Marinette smiled and patted the spot next to her. “Of course you can, Pretty Boy.”

“Pretty Boy would be a cute name for a perfume,” Alya commented.

“I’ll make that suggestion next.”

Marinette shook her head and clicked her tongue with a smile, “Nuh-uh, that’s my idea, Agreste. No stealing.”

“Marinette, you know that only thing I want to steal from you is your heart.”

She rolled her eyes but was unable to stop the wide smile stretching her cheeks up high as Alya was set into another fit of laughter. “Spare me.”

[kusagrasskusa]

Michael Myers X Short! Reader - Part 2

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/N was in the kitchen, preparing to make a chocolate shake because, uh, chocky shakes are quite scrumptious if I do say so myself, and I do say so. She grabbed the stool next to the small island in the kitchen and used it to get on top of the counter. She clicked her tongue, keeping her mind on her surroundings in case her roommate, Michael, were to teleport through sheer force of will and pull her down. But she didn't hear him coming.

Y/N grabbed the blender and looked around the room to make sure her stool wasn't moved when she wasn't looking. When Michael would do that, she'd fall down since it's like walking down the stairs but missing a step, making you fall down and lose your will to breath. Of course, Y/N should be smart enough to just look down or get down slowly to see if the stool is there, but that solution would be too simple and intelligent for the likes of this story.

Y/N got off the counter and kicked the stool off the side, looking around more. "Huh,"she clicked her tongue, shrugging off her paranoia. She plugged in the blender and grabbed the ice cream tub she got earlier, scooping some out and putting it in the cup of the blender. She hummed to herself as she poured in milk and whatever toppings she wanted, like oreos or something.

It was about 8am, meaning it was almost time for her to go to work. Usually Michael would be watching tv, doing something out back, or whatever else he does, but she strangely couldn't find him. It was weird for him to just be missing. But to be fair, he's an adult who can leave whenever we he wants.

I sighed, as I turned on the blender, my eyes turning dull from boredom. It felt like a weight was put on her shoulders from the disappointment, but at least getting to work on time would be easier. Michael wasn't used to a modern day home so I would usually have to go on a rundown of things to and not to do before I left. A smile lifted my face as I think back, simultaneously pouring the shake into a cup and putting it in my fridge for now.

I take a large breath again before heading to my room, pushing the door open with a silent squeak coming from it. It smelled like slight dust which kinda makes since because who the hell has time to clean anything, am I right? No one, because this story takes place in America and anyone who's lives in a different country before being here can tell you that a lot for us are depressed because America is designed to be repeatative. Like, can we please do anything other than wake up, work, go watch TV at home, then sleep? Can we have a week long festival instead of getting drunk and shooting fireworks one day in July?

I shake the thoughts that suddenly appeared in my head off, sighing as I walked to my closet. "I need to take schizophrenia pills, I swear," I mumble as I pull open the sliding door— "Yo, what the hell!-"

There the skyscraper was, right in the middle of the same closet where I keep my hoodies. He stared at me for a good four seconds, a dull expression but anyone can tell from the look in his eye that he was shookyth. Probably because he didn't his mask on but who knows.

It was a great battle honestly; as soon as I realized he was maskless, I pulled my phone out quickly for a picture, but he ran at me and took the phone away. Obviously, I wasn't gonna let that slide so I did what anyone would in the situation; kick them in the shjn because that's what everyone was thinking,  right? He reactively brought his hands down fast a protection reflex, giving me enough time to grab his hand.

His grip was stronger than the strength of flex tape however, so I couldn't pull it off him before I was shoved back. I landed on my back, but tried to get back up. But hah, that would mean adding more to the "battle" so of Michael held me down after throwing the phone on the bed. "Michael, get off!" I yelled as his hands squeezed my wrists. It was embarrassing to be straddled when I had so much pride, but this isn't in a situation where I can enjoy it and act like a flustered schoolgirl!

I tried to kick my legs, but that didn't work either. I was never gonna get out of his grip but still, struggling to get out was er than admitting defeat so it's worth it. "Come on! You're heavy enough to kill me, so get up and fight like a man!" Michael had held his head down so getting a good view from my perspective wasn't easy. Basically, his head was above my chest (it's the easiest easy to describe my visionnnn) so him looking down only gives the view of his hair and forehead.

"Michael! Where you looking for that hoodie from a week ago? What were you even doing!" I shouted, cause you gotta make sure you keep that pride. I gave a couple seconds of waiting before sighing loudly, limping. Because screw that line in the same paragraph about pride, am I right? Then, he mumbled. It wasn't a word I don't think, considering it sounded more like a groan as conformation. I shivered a bit, still not used to the sound of his voice.

"Is...that a yeah?" He then nodded, but kept his head low. "Um, alright... Well, let me up and I'll get it for you, okay?" Michael then let go, standing up and helping me up in the process. "Thank you," I stated as I walked over to the closet, pulling out two hoodies. One for me, and that blue one for him. When I turned to hand his to him, he sadly put his mask on already, making me sigh again. I handed the hoodie and smiled at him.

"There you go! Let me know if you need anything else before I go, kay?" I spoke as I put on my hoodie then fixing my slightly messed up hair. He put on his hoodie, not responding in any way so I assumed nothing else was needed. I pat his arm and said bye as I walked out of the bedroom. I grabbed the oreo shake and walked out of the house, locking the door.

I shivered in bed, trying to sleep. It doesn't snow much here therefore what's basically a blizzard to happen is definitely surprising. It's worse that I have an old house; the temperature of the house really depends on the outside. There's few vents, so freezing air easily makes it into the house. And get this; the heater conveniently broke! Hah! Who's gonna come fix with weather? It's so funny it makes me want to curl up and cry, haha.

I guess it seems like I'm overreacting, but the house's temperature really is freezing because of the snow. Plus it's night out, so it's even colder. "It felt like summer yesterday though," I mumbled to myself, holding the covers tightly around me. I pressed me face closer to the pillow, closing my eyes tigher with stress. We all know a cold pillow is great but a cold cover is miserable. Michael had it worse however.

He slept on the couch with a few covers rather than a thick mattress and comforter. He got up a few times to microwave food so at least it'll make him a little warmer, but it didn't help much of course. Michael's been shot, ran over, beaten, and so many other things so the cold is nothing to him. But given the conditions he lives in, it wouldn't be wrong to use what he can to be more comfortable. Such as sleeping in a bed for once.

Just the thought of a bed sounded nice to him. The couch was small for someone tall enough to slap the top of the ceiling in schools that probably had some encouraging message on it. Michael pulled the covers off him, sitting up and stretching. His mask was off at the moment but it was too dark for anyone to notice luckily for him. He made his way towards the bedroom, opening the door silently and closing it.

Y/N frowned, nearly falling asleep at this point. Michael made his way over, softly leaning on the bed before laying on it. He wrapped his arm around Y/N for a little of warmth, since snuggles is nice I think. I wouldn't know, I've never dated. He nuzzle into the crook of her neck, closing his eyes. It was silent aside from the strangely obnoxious sound of wind from outside. I wouldn't know if that happens irl, it finally snowed for the first time where I lived and it was so little that the snow didn't pile up.

It was peaceful and Michael almost fell asleep until he heard a small snore from Y/N. Not the loli snore kind, no, I'm not a big fan of "adorable sneezes, yawns, or snores." This is the kind that you never want a significant oth set to wake you up to tell you about. Okay, maybe that not extreme but it was loud enough to be heard.

Michael felt a small smile go on his lips, intertwining his fingers with Y/N's hair. It didn't take long for him to fall asleep now. But his sleep was cut short when a loud squeak shook the house. He shook awake, sitting up immediately and looked around. All there was was a smol reader with a large smile on her face. The lamp besides the bed was turned on, showing a soft reddish feel to the room that made her blush excusable.

His look of concern fell to annoyance when he realized where the yell came from. He sighed, going deep into the covers with his back facing her. Y/N scoffed, "hey! Don't judge me! This is a three in a lifetime experience!" She huffed and pulled her phone out from under her pillow. She already got a picture of his face and hiding the picture would be easy. Uh, maybe. Y/N smirked as she plugged her phone it and turned off the lamp. She sjufgled into the covers, wrapping her smol arm around him this time.

"Goodnight~"

[gothamslittlejester]

Obsessive Ledger!joker x reader

I’ve been spoiling you all recently with all this Ledger!Joker, so you’re welcome 😎 (but also so sorry because I did go on a hiatus without saying anything for half a year 😬). Let me know in the asks if you want something in particular, I love writing for J so much! I have a few already that I am working on as we speak, so stay tuned for those 💜

Below are headcannons for a more yandere and darker joker than I usually write 👻 nothing abusive here because J is still very much my comfort character, but it definitely includes over-possessive, protective and stalker themes, as well as encouraging reader to join in on his murderous chaos

Warnings: morally ambiguous reader, joining joker on his “fun” i.e. mentions of torturing others, blood, weapons, severed body parts as gifts, implied seggsy time

· Before adoration, fondness or love, the first feelings Joker had for you was pure obsession. Obsession with what you thought and felt, what you liked to do and why you liked to do them. Obsession with your safety and the need to protect you, which led to jealousy and possessiveness very often. It was primal, and longing, and left him thirsting after your presence like a greedy, hungry wolf. He wanted you- needed you- and he was going to get you

·In spite of a period of flirting, suggestive jokes and hinting touches, Joker made it clear pretty quickly what his feelings were for you. Because of his lifestyle death is like a waiting shadow, and wasting time on what he wants is just not his style  

· Quite soon into the beginning of your more romantic relationship, you move into his hideout for the sake of your safety, which calmed J down with some of his possessiveness and paranoid thoughts. He knew his home was the safest place in Gotham, excluding Bruce Wayne’s cave, and with you in it that meant you were safe too.

·When he’s gone, he’ll leave a huge shotgun behind for you to use in case of emergency, as well as Chechen’s Rottweilers. You’ll find some stray knives and pointy objects hidden in your coats too, “just in case”, but its more heartwarming to you than annoying

· He loves to lay on you at night, whether it be right on your chest to hear your heartbeat, or on your belly where he can feel your soft skin pressed against his scared cheeks. Not only is it pleasant and lets his touched-starved soul get some attention, but it also makes him hyper aware of every shift or move your body does while asleep. It also prevents you from sneaking out of the bed to run away, which is one of his more paranoid thoughts. Don’t try to move away or push him off, he will smack your hand back and snuggle in deeper, wrapping his arms around you like a snake

· He doesn’t care what insecurities you have regarding your appearance; he admires every single piece of you and will cuddle with whatever he wants, so push your anxieties aside because Joker hungers for all of you

· His gifts can sometimes be very macabre. Generally, he loves to spoil you with an array of things, such as new clothes or lingerie, plush toys of your favorite animals, snacks you said you’ve wanted to try, or even just random knick-knacks he stole from his victim’s homes. However, if he’s feeling adventurous or extra flirty that day, he will bring you certain body parts to symbolize his feelings for you.

· You’ve definitely found your fair share of human hearts in your fridge, because he adores how your heart races when your scared. You’ve found a pair of lungs stuffed in there too, because the little gasps you make when frightened or anticipating his touch are delicious to him. You went to get milk once and right behind the carton was a tongue, symbolizing how much he relishes your little talks and midnight conversations

· Once, he brought over a whole corpse, the body decomposing and gnarled, skin ripped to shreds and a face pummeled so brutally it had concaved. “Don’t need to worry about them any more doll,” he giggled, spitting on the body with a fervor that thrilled you. It took a few minutes of intense staring- why did they look familiar?-  but then it clicked in your mind; it was the very person you had fumed and vented to Joker about last night, right before he had spontaneously left

· “J,” you began, eyes nearly popping out of your head. “Did you kill him... for me?”

· “ ‘Course I did, sweetheart.” He rolled his eyes like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You know I’d, uh, kill anyone for you. Nasty fucks like them especially-ah.”

· If you have to leave for longer periods of time, whether that be for school or work, Joker will always have a few of his men stalking you from a distance, making sure you’re safe and that no one dangerous is within a 1 mile radius of you. They also have explicit instructions to take photos and send them to J, because he likes looking at your oblivious little face.

· He’d do it himself if he has the time, which he sometimes does, but he too is quite busy with his own things (when anarchy calls, as they say), so hiring lookouts is the next best thing. If he could, he’d have you right by his side at all times… how pretty you’d look in a soft purple leash... but that’s just daydream fuel for now

· Speaking of photos, Joker knows his ways around a camera. He makes... lovely home videos that he sends to news channels in his free time (rip fake batman) and he continues to practice at his craft from time to time. He even won a deepweb award for best snuff film of the year, which boosted his ego to ungodly heights. He’s absolutely delighted about it and hints that you should watch it on one of your movie nights, but he does warn it’s not for the faint of heart

· Taking videos and photos are one of his favorite hobbies, and if you’re down to clown… he’d certainly bring it in the bedroom

· Speaking of his more thrilling hobbies, Joker will constantly suggest you join him on his escapades or help out behind the scenes, especially if he picks up on any sort of interest from you concerning his ‘job’. Joker is an observant man, and he reads you like a book. He knows you likely have some dark, sinister thoughts running around in your head - you must, if you’re with him- so he does everything he can to encourage you to let them out. Joker will never judge this side of you, no matter how grim. He’ll try and harness it, bring it to light. He hates the thought of you shying away from your true self, embarrassed of your darker nature, but what he hates even more is you thinking he’ll be disgusted with you or disappointed. How can you think that?

· “No no no, bunny, not me. You’re my muse, so give me some inspiration hmm? Tell daddy exactly what’s going on in that mind of yours...”

·  If you do show interest in the darker side of his job, he’d smile so big that his scars take up his whole face. He’d teach you everything; how to fire a gun, how to stab someone, how to hide a body and how to torture one. He’ll spread out all his weapons on the floor and let you choose which one calls to you, like a deranged ceremony, informing you on the pros and cons of each one. He’ll even invite you into the warehouses he designated just for torture, which are just as gruesome and sinful and they sound

· J let’s you watch as he hurts his victims, whom are purposefully rapists and killers to make you feel less guilty, and let’s you join in on the fun whenever you gain the courage. He even went as far as to buy a whole torture set off the black market, from scalpel to needles, just to give you options. Joker loves to see how creative you can get, and it’s one of the few times he lets you take complete control

· “The floor is yours, bunny. Impress me.”

· He is down for pretty much anything, and that mindset is not exclusive just to the bedroom

·Any couple activity you fear might be too far or creepy for other people… is right around J’s alley. Weird kinks or foreplay games you want to try? No problem. Making love in abandoned houses or cemeteries? Now that’s his type of romance. You want to carry a small vial of his blood around your neck? He is all game, but only if he gets one of you as well. Matching knives? He’s blushing. Satanic blood ritual from a sketchy website that’s supposed to bond your souls for eternity? Perfect, his weekend plans were centered around you anyways

· Now…If he feels that you’re not giving him enough attention or start to push him away, he will resort to crazier means to obtain your love back. He’ll set off random bugs, rats or even henchmen into your home to scare you, gleefully waiting to hear you cry out his name in fear. Like a small, dependent little kitten, mewling for their protector. He’d come in, guns ablaze, looking for whatever scared his darling angel, killing them on sight. You’d run into his arms, tears streaming down your face as you cling to Joker like your life depended on it- just how he liked it. He’d coo mockingly and pull you closer, rubbing your back as he unashamedly basked in your physical touch.

· In general however, your soft caresses, kisses and reassuring words are enough to keep him very pleased. He knows you adore him and are head over heels obsessed just like he is, and that truly does put a smile on his face.

[personasintro]

My Tiny Secret | 21; His Decision

𝑴𝒚 𝑻𝒊𝒏𝒚 𝑺𝒆𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒕 𝒅𝒓𝒂𝒃𝒃𝒍𝒆 | 21; His Decision

⏤𝒔𝒚𝒏𝒐𝒑𝒔𝒊𝒔; Pretty face doesn’t make it up for an ugly personality. And Kim Seokjin is the perfect proof of that.

⏤𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: seokjin x reader

⏤𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆: angst, smut, fluff, mistress au, unexpected pregnancy au

⏤𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: strong language, mature content

⏤> 𝒇𝒊𝒄 𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒙

“Mhmm... fuck.” you breathe out, swallowing another moan as Seokjin's plump lips latch onto your clit while his long and slim fingers are busy pumping inside your clenched hole.

“This pretty pussy,” he sneers against your heat, before he starts to suck your little bundle of nerves all over again.

It's around eight in the morning, meaning you still got at least ten minutes before Yoojin wakes up. If it weren't for his occasional cries, you'd sleep like you haven't in a long time. Maybe the reason behind your good sleep was the person sleeping next to you, or you just enjoyed someone else's warmth next to you. Seokjin would wake up with you, groggily groaning whenever you were already standing up to get your son, watching you in the darkness while you bounced him in your hands, trying to get him to sleep. It was something you weren't aware of, until you found out he was still awake, waiting for you to return to bed.

Even though the night with him was great, you've never expected him to wake up a few minutes after you, ready to devour you all over again. This time, only using his mouth and fingers.

“Hmm...” he hums, as if he's savoring the taste of your arousal, is just enough to buckle your hips against his face.

Your back arches from the couch's, thighs dangerously caging his head from all the pleasure he gives you just with his mouth and fingers. You pull his hair, a deep groan vibrating in his chest sends a wave of incredible pleasure all over your body,

“Cum for me.” he murmurs, enough for you to hear but still careful not to be extremely loud.

With more few pumps and his tongue flicking your clit in animalistic pace, you're chocking up on your moans as you're cumming. Your mouth fully agape, tears prickling the corners of your shut eyes are just natural reaction, your heat sucking his fingers in as he swallows your cum mixed with arousal. When overstimulation starts to kick in, you nudge his head before he gets the clue, licking your swollen heat for the last time before he pulls away.

His big lips are coated with your cum, shining in the natural lightening as you curse at the sight. He smirks, swiping it off with his finger before he puts it in his mouth, sucking on it as he cleans it. You watch him doing it with the rest of the fingers, where your arousal and cum is still clear, feeling your heat pulse.

That was incredible.

You sit up, pulling down your shirt before he plops onto the couch next to you.

“Are we going to talk about what happened?” you ask, breath caught in your throat from the intense orgasm you've just experienced.

“I ate you out, what's there to talk about?” he chuckles, showing you his white teeth while his eyes are focused on you.

“Jin,” you whine, the corners of his mouth lifts at the nickname rolling out of your tongue. It's been a few months when you started calling him that and he enjoys it every time you say it. “I'm serious.”

“So am I.”

It still takes you at least five seconds to get used to him joking and fooling around.

“Do you think us having sex was a good idea?” you ask him with a murmur, pulling your shirt down your thighs even though you feel the uncomfortable wetness pooling between your legs.

Maybe you should've used the bathroom to clean yourself before starting this topic, but there's no turning back. Especially when all amusement wipes off his face instantly, a hardened gaze staring right back at you. It makes your shoulders tense and your arms hugging yourself, taken back by the sudden change of atmosphere.

However, when he notices your body language he relaxes his expression and licks his lips slowly, before a raspy voice reaches your ears.

“Are you regretting that it happened? Because I asked you if you're sure.” he says, points out the small fact that brings you back to yesterday night, night full of kisses and deeper connection. It's weird, he almost sounds hurt asking that.

“No, I know that. I don't regret it, Do you?” you tell him quickly, watching him shaking his head.

“I don't. But why are you asking me this then?” he sounds genuinely confused, and you know you're confusing him every second you don't response.

Quickly gathering yourself, you give him a tiny smile before you sigh.

“I don't regret us having sex. It felt... nice. And different than the other times and I know something has changed, I'm not sure whether you felt it too or not...” you trail off, catching a glimpse of him but he only stares at you.

He doesn't confirm it, nor deny it which leaves your comment ignored but him not denying it means something. Right?

“I know you're not used to talk about your feelings openly, or about any situation that's close to it. And I don't wanna pressure you into anything. I'm not used to it either, well, not with you. We've never really talked about such things so openly, or ever actually. All I wanted to say is, that I don't think it was a smart move... us having sex. Even though, I don't regret it.”

He stays quiet for a solid five seconds as he scratches his cheekbone, but opens his mouth.

“I'm not quite sure what this is about.” he admits.

“Well,” you start, “think about it this way. It happened, and it's okay and we don't regret it. But if we keep doing this, Yoojin will grow up seeing us close and I don't want him to be confused in the future. I know we still got a lot of time before he truly starts to realize this, but it's better to put pause or stop this while we can. You're still married, and imagine us being intimate again. He will just grow confused, wondering if we're together or not. I'm a single woman, but I want to find someone in the future. As much as I've enjoyed last night, I can't keep doing this with you. I know we both agreed to it, but I need to respect myself as a woman more. I don't think us doing this again would do some good.”

God, you really enjoyed feeling his lips and hands all over your body. You truly did. That night was special, whether he acknowledges it the same way like you do or not. You're not necessarily someone who wants to put labels on things, as long as there was consent on both parts, there shouldn't be any issue with that. You're a grown up woman who can decide what she wants. But you're also a mother, which is a huge responsibility and you can't keep acting like that young woman who couldn't get enough of the CEO in a black suit and shitty attitude. He has changed, for the better, something you've never thought you would get to see. And fuck, how proud you are of him. You really are.

But not even that means, you're going to jump back into the previous relationship the two of you had.

There's another person in your lives, your son, who's going to grow up and sense your relationship from a far. You can't act irresponsible just because he's good in bed and you've a weird chemistry going on. Your son is much important than your secret desires and lust.

“I understand,” he says slowly, biting onto his inner cheek before he sighs. “I think you're right. I should've thought of it sooner.”

“Hey, don't be so hard on yourself. I want you to know, I really enjoyed last night and it gave me a different perspective. But as of now, I think we should focus on him rather than our hormones.”

You obviously find each other attractive, you always did. If you didn't, you two wouldn't have secret rendezvous and nine months old son right now.

And although, you want to kiss those juicy lips again and utilize him being getting more open and affectionate, you can't let it affect the future.

“You're right,” he nods, palms slapping against his thighs as he stands up. “No more kissing and sex. Got it.” he chuckles, causing you to do the same, although you're pushing back the pout that wants to settle on your lips.

Idiot, you were the one who came up with this.

But it feels like the right thing to do so.

“Yeah,” you nod, standing up with him as you cringe at the feeling between your legs. “I need to clean myself before Yoojin wakes up.”

“I've some errands to run,” he says, picking up his phone from the coffee table as he puts it into his raven black slacks. God, the image of him eating you out in his suit is devilish. “Will you be fine?”

“Of course,” you smile up at him, “Will you come for the dinner tonight?”

He barely misses your dinner. There were times you wanted to bring him a homemade lunch, a surprised visit by you and Yoojin in his company, but you don't want to push things. You're not sure if you'd cross some lines. Plus, you know how busy he is.

You're thinking about making a Chinese food, or traditional Korean, whatever he chooses.

“Actually, I don't think I'll make it tonight,” he answers, scratching the back of his neck as your shoulders fall in disappointment. “I'll text you.”

“Yeah, sure.” you muster a smile, biding a goodbye as you rush yourself to the shower.

You hear him padding around the apartment for a couple of minutes, before he shuts the front door with a soft click. It leaves you letting out a saddened sigh, turning on a warm water that covers your naked and shivering body.

It's weird how in span of a few months this place feels foreign, even though he spent a good amount of his life here. He remembers he spent hours in a meeting with one of the best architectures and interior designers he could find in Seoul, trying to create a perfect vision of his taste and home. It's comical that no matter how much of a personal touch he gave to this place, it never felt like a true home. At first, he never realized it until now. It feels cold, unlocking the wide black wooden front door, and even the scent of it makes him want to turn around and leave.

It doesn't smell like your apartment. There is no scent of cherry blossom diffuser or baby powder, something he misses and got used to quite quickly.

And it doesn't matter if this house is huge and has a better interior, when there's no feeling to it. The whole house feels like a ghost town, empty and lonely and that's why a rustling sound takes him by surprise.

Taking his shoes off, he ignores the dust that's settled on the shoe rack, wondering if she ever took a mop into her hands and cleaned herself. The charwoman he hired got sick, so she hasn't been coming to the house to clean it and he forgot to call another one in the meantime. It's safe to say he didn't even care when he's spending most of his time in his office or at your place. Pathetically, he thought his hard-working' wife would clean it herself.

He follows the sound, realizing it's coming from the kitchen as he takes off his suit jacket while walking there.

She might not be cleaning, but he's definitely shocked to see her rustling with pots and the weird smell of something that's simmering in the pan. She turns around, ready to check her unlocked and bright phone, but she notices him causing her to gasp in shock.

“Fuck, you scared me!” she exclaims, holding her chest as she breathes through it. “You came home?” she asks surprised, still trying to calm down her beating heart while her husband just stares at her.

He decides to give her a brief nod, tossing his suit jacket onto the kitchen island as he leans against it with his hand. “What are you doing?”

“Cooking.” she answers, tapping onto the screen of her phone that lightens up with something that looks like a recipe.

Well, he can see that. He hasn't seen her standing behind the stove, trying to cook something, ever. And whatever this is, he doesn't comment it and stares at her focused face.

She cut her hair short, but other than that she looks just exactly the same. She's wearing a tight red dress, a complete opposite of your loose baggy shirt that you always wear at home. Her hair is sleek, perfectly styled as if she's going somewhere but she's not. He knows that because she wouldn't waste her time trying to cook, if she had somewhere else to be. When you cook, you always put your hair into a messy bun or ponytail, so it doesn't go into your eyes and face.

He has no clue why he keeps comparing you to her, but both of you are so different. It's almost a complete opposite and he wonders how possibly he could have felt attracted to the both of you. You're both glorious women, although you're so different from each other.

She closes one of the cupboards, reaching for the glass of red wine as she slowly sips from it, glancing at him through her black lashes.

“Can we talk?” he asks, seeing she has no intention talking first.

It's weird how calm she acts, no jabbing or comments on his sudden visit.

“About what?” she hums, placing the glass back down before she licks her lips.

“This marriage,” he answers, causing her to freeze in her spot before she pokes her inner cheek with the tip of her tongue. “It's not working out.”

He lacks of empathy, and it's shame that he as her husband can't really read her emotions, but he's not blind. He can see how she clenches her sharp jaw, ready to snap at him any second but she calmly grips the edges of kitchen counter.

“Who said it's not working out?” she manages to say through clenched teeth, staring at the marble instead.

“I did. Just now,” he shrugs, sounding careless which makes her blood boil. “I don't plan on sugarcoating anything. I wanna divorce you, but I thought you should hear it from me first, before my lawyer contacts you.”

The good thing is, that she placed the glass down before he dropped this bomb onto her. It'd surely end up on the floor right now, along with her dignity.

“You–You can't just do this!” she exclaims, trying to find her voice and fight the shock while she glares at him. “Why are you doing this?”

“Why are you acting so shocked? I barely spend my time here, I don't come home anymore and we're nothing but roommates at this point.”

“That's not the point!” she shoots back, causing him to sigh.

He really doesn't want to raise his voice, he remains calm while his wife is ready to burst any second.

“And what is? I don't see the point in this ridiculous marriage.” he tells her honestly, but that only makes her fume even more.

“You're fucking unbelievable! So, just because you've a son now, you suddenly don't need me?”

“Let's not go there.” he warns her, eyes furrowing as she has the audacity to bring him into this. He wanted to do this calmly, but if she utters a single bad word about his son, he's going to snap.

“How about let's go there?” she barks, trashing with her hands. “So, now that I can't have your children I am nothing? I'm not worth of being your wife, is that it? But she is, right? You're going to marry her and have a family with her.”

He sees nothing but jealously and anger. Some part of him knew she's going to bring you into this. No matter how many months has passed, you're always ticking her nerves.

“Don't talk nonsense,” he sighs, “She has nothing to do with this. I'm doing this for my son, and for me. We don't love each other, this marriage was just a plan for the both of us. Don't act like there were any feelings involved.”

She purses her lips, knowing he's saying the truth. She doesn't love him, she loved the fact how wealthy he is and what can he give her. Having his kid would be just an insurance of having the rest of her life taken care of. She wouldn't have to worry about money, place to live in or designer clothes that are practically spilling from her huge closet.

“Still, you can't treat me like shit.”

“Am I? I'm standing here, telling you my decision before my lawyer could. How is that me treating you like shit? I wasn't the best husband, I'm aware of that. But I gave you everything you pointed your little finger at. That was just enough for you, wasn't it?”

He doesn't even bring up the whole topic of her using him for the money. He's not here to fight.

His voice is firm, but still calm which makes her taken back by his attitude. She notices how round his cheeks got, he looks better than when she had last seen him. It makes her wonder if you're behind it.

“Do you love her?” she mutters, clenching her jaw as her knuckles whiten at how tight she grips the counter.

He almost wants to laugh out loud at her jealously. She doesn't even love him, yet she's getting jealous just from the thought of him having feelings for someone else that's not her. She has so many men wrapped around her finger, he's not particularly scared of her ending up alone. She'll find someone else before she even properly signs the papers. But here she is, getting jealous and angry just because she isn't the one who got him better.

“No,” he answers simply, “I care about my son.”

“So, you barely staying here is just because you care about your son?” she sounds skeptical, but there's still hatred in her voice.

He's not sure what he feels towards you. But he knows he never felt about anyone that way. It's not love, it can't be. But he cares about you. Maybe it's because you're his son's mother, he thinks.

“I made the decision,” he starts, watching her attentively. “to become a better father.”

“How touching.” she snorts, rolling her eyes at him which makes him take a deep breath.

“You know, one day when you decide to adopt a kid,”

She wouldn't, he knows that. She doesn't like kids to begin with. It's a random thought, but he's glad you ended up pregnant instead of her. He can see it in your eyes how happy you're whenever you look at Yoojin, and maybe it wasn't planned pregnancy, but you wouldn't change him for anything. He knows his son is in good hands and couldn't have a better mother.

Who knows, maybe if she had her own baby, things would change. But he doubts it.

“You might understand what it feels like. Until then, you're never going to understand why I did this.”

Her face scrunches in a painful manner, but she embraces herself and holds her head high.

“She's just another bitch trying to screw you over, using your son.”

She's hurt, he can see it in her eyes, despite of them never being so close. It's the anger, jealously and even hatred speaking out of her but that doesn't justify her attitude.

“Ara.” he warns her, growling at her as she puts her hand in front of her stopping him.

“No, she's already doing it. She's using your son to get to you, and look how that turned out!”

“She's not you, Ara,” he tells her, her mouth opening in disbelief as he takes his suit jacket off the counter. “You can keep the house if you want. That's all I can give you.”

“I'll ruin you.” she spits.

“No, you won't.” he tells her, causing her to slap her hands onto the top of the counter but he doesn't budge, raising a brow at her.

“I'll strip you off your money, you'll have nothing.” she threatens, causing him to smirk as he chuckles lowly.

“Try it,” he shrugs, “But before you can even make a plan, don't forget I can ruin you with the snap of my fingers. Think wisely. My offer is the house, if not, I don't owe you a shit.”

He doesn't want to threaten her, but he can't let her walk over him, threatening him. He's choosing his attitude and words carefully. If this was happening a year ago, he'd stand up to this differently. But now he has a son, a little family he needs to take care of. He needs to be more careful what he says and does.

“You're going to regret this.” she tries for the last time, hating how unaffected he seems to be.

“No, I won't. I've made the best decision I could,” he tells her honestly, not even glaring at her. He sees the shock written on her face, seeing the change in him. “And I hope you'll do as well.”

Taking the last glance at her, he walks out of the house before she can utter another set of threats. He knows she's all bark but no bite. She has no power to do something. And with him no longer being there, she is reminded of the burnt sauce she was trying to cook. Her first attempt of cooking contrasting her life, as she angrily turns off the stove and takes the glass of wine, throwing it onto the perfect colored wall with a scream.

As soon as he is out of the house, the fresh air hits his face and he inhales heavily, making his way to his black sport car.

He feels relaxed, sighing as soon as he rides off the driveway and checks the time on the touch screen.

He will make it to the dinner after all.

[imagine-this-fandom]

BNHA X Fem!Reader: The Rescue - Angry Pomeranian

The Rescue intro: Here

She gently placed Izuku into a glass cage before pulling you to a back door labeled "Dogs", the Golden retriever slipping in behind you before you closed the door.

Upon entering, you were greeted by lots of barking, the dogs obviously not using their indoor voices. You actually surprised by the variety back here. There was a husky, Pitbull, and even a German Shepard. The room was rather large and open for them to interact with potential owners, various dog toys strewn across the floor with the dog kennels to the back.

You expected Inko to take you to meet the bigger dogs, but were confused when she led you past them, instead stopping in front of a small tan puff ball in a corner who was absolutely destroying a dog toy, the smiling sun that used to adorn the front of it, now flopped over on a shred of fabric by your feet. It almost looked like a blizzard of its own had happened in the corner due to all the stuffing scattered around.

"Oh Bakugou, what have you gotten your paws on this time?"

Inko clicked her tongue and watched the Pomeranian pup continue to tear the stuffing out of a smiling sun patterned toy.

The sight made you a bit more hesitant. Was this really the dog she had in mind for you? An absolutely furious little ball of fluff?

He didn't seem to pay you any attention, content to work growl and tear into the toy until Inko reached down and picked him up, which sent him into a frenzied wiggle fit. He began to whine in outrage, upset seemingly with the audacity of Inko picking him up.

"Come now Bakugou, you need to behave! There's someone here to see you." She was all smiles and started to pet his head, the angry noises emitting from the dog lessening as he calmed down a fraction.

"Mrs. Midoriya, are you sure he's the right dog for me? He doesn't seem to like me very much..."

You eyed the dog hesitantly. While he was undeniably adorable, you were worried he wouldn't like you even after you started to take care of him.

"I think he just needs time to get to know you! He's a sweetheart once he's settled, even though he doesn't show it often. Really, he could do with someone like you in his life. From talking to you, I can tell you'll be perfect for the little scamp."

The dog had stopped wiggling and seemed to be assessing the situation. If you didn't know any better, you'd say it looked like he was listening.

You bit you lip and looked him over, weighing the options you had. Sure he'd be a handful, but... could you really say no to that face?. If what she said was true, maybe he just needed someone to be there for him. And you found that you really wanted to be that someone. Besides, pets have personalities too. Even if he was grumpy, you could love him regardless

Smiling, you nodded.

"I'll take him. "

Getting Bakugou to go home with you on a leash was an experience to say the least. He tugged like mad and actually tried to break the leash, biting and trying to rip it away. That didn't go all that well for him once he got outside though. The snowdrifts were as big as he was!

Laughing, you discovered that you would have to pick him up to continue home, seeing as you wouldn't get very far if you had to keep fishing him out of the deep snow. He was bound and determined, but you could tell he was getting annoyed with the cold piles.

He was the angriest creature you had ever seen in your life. If a snowflake came too close, he would snap at it and bark at every stray animal or movement he saw. You just shook my head with amusement. His temperament, while not ideal for most people, was starting to grow on you.

It was a relief to finally get back to your apartment and put him down. You let him roam the house and explore, getting used to his new environment as you set up the supplies you got from the store. You had gotten him some cool food and water dishes with flames designs on the outside. After finishing that up, you moved to your bedroom to place the dog bed that you had purchased for him. He had beaten you to your room though, which you discovered as you chanced a glance at your bed while arranging the small pet bed in the corner. Bakugou had already made himself at home on your bed. His ashy blonde fur standing out on the comforter as his crimson eyes followed your movements from his newly acquired high ground.

"Silly boy, that's my spot! You have a bed down here!"

His eyes narrowed as he took up a more defensive position.

"Down, Bakugou. Off the bed. Did you just growl at me?!"

Well... He did not look like he intended to move any time soon. While you were all for learning to deal with him, you were definitely not in the mood for dealing with a doggy temper tantrum. You conceded him this point, for now and left to prepare for bed.

You left and took a quick shower before slipping into some (f/c) pajamas. Stepping out into the bedroom, you stopped and snapped a quick photo. Bakugou had settled down on the bed and was sleeping. This was the most peaceful you had seen him so far.

Rather than risk picking him up and waking the angry mutt up, you instead shifted him slightly to the side and climbed under the covers on the other half of the bed. He looked up at you at the contact , obviously annoyed by being roused from his sleep, but not mad enough to do anything about it except give an angry huff and shift so his back was facing you. You smiled and cautiously reached out a hand to stroke his back. He seemed to stiffen up for a moment, but, he seemed too tired to really care, so you took it as the go ahead to continue. You pet him for a bit before reaching up and scratching behind his ears. He tensed again before melting against your touch, leaning into it. You carefully retracted your hand and yawned before turning the lights off, smiling at the silvery fur across from you in the moonlight.

"Goodnight Bakugou, sleep well, my little spitfire."

Progress was being made, and for that, you happy. You fell asleep with a content expression, optimistic for the days to come.

Bakugou was absolutely a handful. After that first night, he made it his mission to test you. Whether it was by breaking something while you were at work, or simply refusing to cooperate when on walks, he made it his mission to act out when anything slightly inconvenienced him. Spitfire was an apt name, considering how spirited he was, especially on walks. He'd become the local terror of the neighborhood. Regardless of his size, he was ferocious. Even some of the larger dogs were intimidated by him! He didn't allow any other creature to push him around, humans included.

Even with his resistance you continued to work with him, trying to find ways to calm him down. You wanted him to like you, to trust you. You started by working on your own reactions whenever something happened that set him off. Instead of getting upset at him, you got down to his level and spoke quietly, getting him to focus on you instead of whatever had triggered his outrage. He still had his outbursts, but they were slowly getting better.

He was still very particular about contact though, only really letting you pet him when he was tired, when his weariness outweighed his outrage. This led to a nightly routine of pets before both of you fell asleep. This would change though.

One night, after a particularly bad day of work, you stumbled in exhausted. You were absolutely dead on your feet as you dragged your tired body inside your apartment. Kicking off your shoes, you decided to forgo your usual yelled greeting to your dog and instead staggered into the living room and collapsed face first on the couch, muscles screaming from the stress of the day. You just stayed like that for a good five minutes before hearing the jangle of a dog collar headed your way.

Bakugou stopped in front of the couch and growled at you impatiently, seeming to not like this break in his routine. You really didn't have the energy to deal with his nonsense so you simply let your arm drop off the side, offering him your hand. This didn't appease him though, as he instead took the edge of your sleeve in his teeth and tried to tug you off the couch.

You shifted, turning your head so I could see him and hopefully stop his determined tugs.

"Bakugou, please. I can't right now, okay? We'll play tomorrow. Just... not tonight. I'm not doing well."

You expected some kind of backlash, maybe him barking his head off, or maybe he would go destroy something out of spite. What you got instead, was a lick on the back of your hand, and a fluffy head pushing against your side, urging you to make some room on the couch for him. Tiredly, you obliged, rolling onto your back so your tired gaze was now directed at the ceiling. Your brief view of the apartment ceiling was interrupted by a fluffy blonde head glaring down at you with red eyes. Bakugou had settled himself on your chest, paws resting just below your chin.

"Can I help you sir?"

He huffed, hot breath warming your chin and chest as he relaxed and laid his head on his paws, almost daring you to move and disturb him.

You smiled and pet his head, making sure to scratch him behind the ears. He never made it obvious, but he loved it when you pet his head. He just kind of melted, muscles going relaxed with his eyes drooping in happiness. You stayed like this for at least another hour before falling asleep, arm lazily thrown over the content pup. You were surprised to discover you slept the best you had in ages that night. Something about Bakugou being there to protect you just made relaxing so much easier. While he was small, he was fierce and wouldn't let anything happen to you under his watch.

After that night, Bakugou seemed to calm down a little. He was still your little spitfire, but he didn't shy away from your touch. If anything, he sought it out. He still got into loads of trouble and had gotten on your last nerve more times than you could count. But now he seemed more interested in you. He got upset when you didn't greet him when you came home and always made sure to stay in your vicinity when you were at home. He seemed protective of you now, and you couldn't help but love it. He let you cuddle him more too. Often, you began to invite him up on the couch next to you during movies, which quickly turned into an hour every day with Bakugou on your lap as you pet him and watched a show or movie. As this happened, you noticed he favored old hero footage, especially of Allmight. He went wild whenever the symbol of peace was shown on the screen.

"I can see why you like him, he's one of my favorite heroes too. Always there when people need him."

You smiled, petting the excited dog's head. Pleased to see his little tail going nuts.

"But who needs Allmight when I've got you around Bakugou? My brave little Hero! You're always here for me. Getting you was one of the best decisions of my life."

The dog seemed to stiffen, but you didn't pay him much mind, figuring he was just focused on the action playing on the screen. Although you noticed he was quiet for the rest of the evening. He was reserved and honestly, you were starting to get a little bit worried. You decided that you'd just take him to the park the next day, maybe that would cheer him up.

The next day, you stuck to your plan, waking up early to work on housework and make sure you had finished all your tasks for the day and could take Bakugou for a nice long romp at the park.

You were working in the kitchen when he made his way out to you after waking up, his claws clicking on the tile and letting you know he was coming.

"Hey spitfire, did you have a good sleep?" You grinned and looked down at the fluffy dog who was watching you quietly. You knelt from your spot at the stove and held up a piece of bacon you had saved from breakfast.

"Figured my good boy deserved a treat. This is for now, and then once I finish cleaning up, we're going to the park."

Your words seemed to excite him as he snatched the bacon and his tail went wild. You smiled and pet him before getting back to work on the kitchen, looking forward to taking a break and spending time outside with your little spitfire.

Once you were outside, Bakugou seemed to go back to his normal angry self. He trotted ahead of you as you walked, seeming to exude an aura of intimidation when it came to the other dogs. You knew he wouldn't approve if you said it aloud, but you thought it was adorable. You relaxed as you walked through the city, slowly finding your way to a vast park that Bakugou seemed to like. It had lots of room to run, but you didn't let him off leash often. While you trusted him, sometimes he couldn't help himself and would pick a fight with anyone he felt threatened by. This led to some close calls that made you decide he wouldn't be allowed off leash anytime soon.

Crossing the threshold onto the green grass, you gave a happy sigh, enjoying the change from pavement to grass. You were quickly drawn away from your peaceful moment as a dog came charging at you and Bakugou. A chihuahua that was off its leash was making a beeline for you and Bakugou was not having it for a second. He braced himself in front of you and gave a warning growl as a deterrent. The little dog was either deaf or stupid and you were not excited to see which as his attention was focused on Bakugou.

He got just a little too close before Bakugou lunged forward and gave him a warning nip on the leg. When the little dog did not back down, you had to make a split decision and scooped up your dog and ran the opposite way. You found shelter on a bench, just out of reach of the vicious little monster snapping at your feet to get at the outraged Pomeranian in your arms. Your little spitfire did not take kindly to anyone threatening him, but you weren't about to let the small dog take a chance to retaliate for the bite. After a few tense moments where you tried to work out a plan that didn't involve punting the attacking dog, its owner ran up, red faced and not in a good mood. Instead of immediately fetching her dog, she took one look at the situation and exploded on you instead.

"DID YOUR DOG BITE MY COCO?!"

You were stunned into silence for a moment, not able to process the audacity of the question directed at you from this angry middle aged woman.

"Yes, but it was in self defense! Your dog was coming right for him!" You protested, hoping an explanation would somehow help the woman's anger to subside. But unfortunately, she did not accept that her dog was the one to blame. She scooped up the still writhing devil dog and glared at Bakugou.

"That thing is a menace! You should but a muzzle on him! What if he had bitten a child?" She stared with unwarranted venom, her blunt and misfounded words thrown carelessly at you like daggers.

You didn't notice right away, but Bakugou had gone still at the mention of a muzzle, the word seeming to trigger something within him.

As the woman Walked away, you slid down to sit on the bench, taking a moment to collect yourself and recover from the emotionally draining encounter. When you looked down at Bakugou again it was because he was struggling in your arms.

"Hey bud, it's okay, they're gone now."

These words which you had meant for comfort only made him struggle more.

"Okay, okay! Sorry, I'll put you down."

You carefully set him on the ground but were taken by surprise when he started to sprint away. You gasped and took off after him, chasing after the leash he was trailing behind him as he made his escape.

"Bakugou! Get back here!"

While you were doing your best to keep up, he was doing his best to dodge you. He was ducking under bushes and darting around obstacles as he made his getaway. eventually, you ran out of steam and had to stop, breathing heavily as you tried to get some air back into your lungs. When you were finally able to breathe without black spots invading, Bakugou was nowhere in sight.

You were in panic, barely barely able to really process that he was gone. You quickly started walking again, cupping your hands around your mouth as you called for him. How could he have just run away? Something must have happened, he wouldn't have just left you, right? You just had to keep looking. You'd find him. You had to.

You searched until your throat was hoarse, long ago abandoning the park and now roaming the city as the sunlight started to fade. Logic said that you should go home, but there was no way you were going to leave Bakugou outside and alone. You loved him, and you needed to find him, hopefully before anything happened to him.

You staggered through the streets, voice quiet and strained as you hopefully looked for even just a hint of tan or the tell tale jingle of your collar. It was late, and as much as you loathed the thought of going home without him, you had begun to lose hope of finding him today. As you turned to head home, you ran into someone.

"I'm so sorry! I wasn't watching where I was going," You babbled, apologizing to the man. The guy glared at you before his whole demeanor changed as he looked you over. A dangerous look starting to form on his face that made unease rise within you.

"where are you going, sweetheart? Maybe I could walk you home. Come on, I know a shortcut." Before you could make a move, he had grabbed your arm and dragged you into a side ally, cornering you against the brick, his other hand going right over your throat

"Alright pretty girl, I want you to empty out that purse for me. And if you so much as scream, you'll regret it."

You dared not disobey, any chance of resistance fading as he showcased his quirk. His smirk was as sharp as the knives now protruding from his fingers, sharp and glinting in the limited moonlight, poised over your throat m. Being quirkless, you didn't have much choice.

Trembling, you began to slowly reach for your bag keeping your eyes focused on him, not wanting to surprise the man and cause him to stab you. He was beginning to tap his foot impatiently.

You fumbled with the zipper, horrified to find that it was stuck.

"What's the hold up, get it open!"

He had pressed forward, blades nicking your skin.

"I-i't's stuck! I can't get it open! "

"Not good enough, girlie" He growled, jabbing your side with one of his blade fingers.

You cried out in pain and struggled to get the bag open to avoid another injury. If you weren't so preoccupied with the pain and panic, you would have heard a pop from the top of the alleyway. While you didn't hear that, you absolutely heard what came next.

An enraged scream tore through the alleyway and your captor was torn away from you. Your mind was having problems processing the scene though. Your attacker was being pummeled by.... A blonde naked guy. When the criminal tried to get back up, the blondie created an explosion with his hands, sending the villain flying with a bright flash of light. He righted himself and turned tail.

"WHERE THE **** DO YOU THINK YOU'RE GOING?! I'LL KICK YOUR ***!!"

The blonde yelled after him. And it looked like he would have to, if your legs didn't take that moment to give out on you. You sunk to the ground with a loud thump which drew the blonde man's attention.

His expression softened a little as he looked back at you, moving to crouch next to you. He was quite intimidating. His brows were turned down in an angry expression and his eyes were an unusual shade of red. You pressed yourself back against the wall, leaning away from the strange man.

"Oi, dumb***, what the **** are you doing out here? It's dangerous."

You swallowed nervously before speaking, keeping your eyes trained on his face as a blush crept across your cheeks. You would have answered, except you were interrupted by a throbbing pain in your side, the adrenaline and shock from blondie's appearance distracting you from your wounded side. You cried out in pain and clutched it in a vain attempt to get it to stop.

The man noticed your struggles and cursed under his breath before scooping you up in his arms.

"Wait! What are you doing?! Put me down!"

"Stop struggling, dumb***, I'm trying to get you home!"

He set a quick pace, holding you close to his bare chest. It was unnerving, but he knew exactly where he was going. It wasn't long before you were stopped in front of your apartment door.

You shakily went to unlock the door, but the man took the keys from your unsteady hands and unlocked the door, bringing you inside. He set you on the couch, careful of your side.

"W-who are you? How did you know where I live?"

You watched him curiously. As much as he should have scared you, this strange man made you feel safe. He handled you with such care.

He scoffed, heading to the bathroom and returning with the first aid kit.

"It's Bakugou, dumb***. Now shut up and rest, you're injured."

You looked pointedly at the ceiling as he worked on your side.

"What do you take me for an idiot? Who are you really? Some weirdo stalker?"

He growled in annoyance and flicked your forehead before sitting back and looking over his handiwork.

"That should do for now. Stay put, I'm going to go find some clothes."

The audacity of this man. You were confused and tired, and in pain and just wanted to wake up from this nightmare and see your little Pomeranian waiting for you.

You must have dozed off, because when you woke up, it was to colorful swear words coming from the kitchen. You sat up, rubbing your eyes as you started to remember your memories from the night before.

The blonde man who claimed to be your dog was in the kitchen, wearing a pair of sweatpants and one of your oversized t shirts. He appeared to be cooking.

You tried to get up and wobbled uncertainly over towards him. When he noticed, his angry expression seemed to fade away one of... fondness? The expression didn't last for long though as it quickly shifted to annoyance.

"What the **** were you doing out so late last night?! You could have been killed!"

You frowned and glared at him.

"I had to find Bakugou!I love him, I couldn't just leave him out there, he could have been hurt, or in trouble! "

He tensed, staring at you with wide eyes seemingly caught off guard by your outburst. He Gaped for a moment or two or before groaning and running a hand down his face.

"You really are so stupid, (y/n). The goal of running was so that you wouldn't find me. I didn't expect you to stay out and look for me like an idiot."

He huffed and stepped forward, trapping you against the counter with his palms braced on the counter top on either side of you. It was then that you noticed something that had somehow escaped your detection the night before. A red and black flame patterned collar was fastened around his neck.

You were struck silent for a moment before your palm made contact with his face with a resounding slap.

"WHAT THE ****, CRAZY LADY?!"

He reeled back, looking at you with shock as you glared at him.

"Me? What the **** is wrong with you? Why'd you take off on me at the park? You had me worried sick, jerk!"

He seemed to pout as he nursed his sore cheek.

"You were going to put a muzzle on me..."

You softened, anger fizzling out at his uncharacteristically quiet tone.

"Bakugou... You have to believe I wouldn't do that to you. You've always been my little spitfire, I would never do that to you. That lady was out of line, if anyone deserved a muzzle, it was her crazy little demon of a dog."

You smiled softly, stepping forward into his space, your hands going to cup his cheeks, tilting his face down so you could look into those intense red eyes that were so familiar.

"You're my hero Bakugou, I wouldn't change you for the world."

His hands came to rest over your own hands, his pleasantly warm against your skin. He seemed to be deep in thought. You just enjoyed the tender moment, watching him realize that you meant every word. Something clicked and then he was leaning in. Before you knew it, he was kissing you. And then you were kissing him back, never feeling more safe than when his arms moved to circle around your waist, pulling you against him.

After a moment, you pulled away, a breathless smile taking over your face.

"I love you Bakugou, I hope you know that."

He gave a cheeky smirk and pressed another quick kiss to your lips.

"And I guess I love you too, even if you're a dumb***"

You huffed in annoyance. This was going to take some getting used to, but honestly? You didn't really mind the challenge.

[youngerdrgrey]

better me than him (you know, sisters) // a Black Widow fic

About: SPOILERS FOR BLACK WIDOW (2021) // Yelena says, “Even as a Widow, all the girls looked up to what you could do. I would tell them, ‘Natasha is my sister. Natasha is coming back for me. Natasha—’” Yelena spits at the ground. Her despair and her rage overtake her face, and her nose could scrape the clouds, she turns it up so high.

or, an alternate scene for Black Widow, where Natasha talks to Yelena after the kitchen table breakdown instead of Alexei. + read on ao3

Yelena shirks out of Milena’s touch. She snatches up the vodka from the table and turns for the bedroom. Natasha struggles to find the words to respond to her. Some kind of explanation for disappearing, or some way to take back what she said about the reality of their mission together. But it was a mission. It had to be.

“Yelena.”

Yelena doesn’t break her stride. “No.” The door clicks shut behind her. Tense air makes breathing harder. Natasha parts her lips for a bit of extra oxygen. Zones out and misses the moments where Alexei and Milena exchange words. When Alexei goes to move though, Natasha lifts a hand to stop him.

“I’ll go.” At least then Yelena can’t say Natasha never did anything for her. Yelena probably doesn’t remember that Natasha had held a gun to the soldiers who tried to take Yelena away. What does that matter when Natasha failed, right? Without another word, Natasha goes after Yelena into the guest bedroom.

Yelena’s already on the floor with the bottle of vodka in her hands. Her knees bent up to her chest, her elbows just barely on top of them — she looks so small. Defiant. Natasha closes the door behind her.

Yelena looks too tired to glare. “I came in here because I didn’t want to talk.”

Natasha calls, “Bullshit. All you’ve done since we met up is talk. Talk about feelings and futures and our pasts.” She can’t quite tell if her voice sounds disparaging or wistful. Lonely or yearning for whatever part of Yelena still thinks they could be a family.

“We have a lot of time to make up for,” Yelena snaps back. “Or we would, if any of it were real.”

Natasha takes a sharp breath in. “Come on. I do not want to sit here, holding your hand when there are other Widows out there who need us. Drekhov is still alive and ruining their world.”

Yelena gestures to the door with her vodka bottle. “Go then. It’s what you do best.” She won’t look right at Natasha’s eyes. She glares at her forehead, or her chin. At the walls that Milena has looked at for who knows how long instead of looking for either of them. “You left me. You left the Widows. You even left the Avengers to hide out in the middle of nowhere in a camper with a barely functioning generator. You called Mom Milena a coward. But all you do is run and kill and hide from anybody who tries to care about you.”

“And you care about me?” Natasha doubts that. Why would Yelena still care? Yelena was six the last time they really saw each other. Sure, they crossed paths a few times on missions, but the Red Room took great care to make sure they wouldn’t fall back into old patterns. “Because of some assignment?”

Yelena screams, “Because you were my sister! You-you were someone to look up to! Even as a Widow, all the girls looked up to what you could do. I would tell them, ‘Natasha is my sister. Natasha is coming back for me. Natasha—’” Yelena spits at the ground. Her despair and her rage overtake her face, and her nose could scrape the clouds, she turns it up so high. “They told me again and again that Widows are not a family. But I beat your records, and I thought, ‘One day, she will call me on beating her. She will want a rematch. She will want….’”

“You.” Natasha finishes in a whisper. Yelena grinds her teeth and sends her gaze back down to the vodka bottle. “Even if I did want to know you, that’s not how things are done.”

Yelena takes a swig. “You broke your Accords like a week after signing them. Rules are nothing to you. If you want to lie to yourself to make yourself feel better, then go ahead. But do not lie to me like I am a child. I stopped being one the moment you let them take me.”

“I was a child too, Yelena. Dad—” Natasha cringes at the slip. “Alexei knocked us both out. You can’t keep holding onto this.”

“Tell me what I should hold onto then. Hmm?” Her lips curl into a sad snarl. “I have a vest and some memories of-of handstands in the dirt and chasing after your bike because I was too little to have my own.”

“You crashed your own,” Natasha corrects. “We found it before we were supposed to. I tried to teach you how to ride, and you slammed into the garage door. Woke them both up.”

“Great, another wrong memory.” Yelena shakes her head. “It could have been you.” Yelena snorts like the pigs. A sad, strangled sob follows.

Natasha gives Yelena her privacy and averts her eyes. Maybe that’s the cowardly choice here too. Shield herself from Yelena’s emotions. Pretend that… pretend that none of this hurts her too.

Natasha’s not the one who gives the big speeches. That’s Steve’s department. He stands there with his broad shoulders and his bright eyes, and he talks like he’s still that scrawny kid who couldn’t back down from a fight. But he understands what it feels like to be out of place. He made her feel less alone. He made her feel like she was actually helping people. She was an Avenger. Or, like Yelena said, ‘the trained killer little girls call their hero.’

“Do you remember when I first dyed my hair? Probably not. You were, like, four.” Natasha chuckles, and she wonders for the first time if Milena and Alexei are listening in. She walks over to sit beside Yelena. “Milena did it as a science experiment. We used kool-aid to temporarily dye my hair blue, and you got so scared that the blue on your tongue from drinking it would never go away. So I drank a bunch to turn my tongue, and so did Milena. By the time Alexei got home, my whole head was bright blue, and so were our lips and a little bit of your nose.”

The memory makes Natasha laugh, and when she chances a glance across her shoulder at Yelena, she can see the deep knit of the younger spy’s eyebrows. Yelena doesn’t remember, does she? Doesn’t know about some of the little days that made all the other ones that much more bearable.

Natasha clears her throat. “After Budapest, I had my own life again. And I wish I could say that I felt free. But I felt exactly like I did in Ohio. Like someone was waiting to rip me back out of what little peace I could find. So, I did the only thing that I could think to do. I went to the store and bought a jar of peanut butter, a loaf of bread, and a shit ton of blue kool-aid. And I dyed my hair in the S.H.I.E.L.D safe house into the grossest shade of purple that I have ever seen in my life. Clint has pictures somewhere, I’m sure. They’re….” Embarrassing is a word, but they’re the first look at her trying to take her life back.

She’d thought about getting a tattoo back then. She’d gone to a parlor and had flipped through the books of available designs for an hour. Clint had waited with her, making smart ass comments about placement and goading her into making a decision. His personal favorite had been an arrow that he swore would look amazing on the side of her neck. But those permanent changes didn’t feel like her. Not like recreating the memory did.

“I have no idea what they made you do, or what they took from you. We’re going to get the others out, and then you can do whatever you want, Yelena. You never have to talk to me, or Milena, or Alexei again. You can make your own family. Make some new memories. Those days in Ohio, they don’t have to be your best ones.”

Yelena’s lip trembles. She pouts around the emotion. “What if….” She exhales slow, and even that shakes. “What if I wanted that? The… ‘Don’t slouch,’ and the embarrassing parents.”

Natasha lets her voice drop into its raspiest. “They are pretty embarrassing.”

“She raises pigs. Who does that?” Yelena laughs.

Natasha blinks her red-rimmed eyes and nudges her shoulder into Yelena’s. “You and your vest, you fit right in.”

“Don’t be jealous. I could show you where I got it. Make a day of it maybe.” Yelena’s watery eyes find Natasha’s, and they’re so damn hopeful. They ask what Yelena won’t. What if Yelena wants Natasha too? What if they could be sisters again?

Natasha reaches for the vodka bottle, and Yelena hands it to her without question. “Maybe. Once we stop Drekhov.”

“And you get the others,” Yelena adds. “The witch needs new clothes. She looks like a tourist.”

Natasha snorts. “I’ll be sure to give Wanda your fashion advice once she’s off the raft.” They might get along actually. Both younger women, lost a lot as kids, used as violent weapons, but now they’ve got a second chance. It wouldn’t be the worst thing if Yelena tagged along. She’d make a few bad jokes. Get Steve to laugh whenever he comes out of hiding. God, if they ever make up with Tony, he would have a field day at finding out Natasha has a sister. “Do a good job on this mission, and maybe I’ll let you meet them. No autographs though.”

Yelena shoves Natasha’s leg. “I don’t want autographs from your friends.” She pauses to reconsider. “Hm, maybe Captain America. Alexei would shit himself.”

“Did you hear him in the bathroom earlier? He probably already did.”

Yelena groans, and the only thing sweeter than the laughter to follow is the small smile she gives to Natasha. Like maybe there’s still something in Natasha worth looking up to.

“Hey,” Natasha’s voice comes out more serious than she intends it to. Yelena lifts an eyebrow as she waits. “You were always the best of us, you know that?”

The words make Yelena’s lip tremble again. Her nose pitches up, and she sniffles before putting on her best Widow smirk. “That’s why I beat all your records.”

Natasha rolls her eyes. “Сука.”

Yelena pushes herself up from the floor. “I’m not a bitch.” She reaches her hand out to pull Natasha up. Natasha accepts the assist.

“You’re a brat; that’s what you are.” Natasha leads the way back out of the bedroom.

“What are little sisters for?”

Hope. Not that Natasha would admit that part. Way too sentimental, way too honest. She sticks her tongue out instead. Yelena understands though. It’s what they do. Or at least, what they could do, if they keep showing up instead of running away.

"Tell me when you figure it out, okay?"

.

.

notes: Natasha is her (foster, mission) mother's daughter, in more ways than one, and Yelena should say it.

I also want to thank you all for the very warm reception to my other Black Widow fic. I have at least one more in the chamber. You are welcome to send in requests, and if any speak to me, I will do my best to write them. Mostly, I just care about this family a lot. Go figure. Let's talk about them. Or anything else in replies/reblogs/asks.

[consumeconstantly]

Luggage Tags

Summary: To love someone, to lie to someone, to leave someone. Marinette and Jason tell people they’re together, but things fall apart. 

_____________________________________________________________

The room is dark when Jason enters. He flicks the light on to see Marinette, looking right at him.

“Pixie? What are you doing? Why were you sitting in the dark like that?”

Marinette just stares at him. 

Jason shrugs and moves to the kitchen counter. The first year they were together, she woke up with nightmares. She still got nightmares sometimes, but for the past few months, she’s been prone to getting episodes like this, where she stares at the door in the dark and doesn’t talk to him for hours. He’s not really sure what’s changed, but it could be any number of things. Trauma affects everyone in different ways.

“Pasta tonight? Job’s been taking me to Japanese restaurants every day.”

Marinette faces him, but Jason doesn’t think she’s really looking at him. Her eyes track him around the room whenever she gets like this, but her face is always so devoid of emotion and so unresponsive that she’s only subconsciously recognizing his figure.

She starts sobbing. That’s new.

“Hey, hey,” Jason soothes, approaching her with one hand out and a rumbling baritone. It feels stupid to do this, but during one of her nightmares, she flipped him in her sleep and he cracked a rib. “You’re not in Paris anymore. We’re in Gotham. Hawkmoth can’t hurt you here.”

That just gets her to sob harder, shoulders shaking tears forming rivers down her face, settling in her laugh lines. Jason hasn’t seen Marinette laugh in a long time.

He goes to wrap her in a hug, but she bats his arms away, chest heaving. The time between each breath is so short, she’s just short of hyperventilating. 

“C’mon, Mari, breathe with me. In for one, two, three, out for one, two three.” He feels so helpless, carefully maintaining a distance from his best friend and lover. At times like this, he can do nothing but watch as she suffers. It hurts, because even though Marinette doesn’t let him in her space even though he should be helping her, holding her, crying with her. 

She does that for him, when his nightmares get bad. Marinette wraps him up in an ever gentle hug, not minding the scratches she gets or the threats he ends up giving her. 

Her presence is an instant balm, the scent of butter, sugar, and clean. 

Jason shrugs off his leather jacket and tries again. She’s been weird about his jacket and certain clothes as of late. He’s not sure why— she never explains, just purses her lips and looks stubbornly to the floor— but he tries to avoid the clothes she dislikes as much as possible. He supposes she gets annoyed at seeing tiny imperfections in her old designs sometimes, so Jason carefully packs those clothes away and out of sight. But he’s never been able to part with this leather jacket. It was her first gift to him, with her name embroidered on the inside of the jacket, right over his heart. He always makes sure that he treats this jacket very well, never wearing it to a fight, and cleaning and caring for it more often than he needs to. Marinette spent a long time on the jacket, and during the first year of their relationship, she liked tracing the smaller details with an index finger before pulling him into a kiss. When she was feeling down, she batted the zippers with a pout on her face. They had too many good memories on this jacket for Jason to put it away permanently.

Her tears start to subside, so Jason tries again. She hisses. 

“Please, Jason. Just— just make dinner for yourself. I can’t be here right now.” With that, she stands, grabs an overcoat and a purse, casts a lingering glance at the jacket Jason left on the sofa and closes the door so quietly, he barely hears it.

They continue on like this for months.

#

“Do you need to start seeing your therapist again?” Jason asks one night.

Marinette laughs, and it sounds like a parody of the full-bellied sound that’s trademark of anything she really finds funny. “Jason, I’ve been seeing her for months now.”

His fork clicks against the ceramic. Marinette insisted on only buying things they would use, so the finest dishwater they had were the wine glasses gifted to Marinette by Kagami half a year ago. That had been a very odd encounter. The woman stormed into the apartment, with a curse at the edge of her tongue, four bottles of very expensive wine, and two more bottles of 70 proof liquor. She ushered Marinette into their bedroom and locked Jason out for the entire night.

“Oh,” Jason says, eloquence failing him. 

“Have you— have you been feeling any better lately?”

She laughs again, and it makes him feel tiny. “Thanks to my therapist, I think I’m finally coming to terms with what Kagami told me.”

“I see.”

“Do you want to know what Kagami told me?”

He does, but Marinette is always good at talking about things when she’s ready to. If he pushes her now, she might end up in a bad place again. With his siblings, he has to push and push constantly to squeeze any information out of them. Marinette’s tendency to speak her mind is much more Jason’s speed. He’s the same kind of person. That’s a big part of the reason they get along so well.

Her hand drops to the stem of her wine glass. She swirls the white around and stares at the way the edges drip back down into the body of liquid. 

“Then let’s talk about something else. How’s Tim doing? I haven’t talked to him in a while?”

“Really?” Jason raises an eyebrow. This morning, after he finished  his week-long excursion to California, he dropped by Wayne Enterprises, and Tim gushed about a new coffee blend Marinette showed him. 

“It’s been a few days,” Marinette clarifies.

“Probably just more of the same. Keeping Wayne Enterprises afloat and Gotham out of trouble.” A few days isn’t that long. Even the Replacement couldn’t stir up that much trouble.

“I’ve missed you,” Marinette says, looking down at the steak she prepared. 

“Me too, Mare.”

“You’ll tell me when you leave, right?”

“I always do.”

The rest of their meal is eaten in silence.

#

“I love you.” She’s holding a freshly cut bouquet, standing at the door of his old bedroom in the manor.

Jason grabs the bouquet, grimaces, then kisses her on the cheek. “Mare, there’s thorns on these. You’re bleeding.”

“Am I?” Her voice is faint. She’s wearing a dress made out of some sort of airy fabric. It sort of makes her look like a spirit that’s ready to float away with the wind. 

“Has the therapist been helping any?” His brow furrows. Marinette never hurts herself intentionally like this. She only gets hurt for others. No matter how much he tries to persuade her to stop sacrificing herself for others, Marinette just loves the world too much.

“Can I come in?”

His frown deepens. “Give me a few minutes and I’ll meet you in the dining room. We can go out on a date. It has been a month since we’ve last seen each other.”

“Right,” Marinette says with a voice so small, he has to strain to hear her. “A few minutes.”

He locks the door behind him, throws on the latest set of clothes Marinette dropped off at the manor, leaves his bed unmade, and a note on the table. When he gets down to the dining room, Alfred informs him that Marinette has been called away for an emergency meeting.

“An emergency meeting? But it’s the weekend!”

Alfred just looks at him and shakes his head.

#

One day, Jason comes back to find nobody in their apartment. That’s odd, because Marinette has some sort of super sense about when he’s coming back, even though he never tells anybody. Every time he comes back from being outside for longer than a few days, Marinette has always been at home, waiting for him with a smile and a hug. Well, lately, with a blank stare and tears, but she was always still there.

Maybe he should try going to therapy with her, see what’s been getting her so down. She never talks about herself anymore, just about her friends and what they do. He doesn’t know how her business is doing or even what she enjoys anymore. The game console that was used to play UMS every weekend gathers dust underneath their television.

He checks his phone. No text or missed calls from her either. Nothing since a few days ago, anyways.

“Hey,” Jason calls Tim. “Is Mare at the company?”

There’s static and the sound of breath from the other end of the line. Then it cuts out, and his phone makes the disconnected noise. Tim’s been pretty pissy, lately, and rarely takes his calls. Jason tosses his phone on the couch and runs a hand through his hair. He twirls the white tuft Marinette likes to play with. He should shower before she gets back. 

He looks down at his phone. 

“I’ll try one more time,” he says.

It goes straight to voicemail.

#

She doesn’t come home the next day, or the day after that.

#

Jason storms into the manor. “Where is she?”

“Where is who, Master Jason?”

“You know damn well who I’m talking about. There’s only one girl who’s location I’m ever interested in.”

Alfred in his butler suit is very good at looking condescending, even without changing his posture dramatically. “Is that so, Master Jason? You could have fooled me, then. Last time you were hunting for Talia. The time before that, Lady Cassandra.”

Jason snarls. “I don’t mean it like that. Just tell me where she is. I’m worried. She hasn’t been back in days.”

Damian comes down the steps, looking every inch the brat he was when they first met. “Don’t answer him, Pennyworth. He isn’t worth the air.”

Jason rounds on his little brother, reaching out to grab him by his shoulder. “What does that mean, huh, Demon Spawn?”

Damian doesn’t even bother breaking stride to look at him in the eyes. He barely moves enough to dodge Jason’s grasp, then continues on his way to the dining room like Jason’s not even there. Dread begins to pool in Jason’s stomach. He feels more Lazarus than he has in years, and there is no Marinette to cradle him while he breaks right now.

“Where is she?” 

“You’re supposed to be her boyfriend,” Damian scoffs. “Then again, you’ve never been very good at playing your part.”

#

The perks of having a famous girlfriend: the internet knows exactly where she is.

The cons of having a famous girlfriend: the internet knows exactly where she is.

Jason feels terrible. It’s Fashion Week in Paris. Jason always makes the time to go to Fashion Week with Marinette. She reminds him months and months in advance the exact dates that Fashion Week is going to be that year, and he always, always blocks out at least two days to be with her. 

He almost thinks about flying out, but Fashion Week is basically already over, and the day she presented her Spring/Summer line already passed.

“Marinette, I’m so sorry. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” 

His message goes straight to voicemail.

He goes on another mission.

#

The next time Jason comes back home, Marinette is sitting in that same chair in the darkness again. 

“I’m back,” he says, trying to gauge what mental state she’s in right now. “I missed you.”

She sits, primly, properly, and in silence. Jason flicks the light on. 

“You love me,” Marinette states. How long has it been since he’s last heard her voice in person? Two months? Three?

“Yeah,” Jason agrees, crossing the room to give her a hug. “Of course I do.”

A sharp intake of breath. Marinette holds her arm out, eyes pinched close, lips devoid of color. “I love you, too, Jason.”

His heart softens. He needs to start spending more time at home. 

She rises to her feet, placing a hand on her Ladybug-red luggage. 

“Are you going on a business trip? I’m sorry I didn’t make it to your last line.”

There’s a careful blankness in her eyes that makes him uneasy. Something about the size of her luggage, and the fact that there are things missing from around the house. The gramophone that holds the Miraculous is missing from the side table. Pictures of Marinette, Kagami, Chloe, and Alya have disappeared. All of the plants that Marinette meticulously keeps alive are gone.

“No,” Marinette says. “I’m leaving for good.”

Sun streaks through the window blinds. The bags underneath her eyes are prominent, and her whole face looks swollen. 

“Oh,” Jason says. “Did you find a better apartment? I can put off my next mission so we can move into it.”

Marinette blinks. She laughs, full belly, but Jason’s heart squeezes. Her voice sombers. “Jason, it’s better if we break up now. I’m-- I’m tired. I can’t do this anymore.”

He can see every fine line on Marinette’s face. When did she get them? He can’t recall. “What do you mean? Why?”

Slowly, Marinette drags her luggage forward and pops his collar, staring at it with sad, sad eyes. She runs a bitten-to-the-quick finger down the zipper of his leather jacket, holds the zipper in her hand and sets it back down with nary a jingle. Her smile forms with her lips, not her teeth, and the wrinkles at the sides of her eyes don’t gather up. It’s a soft, sad, small thing. Tip-toeing, Marinette presses a chaste kiss to his lips. “You’re a good man, Jason. But I can’t trust you with my heart.”

She leaves her key hanging at the peg and closes the door gently.

@jasonette-july-2k20

[fandomsonrequests]

𝖆𝖓𝖔𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗 𝖘𝖊𝖑𝖊𝖈𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓..? [𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖙 6]

fandom: ATEEZ

characters: prince! park seonghwa

reader: fem! knight

word count: 2.9k+

summary:  It was time for another Selection. No- not a Selection for a bride but rather a well-trained knight to keep Prince Seonghwa safe after a failed assassination attempt. You, a blacksmith’s daughter, manage to make it to the elite group of knights worthy and skilled enough to protect the crown prince after months and months of training. This alone catches Seonghwa’s eyes- in more ways than one

a/n: whoooo- so i’m back. i’m sorry for not updating as much :’)) school has really been kicking my ass. how’s quarantine for you all? do you have physical or online classes? either way, i hope you’re all staying safe and constantly hydrating! <3

taglist: @iwanttohitmyself​ @barcelona-sergei​ @minihongjoong​ @i-purrple-u @taetae123094 @jeonartemis @jibaxja​

↞previous  ♛  next↠

“So that was an experience,” Siyeon says as she loops her arm with yours, following Mina to their shared quarters with the rest of the girls. 

You nodded in agreement, trying to keep note of all the twists and turns you took and memorizing them for future use. “I still can’t believe that Hae-seong guy is going to tutor us about the kingdom’s laws.” You grimaced. 

“Ugh, tell me about it,” Your friend sighs. “I bet that guy likes to pick on the others- or flunk them on purpose.”

“He definitely seems like it.” 

You and the rest of the group stopped at a hallway that’s parallel to a large window, designed with stained glass roses creeping up the sides. You could see the whole courtyard and the other roofs of the palace from this spot. It was quite a breathtaking view, but you imagined that it was even more beautiful at sunset. 

“Here you are,” Mina says in her tiny but clear voice as she opened the doors to the quarters. “I’ll be fetching you from now on to avoid any of you getting lost in the palace. You’ll be fitted for your uniforms later before the feast. In the meantime, you must wear what you have brought to training.” 

The room was huge. There were around twenty girls in the group but the room could fit more than that. The whole room was probably as big as your whole damn house. 

Soft beds lined the walls, a narrow but tall window in between each space separating the beds. Trunks carved with intricate designs and gold encrustations on the side were settled at the foot of each bed. This was probably where they were to put their things in as the days continued. Candlesticks were sat on top of the simple but marble bedside tables for each bed. 

All of you couldn’t help but gawk at the whole place, making Mina chuckle under her breath. To her, it was a normal thing to see but seeing everyone else’s reaction reminded her other first day as a maid in the palace. 

“The beds look so soft..” Says a tall girl from your right. 

“I wonder how the uniforms would feel..” Another says. 

“Please feel free to rest and unpack the things you have brought,” Mina says with a humble bow of her head. “If you feel too cooped up in the room, you may take a look at the palace but I advise you to not stray too far from this wing. The palace is quite enormous.”

The young maid bowed once more before she exited the room and closed the door behind her. Several girls didn’t waste any time to pick a bed that they liked and start unpacking. You felt Siyeon tug at your arm and lead the both of you to a spot near the corner of the room. 

Idle chatter and quiet sounds of excitement filled the whole room, making it a little more lively. Several girls huddled together as they unpacked their things while others worked on their own. Some went straight to their bed and tried to sleep- it was probably an exhausting journey for them.

“Here, here.” She says when she finally picks a spot and settles her bag over the trunk provided for them.

“Oh wow,” You remark as you sit on the bed. 

It felt soft, so soft. It felt like those special marshmallows you had whenever you were able to buy some from the traders. You exclaim a little when you move up the bed, feeling it dip from your weight. You were afraid that you would sink right to the floor from how soft it was. Your beds back at Trelark we’re never this comfy. 

A few other girls, mainly from city villages, looked at you weirdly and giggled behind their hands. You tried to ignore them as a furious flush of embarrassment crept up your cheeks. 

“Don’t mind them,” Siyeon says as she moved from her bed to yours. “You know what city girls are like.” 

“Pompous and obnoxious..” You reply with a chuckle of your own. 

Your friend clicks her tongue and winks. “Exactly. But enough of that- let’s talk about the prince.” She says with a cheeky grin, leaning onto your shoulder.

You laugh a little and roll your eyes. “Really? That’s what you're interested in?” You ask as you gently nudge her off of you. 

“Oh come on,” She retorts. “He’s handsome, isn’t he? I didn’t expect that he’d be that… flawless.”

You couldn’t help but agree. You heard from the stories that floated around here and there on how handsome Prince Seonghwa was. But seeing him in real life was truly something else. 

You tried not to gawk at him the first time you saw him, but he just looked so ethereal. His clothes were pristine and pressed, elegant trimmings and subtle glint of the designs embossed in the fabric shined under the light. He had a good combination of genes from both parents because the way his face was shaped, from that sharp jaw to his nose, one would think he was sculpted by the gods themselves. 

But the gold crown that sat upon his silver locks tied the whole look together. 

“Plus, he doesn’t seem so stuck-up and arrogant.” 

“Well,” you shrug. “It could be a front.”

“True, true. But if he were, you’d practically feel the arrogance radiate from him. He didn’t seem to give off any bad energy.” 

Siyeon had this spooky but amazing gift of being able to read people and sense their “auras” around them. There were moments where she was wrong, but most of the time she was correct. It still puzzles you how she’s able to do that but you suppose some people were blessed to have amazing talents. 

“Was that what your special gut feeling was telling you?” You tease her with a smile.

“Yes, and you know how my gut is always right.”

“Most of the time.”

“Most of the time.”

You two end your conversation there and decide to finally unpack. You needed to get some shut-eye after all this travel. 

~ 

“What do you think of the delegates so far?” Hongjoong asks as he brings a stack of books over to Seonghwa.

The two were currently in the palace library, brushing up on some lessons that the prince had learned a week ago. He liked to study some lessons from before to keep his mind sharp and to retain that knowledge from before. 

“They seem alright from first glance,” Seonghwa answered after thanking his friend for the books. He sighs and closes the one he was reading before looking up to the shorter man. “I really wished father didn’t require that all these people had to go. Some looked reluctant to even be here.”

“I think they’d change their mind soon,” Hongjoong replies and sat across his friend the polished table. “I mean, their whole family gets to live here in the palace and I won’t lie, that’s an amazing opportunity. 

“I suppose..” 

“And if that doesn’t persuade them, they could always drop out.” 

“I just wished I didn’t need all this protection,” The prince sighs and stands up. He folds his hands together and glances out the window to look over to the wing that held the delegates’ quarters. “I feel like a burden to people.”

“Seonghwa, you’re not a burden don’t you ever say that,” Hongjoong refutes and looks up at his friend. “Besides.. you’re more of a peaceful person rather than a fighter.”

Seonghwa couldn’t help but chuckle at this, the corners of his luscious lips quirking up into a smile. “I suppose that’s my fault. I did prefer my lessons over the ones Byron would give.”

The prince turned to his friend with another sigh and returned to his seat. He opens another book for his lessons. “I hope that they won't quit too early though..” 

~ 

You were awoken by Siyeon who was shaking your shoulder. “Hey sleepyhead, Mina’s here,” She says quietly as not to disrupt the maid who was delivering the news.

You sat up, eyes still blurry and mind foggy from being robbed of sleep, and yawned behind your hand. The girl’s mousy voice carried over to you when your head was finally cleared. 

“...please wear your most appropriate attire for the banquet later. I suggest you prepare now to avoid further delays when I fetch you later. The washroom is right across the hall.” 

Mina bows and leaves the room. Once more, chatter fills the room, and a sense of excitement and some bits of anxiety fill the room. Girls hop off their beds and start rummaging through their clothes to pick out something presentable while others headed over to the washroom to freshen up. 

You hear Siyeon humming as she goes through her clothes. She was the daughter of a tailor and a seamstress you see, so most of the time they made their own clothes or reformed it to their taste. She had quite a lot of presentable wear that could even allow her to pass off as a noble who liked to dress casually. 

Other girls, specifically from the city villages, had such lavish clothes. It was hard for you to believe that they were simple wear. 

You turn to your clothes. There wasn’t much variety to them. They all ranged from hues of white to black to brown. Fabric dye was hard to come by in your village of Trelark. The most colorful clothing you had was a simple dress when you were six. That was long gone by now. 

“Not much to pick from huh?” 

You direct your attention to the voice beside you. A girl with tanned skin and long black hair tied into a ponytail was looking at you expectantly. There were bags under her eyes and a few tiny streaks of silver in her hair, making her look older than usual. She had no malice in her expression thankfully; she just had a look of sympathy. 

“Uhm, yeah… is it that obvious?” You answer somewhat shyly. You didn’t think you’d be this conscious about your clothes ever. 

The girl gave a warm laugh and shrugged. “I have the same problem as you.” She said and gestured to her clothes laid out in the bed. It mirrored yours except hers had more skirts than trousers. 

“I’m Amihan, it’s nice to meet you,” She introduces herself and extends a hand for you to shake. “I came from Sinal.” 

Sinal- another mountain village. That made sense. 

“____,” You shook her hand and offered her a smile. “I came from Trelark.” 

“Ahh, that explains things.” She grins and pulls her hand away. “I was originally from Rako, you know, the farming village. But my family had to transfer to Sinal after that drought.”

Several years ago, when you were still a very young girl, the north side of the kingdom had experienced a terrible drought. Many people had suffered- especially those living on the outskirts of the kingdom. Almost a fourth of the kingdom’s population was wiped out due to the lack of food and the violence of trying to stay alive arose from it. 

Your family was fortunate enough to be living on the other side, but you had remembered the flock of people that had arrived at Trelark in search of a place to stay and restart their lives. 

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” You say quietly, hands awkwardly hovering over your clothing. 

Amihan brushes it off and continues to go about picking her clothes. “It’s alright, it was long ago so it doesn’t really matter now. I don’t even remember what happened then.” 

The silence that follows after she speaks marks the end of the conversation. You were kind of glad that she approached you- you had a feeling that she’d end up being a good friend of yours. 

~ 

Mina came to fetch all of you after as the time for the banquet drew near. You were in the middle of brushing out Siyeon’s hair when the maid called for everyone and requested that they follow her to the dining hall where the royal family was waiting. 

That made you hurry your actions and toss your friend’s brush onto her bed when you were done. “Okay, you’re done. You look great- now let's go.” You say in a rush and prompt her to stand. 

The group trailed after her and headed towards the dining hall, meeting the group of young men halfway through. Their hair was slicked or tied back and they too were wearing their best clothing. Some looked like they dressed to impress while others didn’t seem to mind too much just as long as they looked appropriate. 

You didn’t miss the way a few curious glances and flirtatious winks were sent to each other from both groups, making you roll your eyes in amusement. All of you were young, you had to expect this kind of behavior would happen. 

“Well, don’t you two look great.” Raviv compliments when the delegates merge. 

“Thank you, Raviv,” Siyeon says with a proud smile and a bow of her head. 

Once you arrive at the dining hall, you couldn’t help but be blown away by the spectacular aura it has. The walls were lined with velvet while ivory columns stood along the walls to support the tall ceiling above you. Several banners hung along the walls while a guard stood underneath each. A large plush red rug lay in the middle of the room where a rather long and somewhat narrow dining table was, topped with gold silverware and candle holders. 

It was just like you imagined- only ten times better. 

A various array of delicious foods was laid out on the table. Some were recognizable but many others looked foreign and even exotic to you. It was definitely way better than the stale bread and hard meat you had to eat from day in and day out.

Your mouth waters from the delicious aroma alone. You only realized how hungry you were when your stomach growled. You clutch it out of embarrassment but no one seemed to notice as they were too entranced by the sight before them. 

The King and his family had their little table at the front with their food placed upon it. He rose from his seat and spread his arms wide to welcome you. “Please take a seat and enjoy the meal we have prepared for you. I’m sure you’re all famished.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” Several of you say with a bow of the head. 

The second the King gave his permission to eat everyone quickly made their way over to the long table. Some tried to nudge their way towards the seat nearest to the royal family. Luckily, the other delegates weren’t foolish enough to fight in front of the king. Although, the poisonous glares they received from others were hard to miss.

You, Siyeon, and Raviv managed to snag three seats away from the boisterous people and found yourselves sitting near the end of the table. You see Amihan trying to find one for herself when you wave her over. “Amihan, over here!” 

The young woman grins when she sees you and makes her way over. “Thank you…” She says softly and nodded over at your two other friends to which they responded in kind. 

“Please, enjoy your meal.” The King says once more before sitting down and resuming his dinner with his family. 

You all dug in excitedly. Your tastebuds were met with an explosion of flavor. You try not to shove food into your mouth, you were after all raised with manners. You’ve never had anything this good before. Everything you tasted was so fresh and so tender, it was truly a luxury only the rich could have. 

By the time dinner was over everyone was full and satisfied. The once lively chatter dwindled to content murmurs and soft tones. 

“If I have another bite of that cookie I’m going to burst,” Raviv says as he leans back against his chair and wipes his mouth with the table napkin provided for them. 

You could only hum in agreement. “I don’t think they’d feed us like this everyday though..” You muse as you drink some water to wash everything down. 

“Ah, _____ let us dream a little.” Amihan gently pushes your shoulder with a small laugh. “But I’m going to have to agree with you. Even if they’re rich they’d still ration the food they have.”

“That and the kingdom’s taxes go to them so they can’t really spend all our money on this,” Siyeon added.

There was a fair share of corrupt kings throughout the generations, a couple of them being dethroned by the resistance of the kingdom. Although some ruled justly- one of these kings being Seonghwa’s father. There were still people that despised the royal family but the majority adored them. 

The banquet ends with words from the King before the delegates were dismissed to head back to their quarters and prepare for bed. Back in the girls’ quarters, several candles were lit as they all prepared for bed. 

Siyeon was already settled and snuggled down on her own while you sat on yours, brushing your hair out. You set down your course brush on your bedside table and move to lay under the covers, blowing out your candle in the process. As you shift onto your side, you feel the weight of the pendant your father gave you fall off your chest. Your hand comes up to touch it, allowing the memories of your family to give you strength.

Tomorrow is the day you start training. Tomorrow is the day the game starts.

[yuzukult]

under the moonlight || junmyeon & reader

title: under the moonlight pairing: junmyeon/suho x reader  genre: ceo!reader, hint of soulmate!au, slow-burn words: 8.4k notes: continuation to [city lights]’s junmyeon, journey to him healing his own heart after letting go of his first love for her to be with his best friend who so happens to be her soulmate (chanyeol) // did this because junmyeon deserves some love & also may be a second part + will profread when i get the chance!!

part one || final

Though the living room was filled with laughter and yelling from drinking games, Junmyeon’s attention was locked on the girl of his dreams who stands in the kitchen in the arms of her soulmate, face snuggled into his chest while mumbling a ‘thank you’ for the surprise birthday party that he’d planned for her. In response, he lets out a chuckle as he places a delicate kiss onto her forehead.

Junmyeon knew it would’ve been selfish if he neglected Chanyeol’s wishes when he barged into his bedroom of their shared apartment, hair disheveled with a stressed look washed over his face. “I can’t do this anymore, I need to be with her. She’s all I think about, night and day. I haven’t even had a real conversation with her yet I know everything about her... and I love but hate everything about her because she makes me feel like I can’t live unless it’s with her.” He was aware that the younger male was going through the side-effects of refusing a relationship with his designated soulmate, evidently on the brink of detonation. It was time to let her go, no matter how much he loved her. She belonged to Chanyeol. 

The moment Junmyeon picked up the phone to ask Chanyeol to check up on her while on his business trip, he sensed over the phone Chanyeol’s wariness at the sight of the girl’s frame in bed, shivering from a fever. It was that very second it became clear to him that Chanyeol was biologically her soulmate, someone she could never let go even if she tried. Both of their dreams would be flooded with the thoughts of each other, sleepwalking mid-day to meet unconsciously, and yearning for the embrace of one another though far apart.

Goodbyes were rough. But the goodbye with her especially was the worst. 

Telling her that she wasn’t made for him and that they couldn’t be together while her eyes were brimming with tears was the hardest moment of his life. Breaking the heart of the woman he still loved was never in his plans. But Chanyeol was his best friend and watching him deteriorate day by day was just as painful for himself. 

So he sacrificed his love so that they could be together.

“Junmyeon, you don’t know how much it means to me that you came.” She says, voice soft. They’re standing in the corner of the living room, separated from the group just enough to hear the other speak. “I know how uncomfortable it must be for—”

“Don’t say that.” He interjects, adjusting the black beanie that sits on his head. “I meant what I said that day months ago. Just because we aren’t together like that doesn’t mean I won’t be in your life anymore. You were more than just a girl I dated, I loved you.”

He lied. He still loves her. But he’d never say that.

She’s chewing on her bottom lip, hair cut shorter from their last exchange that strays fall out from the hair-tie and over her face. He wishes he could push it away and behind her ear but that’s crossing the line.

“I loved you too, Junmyeon. You know that.”

“But you love Chanyeol now.” He adds, grabbing his jacket off the coat rack. Junmyeon was ending his night earlier than the rest, claiming that he wasn’t feeling too well from having to wake up early and sleeping later for an assignment at work when really he couldn’t bear to watch the two of them together for long, his heart still healing. “And I’m happy that it’s working out.”

His first love stands there for a moment, silent, despite the sounds coming from the main area as she walks him toward the front door. “Why are you so quiet?” Junmyeon questions, raising a brow.

“Chanyeol and I talked about the topic of marriage.”

Marriage. He hasn’t even fully recovered from the break-up yet and she’s already moved on entirely. 

“But... I’m not ready. I still think of you.” The words would have been more comforting if it resulted with her in his arms instead.

“We both need to move on.” He sighs, one hand on the doorknob and his heart still in hers. “It’s going to take some time but it’ll be worth it in the end. The torture from being without him will stop.”

“How did you know?”

“Know about what?”

“That I had those side effects. I never told you about it.”

Junmyeon sighs, finally turning the handle to open the door. “You started looking more and more tired each day and you complained about it often. So I did some research to see what was wrong. It’s a side effect from denying your soulmate.”

Forcing himself into work everyday was hard.

After spending so much time with his first love, she was close to convincing him to drop his day job for a career in music. Working in a corporate office was gnawing on him alive, not to mention how unbearably stiff the suits were while he sat at his office for over 8 hours a day.

“Hey,” Someone says. Her voice is tender and calm, capturing his attention. “Junmyeon, right?” You were peeking your head into his cubicle, too short to completely reach over the walls.

You were the CEO of the company he worked at, the founder of a skincare line that you developed the formulas on your own with hands-on operations and testing, utilizing your degree received after University where you studied in the States. He’d only been part of the business team for a short period of time and hadn’t even gotten to meet you yet, despite how heavily involved you were on the floor.

“Yes, I’m Junmyeon,” He says quickly, breaking his gaze before standing up, bowing and extending his hand for a shake. “Sorry about that. Wasn’t expecting to see you.” You repeat his actions and if he didn’t know any better, he’d think you were mocking him.

“Sorry, it’s okay. I came unannounced. Should’ve probably called or something right?” You ask, scratching the back of your head agonizingly, slightly unsure how to act in social situations. “I just thought I could stop by to talk to you.”

“I’m available to talk. Something wrong?”

Straightening the pencil skirt that hugs your lower half, you grin cheekily at him. “I’ve been going around lately, trying to understand the jobs of the people who work here. We’ve been doing so well that I wanted to meet the people who were extremely involved in the impact. Would you like to go out for lunch with me?”

Blinking blankly, Junmyeon is taken aback. You— the woman ran an entire company with products on the shelves of huge department stores to high end private shops just for the elite to take him out to lunch?

He glances over at his lunch bag that sits on the corner of the desk, pausing for a moment. And almost as if you read his mind, you say, “We could always put it in the fridge for tomorrow. Come. Let me take you out for lunch, Junmyeon. Company’s treat!”

Dropping by your office before making way out, you snatch the jacket off the back of your office chair, slinging it over your shoulders.

Junmyeon just stands in the doorway entering in, leery about coming in any further. Despite you being the one asking him to tag along, he still felt the invisible wall between the two of you, a CEO and just some guy in the business department.

Your office was massive— the windows were stretched from corner to corner, ceiling to floor, with a view of the city that was breathtaking. On the opposite side had a glass wall, seeing out to the rest of the floor where employees work, but oddly enough you never had the blinds of it opened.

“Why are you standing there so awkwardly?” You chuckle, grabbing your wallet, phone and keys from the top of your desk. “You know that you can come in here, right? I don’t bite.”

“Sorry,” he mutters, rubbing his nape anxiously. “Just kind of feels like I don’t belong here.”

You roll your eyes, walking toward him and out the room as he follows, closing the door behind. “Junmyeon, you’re always welcomed in my office. Any problems you have are mine as well. Don’t hesitate to talk to me about anything, I own an entire company for God’s sake! I would do anything I can to help a fellow employee.”

In his department, you had a reputation. Men thought you were hot— so attractive that whenever you’d walk by and greet everyone on your way to your office, they’d drool, eyes never leaving your bare legs or bottom. Women were more of a split category; some resented you for gaining the attention of men so easily, others admire your hard work and ambitions, yet trying very hard to accommodate any of the employees’ issues personally. It was hard to please everyone.

“Johnny,” You call out your assistant, his desk sitting several feet outside of your office. “I’m having lunch with Junmyeon today.”

Johnny is a skyscraper. But when he’s sitting down, he seems so small next to you, almost like a little grocery store in the corner of the block of a big city while at his desk.

“So you’re ditching Eunwoo today?”

“Never said I agreed to having lunch with him. If he comes, just say I left. I’m having lunch with Junmyeon.”

Leaning back in his seat, he has his arms crossed against his chest, squinting at you. Junmyeon always questioned the relations between you and Johnny, but after observing the entire conversation, it seems like he’s just a concerned friend. Most likely why you keep him around.

“Should I say you’re having lunch with Junmyeon? Might piss Eunwoo off.” He says, gesturing toward Junmyeon when he says his name.

“Why are you trying to piss him off? I said I was over it.” You click your tongue, waving off Johnny in dismissal afterwards. “Whatever, I said I’m leaving. See you after lunch.”

“You’re probably wondering who Eunwoo is,” You unlock the doors of your car, opening the drivers side when Junmyeon stops in his tracks. “He’s my ex.”

“Wait— you’re driving?”

“Yeah, how else would we get there?” Sliding into the driver’s seat, he hesitates for a moment before following into the passenger side.

“Just didn’t think you’d be driving.” Junmyeon responds, putting on his seatbelt over his body. “Were you supposed to meet with your ex today?”

“He assumed.” Pressing the start button, the engine of the Audi roars, a sweet sound to any car enthusiast’s ears.

“You don’t think I drive?”

“More like... I thought you had a driver.”

You shake your head, pulling out of the garage of the company’s building, driving in the direction of a restaurant he’s not familiar with.

“Where are we going?”

“Pick: a five star restaurant or a restaurant that deserves it?”

“The latter.”

“A man after my own heart,” You joke, glancing over his direction with a sweet smile. “My favorite spot. It won’t take long.”

It’s a ramyun restaurant hidden within a large city without much foot traffic, but he wasn’t going to doubt your plans.

After handing the waiter back your menus with your orders, you rub your hands on your skirt sheepishly. “Uh, do you have a girlfriend?”

Shocked by the sudden question, Junmyeon’s jaw slacks.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I mean, have you met your soulmate yet?” Once the words leave your mouth again, you groan at your lack of execution of holding small talk. “Sorry again, ignore that. Didn’t mean it like that.”

“I don’t have a girlfriend and no, I haven’t yet.” He thought your reaction was cute. It was understandable how people were so easily smitten by you. “Do you?”

“No,” You say, voice a bit disappointed but your face doesn’t show it. “But I’m too busy anyway. I meant to ask because you’ve been working endless hours and I was afraid it was taking you away from someone at home.”

You were worried about him. It was different from the way his first love showed that she cared, she was more of a person who showed that she was worried, less vocal than you.

“No,” He chuckles light heartedly. Coming into your car, he was tensed and intimidated by your presence, but seeing the way you stuttered your words made you seem more human than how the employees made you out to be. “I’m alone. No one is nagging at me at home.”

“Ah,” You say, tapping your fingers onto the wooden table. “I see. I’m really impressed with your work, Junmyeon. How did you get into your career field?”

“Just seemed simpler at the time,” He admits, leaning back into his chair. “It was an easy major that my group of friends were considering, and although I really wanted to pursue music, I knew I needed some stability.”

“Music?” You ask as the waitress comes by with glasses full of water as you bow your head in appreciation. “Are you still interested in it?”

“Mm, sometimes. I’ve produced some songs here and there, I enjoy working with my creative side.”

“Would you venture out of your comfort zone?”

“I mean, if I could I would. But I have bills to pay, so I stay where I am now and do the best I can at it.”

You’re quiet for a moment as the server comes by, delivering your bowls of ramyun to the table. The aroma coming from the food made your mouths water, and your stomach growling in hunger in the process. “Sorry,” Your cheeks flush pink. “I’m kinda hungry.”

“Don’t apologize,” A smile tugs on the edges of his mouth softly. “It’s natural.”

Your stomach tightens at his smile but you brush it off as just a reaction from starving yourself from yesterday’s lunch. Business has been blooming, taking time away from your everyday from actually taking care of yourself. Taking Junmyeon here was supposed to be a learning experience about him, something you said you’d try doing frequently with your employees, but getting to eat at your favorite restaurant was your own version of self-care.

“How would you consider working in my marketing department? Well, more of the design or creative team. I have commercials and clips they play in stores to produce, and if you’re interested, maybe you can dip your toes in that. Both working with music and filmography?”

Junmyeon stops in the midst of blowing the steam from his raging hot noodles, lips pursed. “Wait, what?”

After chewing a mouthful of the delicious ramyun that awakens both you and your tastebuds, you blissfully lean back in your seat. “Jesus, just one bite takes me away.” You compliment before sitting back up, preparing yourself for another spoonful. “What I’m trying to say is, if you’re interested, you should consider working in the marketing department. I can’t offer you a record deal, but I can get your foot in the door somewhere.”

“I haven’t shown you a portfolio or anything.” He says, sweat beads forming on his forehead, and he’s not sure if it’s from anxiety or the temperature of the noodles.

“You don’t need to. It’s a learning experience and you grow and improve as you go. I trust that if you enjoy it enough, you’d get better with it. If you don’t, that’s okay. Feel free to tell me and I’d be more than happy to put you back in the business department, hauling away with meetings and conversations with both men and women that you probably hate with a fiery passion.”

“You’re not serious, are you?”

“Do you want it or not, Junmyeon? I’m a busy woman, I’m trying to eat my noodles.”

Knocking on the tall wooden doors that lead into your office, he discreetly opens it slightly, peering before completely entering. He calls out your name, the gentlest sound you’ve ever heard as your head snaps in his direction. “You asked for me?”

“I did!” You point to the seat across from your desk, gesturing for him to get comfortable. 

“What could I do for you?”

You’re finishing up an email, eyes glued on the monitor before hitting the ‘send’ button before fully giving your whole attention to the male in front of you. “It’s been a week since you’ve started in your new department. How is it?”

You were right, it had been an entire week since you’ve last spoken, occasionally exchanging glances in the office, and Junmyeon can’t believe how quickly time had passed by. You had transitioned him in the marketing department, with hopes that he could get some more exposure to a different part of the industry since his dreams fit more with dipping into his artistic skills. He was enjoying the new experience so much that he had forgotten how much time had passed, assuming he’d only seen you several days go.

“It’s been a week already?” He says without thought, running his fingers through his lightly styled hair. You can’t help but notice the way he makes your breath hitch but you dismiss the feeling by clearing your throat. “I guess I’ve been enjoying it so much I haven’t even noticed how quickly time has passed.”

“That’s good to hear!” He actually seemed delighted with his new job. One of the perks of being in your position was being able to do things like this and see people change, see people be happy. If it fit your means to do it, you’d make it happen. “I’m glad. Please feel free to tell me if you’re having any issues. I’m flexible, if you’re not content with what you’re doing, I can always transfer you somewhere else within the company, or even back to where you were.”

“Can I ask something?”

“Sure, shoot. What is it?” You rest your arms on your large glass desk that seemed so tiny in your spacious office. 

He’s quiet for a moment, licking his lips in thought. “Why are you doing this? I didn’t think it was possible for me to... just switch out of my department and do something entirely new. I don’t have the skillset for it, nor a degree or anything.”

Shrugging, you purse your lips, eyes circling the room. “Because life isn’t easy. Not everyone is going to find what they enjoy in their high school years when they’re applying for colleges. Hell, college isn’t necessarily the place you’re guaranteed to find what you like anyway.”

“But you did?”

“I did, but I got lucky. I’ve witnessed enough people go through those feelings. Graduating from a university with a degree you worked hard to obtain in four years, only to realize that this isn’t what you want?” Taking a brief moment to organize your thoughts, you continue. “I want the people who work for me to be happy, Junmyeon. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for them, if it weren’t for people like you. In actuality, I think I work for everyone here since everyone is working to make my dreams come true. It’s only fair if I try to do the same.”

Junmyeon wasn’t quite sure why, but he was comparing you to his first love again. 

There was a huge difference between the both—few similarities like how independent the two of you were, how immersed in your careers you’d been, and how much you cared for other people. It’d been the first time in a while since he’d been so observant and drawn someone, so distracted from his ex that he found himself wanting to know more about you.

“That’s... selfless.” 

“Just a thought.” You grin, tapping the pads of your fingertips against your desk again. It’s a habit of yours when you’re dubious about your next action, he picks up. “Do you think you can show me some of the things you’re working on before they air?”

“I heard you got a new job,” Chanyeol says from beside, startling Junmyeon as he’s grabbing a couple pieces of pork onto his plate. “How’d you land such a great deal? You’re producing the commercial for that skincare line you used to work for, right?”

“Somewhat right,” Junmyeon responds, a bit distracted by cooking the raw meat, placing the completed ones on Chanyeol’s plate. “I still work for that company. They just transferred me out the department to try something new.”

“No way.” Chanyeol’s eyes are huge, but they’re bulging out his head from surprise. “How did that happen?”

Junmyeon shrugs however a smile sits brightly in his face. “CEO asked what I wanted to do, I told her, and here we are.”

“Sounds like she likes you.” Minseok interjects into the conversation, popping open another bottle of cold beer. “You won the heart of the big CEO lady already? Sounds like a Korean drama,” He says, wriggling his brows suggestively.

Junmyeon denies. “Honestly, she does this thing where she has lunch with several employees to get to know what they do everyday since there has been growth in the company.”

“So you’ve had lunch with her?” Jongin is in on the conversation now, eyes from all the men at the table glued into Junmyeon.

“Uh, yes?”

“So, it was a lunch date.” Sehun invites himself in.

“No, it was just a boss and employee lunch. What’s up with you guys?”

“You’ve never really... talked about a girl lately.” Jongdae points out faintly, almost like he’s scared to pull a nerve. “At least, not for this long.”

“She’s nice... I just don’t think someone like her would ever like someone like me, though. She’s attractive, nice, and caring— but guys, come on. She owns an entire skincare line that are on the shelves of every store.”

“Stop talking down on yourself,” Chanyeol’s speaking now, and his warm orbs are comforting when they meet with Junmyeon’s. “There’s no guarantee that you’ll meet your soulmate, especially since the age is coming up. Doesn’t hurt to try shooting your shot with her, right?”

The age. The age where once you turn thirty, your chances of ever meeting your soulmate declines almost to 2%. Junmyeon has already hit the ripe age of 29 with only a year left before his probability descends into the abyss.

“I can’t hit on her.” He furrows his brows, stuffing his cheeks with a bite of kimchi. “She’s my boss.”

“Be discreet. Give her some subtle hints. If she doesn’t reciprocate, then abort mission and pretend you were just being nice.”

Junmyeon rolls his eyes at his friends’ advices. They were constantly interrupting each other with new ideas after another before someone taps his shoulder. “Junmyeon?”

“Oh— hey. Hey!” He says your name; he always says it the same way, the way that it warms your heart to the point you just wish you could grab his arms to wrap around you so you could doused yourself in his scent. He had an impact on you but you held your composure. Maybe you were starting to crush on him, if you haven’t already, because he was just so kind but he’s the type to be kind to everyone.

“Uh, guys. This is my boss...” He introduces, scratching his head. He continues on naming the rest of his group, hesitant about the whole ordeal as you wave cheekily to them all.

“You guys can just call me by my name, I’m not Junmyeon’s boss outside of the office.” You turn to look at the older male, hands stuffed into the front pockets of your jeans.

Even in the horrible brightness of fluorescent lighting, you managed to still look seamlessly beautiful in Junmyeon’s eyes. Your attire was distinct from the everyday work apparel yet you still appeared put together. Maybe Junmyeon was the one crushing.

“Come join us!” Chanyeol says quickly, gesturing the seat on the other side of Junmyeon as Jongdae slides over to give you enough room.

Junmyeon clicks his tongue, feigning a hit to Chanyeol before looking over at you. “I’m sorry, are you here with someone? I don’t want to take you away from them or force you to sit with us if you don’t want to.”

“Ah, honestly, I was just going to order something off the menu and take it home to eat. Unless you don’t want me here?” 

“Oh, no, of course I want you here, come,” Junmyeon responds, tapping the empty seat beside him. Timidly, you shrug your shoulders before taking up the offer and settle at the side of Junmyeon. 

Throughout the night, being with Junmyeon and his friends let you discover a completely new side of him. With them, he was considered the ‘mother’ of the group, nurturing and looking out for the rest of them, despite not being the eldest. He’s admirable, so Yixing remarks, but also selfless because he never has himself on his mind other than his friends and family.

When Junmyeon excuses himself to the bathroom, you learn that he sacrificed his relationship with the girl of his dreams so she could be with her soulmate regardless of the fact that she didn’t want to be with him because he rejected her. You find out that Chanyeol was the friend, and that he wants nothing more than to help find happiness for him as well. 

You pay for dinner. Junmyeon argues with you about it for a brief moment before you jokingly threaten that his job was on the line and he pouts in return. You’re almost bold enough to tell him that if he lets you kiss his pout that he could pay.

“Uh... Why are you in my office?”

“You cancelled on lunch last time. And a few times before that. I wanted to come so I can spontaneously take you out for dinner instead.”

You squint your eyes at the male in front of you, throwing the pen in your hand on your desk heatedly. “Catch the hint? I’m not very interested in the idea of having lunch with you. Or anything, really.”

“The idea, but you haven’t done it yet.”

Eunwoo is probably the cutest guy you’ve laid your eyes on but after dating for three years, it became evidently clear that the two of you didn’t click at all. Girls were at his beck and call, and you were growing tired of having to tell him which girls had bad intentions. You felt like his mom. He’s too sweet but it was starting to hurt your pride a bit when rumors were going around that he was flirting with others so you immediately put a stop to the relationship. 

“Eunwoo,” You sigh heavily, leaning back in your swivel chair. It’s around 5:00PM at this point, your day filled with meetings and tasks regarding a new launch approaching soon. “This... is really sweet of you. But we broke up.”

“I’m obviously here to try again.”

“You’re so oblivious about women all the time! I’m tired of teaching you, I need someone who doesn’t need to be groomed to fit me.”

There’s a knock on the door, and both your heads snap toward the direction to only see Junmyeon’s head peeking into the room. “Uh, sorry, am I interrupting something? Johnny said I could come in.”

You wanted to call Junmyeon your own personal superhero because he’s standing there in what seems like his best work outfit, and you’re almost drooling at the sight of him. Maybe it was because it was already so late in the day, and he looks like he’s been at his desk for a long time since his tie is loosened around his neck, and a button is undone.

“No, please, come in.” Eunwoo’s glare could pierce through you right now but you keep your gaze away. 

“Sorry,” Junmyeon bows at the other male before Eunwoo takes a seat in the corner of the room where the black leather couches were. He wasn’t backing down any time soon. “I... finished the video.”

“Oh?” He’s handing you a small flashdrive that you take willingly, inserting it into your computer before clicking around on your desktop before you reach your destination.

“Do you have headphones or something?”

Your brows crinkle in confusion. “What?”

He pulls out his keys, flipping open a case that holds his AirPods, placing it into the palm of your hand as you tilt your head when he rounds your desk, helping you bluetooth the device in. “Why are we doing this again?”

“Just a bit embarrassed about my first project. I don’t actually want to see you watch it.”

Eunwoo has his legs crossed, eyes shooting darts in the direction of you. He must be bursting with jealousy with how Junmyeon is seemingly close to you, making his way back to the seat in front of your desk, settling comfortably. Eunwoo observes that this is definitely not the first time the other male has been in your office.

After a few moments, you pull the buds out from your ears, placing it back into the white case and returning it to Junmyeon. “Wow... I--... Honestly, Jun, that was one of the greatest things I’ve ever seen. I mean I have some notes, don’t take it the wrong way, but... this is different.”

“I hope you mean a good kind of different?”

“Of course.”

He’s gifting you that warm smile again. “Send them over. I’ll take a look and send you an updated version.”

“You like him.”

“Hm?” You hum heedlessly, typing away on the computer with your comments still fresh in your mind. Junmyeon had left your office moments before, taking his leave home.

“You have a crush on that guy. I just saw you give him that look.” Agilely turning your head to face your ex-lover, you heave out a sigh. “What look, Eunwoo?”

“You used to look at me like that. I remember it because it’s when I knew that you returned those feelings for me and I went for it.” 

Frustrated, you push your keyboard away. “What? I can’t just look at a guy now? All of the sudden you’re an expert at these things? And why does it even matter? We’re not together anymore.”

“Because he’s competition? What else?”

“Eunwoo, get the fuck out please.” You say through your gritted teeth before throwing a post-it note stack at him as he makes his way out your office. “Okay, okay! I’ll be back though!”

There’s another knock at your door. Glancing at the clock that hangs above your desk, it reads 8:30PM and you could have sworn you told Johnny to go home hours ago. If it wasn’t Johnny, then...

Getting up from the couch full of loose papers and your laptop, you walk up toward the door, swinging it open. “Eunwoo, didn’t I tell you to fuck off—”

“Uh, I take it that the guy in the room earlier was Eunwoo then?”

In a pair of grey sweats and a T-shirt, Junmyeon is standing in your doorframe underneath a baseball cap. In his hands are bags of takeout, raising it up for your viewing once your eyes laid on it.

“What’s this?” You step aside to let him in, watching as he reorganizes the papers on your coffee table and places them onto another part of the couch, setting up the food. “You didn’t seem like you were going to cave into having dinner with that guy, and the launch is happening soon. I figured you’d still be here and skip dinner.”

In all honesty, this is what you would’ve wanted Eunwoo to do. Back when the two of you were dating, you had been stuck in the same scenario— couped up in your office, drowning yourself in paperwork without any time to make back home until the night before the launch day to get ready for the event. You wanted Eunwoo to take notice, doing something similar as to this, bringing food to you instead of forcing you to go out when you didn’t have much time to spare.

“I— I don’t know what to say. Thank you, Junmyeon, really. I was starving, but with how security is at the door at this time of night, delivery would’ve been a bit of a hassle.”

“Don’t sweat it, boss.” He jokes as you sit on the couch and he plops himself onto a seat across from you. “I got you the ramyun you had last time from that place you took me.”

“You did? How’d you remember what I ordered?”

“It was so spicy, I smelt it and sneezed a couple times.” Snapping the disposable chopsticks, he hands you the pair. “Plus, who would forget a name like ‘the Diablo Ramyun’? There’s a picture of a dragon breathing fire right next to the name on the menu.”

Junmyeon kept you company that night. He eventually started reading Webtoon comics on his phone after having dinner, laying on the couch before falling into a deep slumber, mouth agape. Grabbing a spare blanket you kept for nights you spent in your office, you drape it over his body, and pulled off his hat.

He looks angelic like this— albeit he has drool streaming from the sides of his mouth. Not obligated to stay, but nonetheless he did, all because he didn’t want you to be alone or feel lonely. Although you insisted he should go home, he contends, eventually winning the argument by comfortably designating the spot on the couch to himself. 

You don’t miss those soundless nights in your office anymore. Junmyeon’s snoring along with your tumultuous typing sets a new standard of bliss.

It’s been about two months since that night and Junmyeon is frequent in your life. 

He’s on speed-dial when you want to try new restaurants or go to events that are in the city, and he never fails to come by your side to keep you company. Sometimes, his smile catches you off guard, fluttering your heart, but other times, you think he feels as though his presence is necessary because you gave him his dream job.

“So, rumor has it: Junmyeon sleeps over at the office.”

“What makes you say that?” 

Johnny eyes you suspiciously. “Other than the fact that he leaves your office bright and early in the morning with slightly damp hair with an outfit that’s just barely different from the day before?”

Your breath stops, but your fingers continue to tap away at an email. “Does he?”

“So, you sleeping with him?” You stiffen, scowling at your assistant. “No, I am not.”

“What’s he doing in here then?” 

“He just... sleeps over whenever I’m having a late night session.”

“Oh, so you are sleeping with him.”

“Johnny.” You say firmly. “I am not. He just keeps me company ‘cause I’m all by myself here and it’s dark out.”

He’s reclining in the armchair in front of your desk, toes pushing off the ground while rocking the seat. “Why don’t you just ask him out if you like him that much? Why are you wasting your time just... ‘keeping company’ instead of... being his companion.”

“I’m his boss.”

“And? That’s a sexy thing. He might like a strong, self-sufficient woman. Hell—I know I do. But you’re not into me, so I’m gonna help Junmyeon if I can’t help myself.”

Ears now crimson, you admit defeat and lounge in your large work chair with a cumbersome sigh, playing along with his game. “I don’t have time to date.”

“He’s here at least once a week spending the night with you. You have time, and if you don’t, he’ll make the time to be with you.”

Pausing a moment in thought with a hum, you hit the tip of your fingers against the glass desk. “I’m not his type.”

“Oh hush, I see the way he looks at you. He thinks you’re gorgeous.”

Pursing up your lips, you assert, “I don’t believe that. What if I meet my soulmate?”

“Stop doubting your looks, he practically salivates at the sight of you that it’s all over the floor. Also, that soulmate thing? That never stopped you from dating Eunwoo, so why is Junmyeon any different?”

You shrug, playing with the pen in front of you. “His ex dated him and ended up being with her soulmate.”

“You honestly think you’re going to meet your soulmate? Tell me. You were in that research group for a couple years, what’d you gather from that?” If it wasn’t for HR, you’d probably have you hands wrapped around Johnny’s giraffe neck by now.

Back in University, you decided to partake in the Soulmate Research Group for your co-op program, rationalizing that this could help you find your ‘the one.’ The group resulted in slapping you into reality, educating you the chances of finding your soulmate had declined to almost none when considering the probability. It was the worst year of your life, having to come to terms that this fairy-tale that everyone in your life had made love seem was just something that only lucky people got to cooperate in.

“I... yeah, I know. It’s just so many goddamn people met their soulmate already, what about me? What makes me so different from the bunch?”

Johnny says your name, this time sweetly with a tone he never uses. “I never met my soulmate either. But Junmyeon is almost hitting 30, right? Imagine how he’s feeling. He can’t even get laid by a pretty girl that he sleeps in her office for on the most uncomfortable couch, let alone find his soulmate.”

“Do you like me?”

“What kind of question is that?” He glances at you quizzically, fixating his attention back under the hood of your car, twisting off the cap of your car sump, checking the oil levels. An oil light had popped onto the dashboard a couple days ago and you texted Junmyeon what he recommended to do, only for him to dispute that he’d check it himself.

“I don’t know, just answer it. Do you like me?”

He chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief as he wipes the oil rod with a rag. “Of course I like you. Why else would I hang out with you and change your oil?”

“No,” You groan, leaning against your front headlights, slouching in annoyance. “Like... not as a friend. As a woman. More than a friend, someone you want to date.”

He stands, slack-jawed. 

“Listen— I totally get if you don’t see me in that way, but Johnny said he saw the way you looked at me, and I figured, ‘hey, why not try to ask him out’ so—“

“Of course I see you that way. Who doesn’t? I kind of just assumed you weren’t into me since you were always rejecting my advances.”

“Advances?”

Lifting up the dirty rag in his greasy, stained hands, the sides of his mouth twitches upwards. “Like I said, why would I change your oil? Plus, how many nights have I slept in your office on that god awful couch? I also have a toothbrush in your bathroom. And spare underwear. Need I say more?”

Chewing on your bottom lip and watching as he finishes up, closing the hood of your car, you tap your shoes anxiously against the concrete ground. “Can I ask you something else?”

“What is it?”

“Can I kiss you?”

You can already imagine how difficult showering is going to be later, but with Junmyeon’s plush lips pressed against yours, how could you complain about his tarnished hands underneath the fabric of your shirt, caressing the skin of your waist?

Guiding your hips to sit onto the hood of your car, your arms snake around his neck, playing with the longer strands of his hair that brush against his nape. The way he kisses feels like he’s going to suck the air out of your lungs but you couldn’t care less— you finally had him in your embrace and you weren’t going to let go.

He’s amiable, even though it’s contradicting that he’s tugging on your lower lip between his teeth, your lips swollen and plump from the aggressive make-out session. He doesn’t push too far, just right where you’re comfortable, especially when you’re in your opened garage out for your neighbors to see. 

You’re not sure how much time has passed but he’s already claimed the territory in the middle of your legs, towing you close with a grip on your thighs. Placing the palm of his hands on either side of you on the car, he grins cheekily after pulling out of the kiss, heavy pants against each other’s face.

“Did my boss just make-out with me?” You slap his chest, rolling your eyes in unison. “Stop it. I know you’re enjoying this, I feel it.” Wrapping your arms around his lower frame, you pull him close, pressing your crotch against his as his groans. “Now you stop it. I’m not taking you here.”

Junmyeon is a gentleman. He declares that he wouldn’t be taking you anywhere near the bedroom until he takes you out on a proper date, in spite of the fact that you both had broken his rule of no kissing and no sex before a date. 

If you thought that you had everything you wanted before, you were wrong. Not until you met him.

“I met my soulmate.”

Straightening the paperwork on your desk, pretending to preoccupy yourself from this conversation and stay cool, you place the manila envelopes flat back on your desk, eyes eventually locked on the figure in your office. “Okay?”

“This means we can’t go back to what we ever were again...”

Feelings of uncertainty arise in your stomach—it’s obvious it’s jealousy. Was it because he found his soulmate and he was never coming back or that you haven’t even met yours? 

Eunwoo stands in the middle of the room, hands in the pockets of his dress pants, contemplating what to say next. 

“We’re not together anymore.”

He knows this—he knows this so well with the amount of times you remind him that it’s embedded in his brain, nonetheless in the general picture of things, Eunwoo always thought that you’d find your way back home and into his arms. He’d tell you this, despite the amount of times you’ve rejected him, but hearing now that he really won’t come back because he has a soulmate hits different. 

Maybe Eunwoo had been a back-up plan. There’s never 100% bliss in a relationship, and you never saw yourself getting married to him and having kids but the thought of having Eunwoo in the back of your head meant that even if you didn’t find ‘the one,’ Eunwoo would be the replacement. It sounds fuck-up, it all sounded fucked-up but who would love a woman who ran an entire company by herself and barely have time for anyone else in her life?

“It means... I officially can’t come back to you anymore and you can’t expect for me to fall back into your hands like putty. I’m done... but it doesn’t mean I don’t love you anymore.”

“I know, Eunwoo.”

“It’s just— it’s my soulmate.”

“Don’t miss out on that opportunity.” You say sternly. 

Thwarted by your reaction, he snaps. “I’m so sick of this. I should’ve just given up sooner—I’ve been in your life for 6 years, we dated for 3, and you can’t even be happy for me? You can’t even tell me that you still love me although you’re the one who left me?”

Head dropping onto the back of your chair, you close your eyes for a moment. “Eunwoo, I’ll always love you, I never thought I had to remind you of that. But we never worked out, we stopped clicking after a year in. We’re on different pages, we’re doing different things, and I never had the time to spend with you anymore.”

“It wasn’t that you never had the time, you never made time.”

“Don’t say that. I didn’t have time. You never made the effort to spend it with me.”

“What?” He says sharply. “Tell me, what could I have done differently? I want to hear it?”

Running your fingers through your strands of hair frustratedly, you grumble in discontent. “I wanted you to be here with me on those nights I spent in the office. I wanted to have dinner with you here, but you always insisted we go out. I wanted you to be part of my projects, do things with me because we’re in the same field, yet you couldn’t even do that. I wanted you to be around and try in other ways even if it was hard to spend time with each other.”

“You’re the one who stopped trying!”

“I stopped trying when I saw how much effort you were putting into meeting these girls instead of me! How do you think I feel when you’re out buying coffee and delivering it to your co-worker? You couldn’t even do that for me.”

Clenching his jaw, he gives you a look before saying his last words. “You’re right. Maybe we weren’t right for each other.” As he’s walking toward the doors existing your office, you silently say, “She was your soulmate, wasn’t she? The co-worker.”

He turns to look at you, eyes sudden soft compared to moments ago. You were right. You’re always right.

Junmyeon is handsome in this lighting but it’s difficult to focus on the date with your argument with your ex from earlier.

He planned everything for the night—the lights, the picnic blanket, and wicker basket filled with delicious foods that he had cooked himself, a skill that he had been trying to improve lately since his roommate, Kyungsoo, had left for the military, and Chanyeol moved out to live with his soulmate. 

Pulling out two wine glasses, following with a bottle, he pops the cork out before pouring some into yours. “So, what’s on your mind?” Snapping back into reality, you laugh awkwardly, rubbing your arm.

“I’m sorry? Did you say something and I missed it? Nothing’s on my mind.”

“No, something is definitely up in there. I can see it in your face.” Handing the glass to you, he’s taking out the rest of the food from the basket; he’d packed everything from kimchi to kimbap, even cheese and deli meats. There was also pie— jesus, did he have to try so hard to get to your heart? You would be melting in his affection at this point if your head wasn’t so occupied.

“Uh... honestly, there’s something. But I’m not really in the mood to talk about it because it might ruin our date.”

“I’m afraid it would ruin our date if you don’t say anything.” He raises a brow.

Shoulders dropping in defeat, you take a sip of your wine for a boost of confidence. “Fine, fine. Eunwoo met his soulmate.”

Junmyeon nods, lips pursed. “Ah, I see. And you always thought that if it didn’t work out with someone else, you’d at least have Eunwoo?”

You freeze.

How’d he know that?

Almost like he read your thoughts, he’s speaking as he’s unraveling the plastic off the plates and containers. “I can kind of tell. You never fully pushed him away. If you didn’t want him in your life at all, you would’ve asked Johnny and the building to kick him out once he went through the lobby doors. Never happened— he’s even on your calendar for lunch, even if you don’t go.”

“You’re rather observant, aren’t you?”

“So I’ve been told.” He grins, taking your hand and giving it a light kiss. “Listen, I understand. Does it have to do with the soulmate thing?”

“A bit...” 

He shakes his head in condemnation, gaze drifting off at the sun that slowly begins to set in the horizon. “I hope you’re not upset because of me just because my ex left me for her soulmate. Not everyone meets their soulmate, you know? So if you met whomever it is, I’d want you to be with them.”

Ugh, Junmyeon is the epitome of a perfect man. It had been a thought that was on your mind recently, although you knew your chances of meeting your soulmate was slim, there was always that chance. 

“Thank you, Junmyeon. I feel the same way about you, you know.” With that, he nods in agreement before sticking a fork into the cheese, lifting it up to your lips. “Less talking about sad stuff now. Cheese?” With a smile, you comply with his offer and open your mouth.

The sun has long disappeared for the night and his friend, the moon, makes an appearance. Junmyeon is even more beautiful under the moonlight, if possible, laying on the blanket with his head resting on his arm as he admires the stars in the sky. 

Dinner was amazing— Junmyeon never fails to impress. You have to thank Chanyeol’s soulmate later on for going back to him because if it wasn’t for their bonding, you would’ve never actually met him. The previous year had taken a toll on you; the constant traveling from Japan, China, and Korea was deteriorating your health that you’d spend most of time in your office. Junmyeon didn’t even meet you until about two months ago. 

Your mind wanders off. Questions like: ‘how did Chanyeol meet his soulmate’ and ‘what stopped him from wanting to get to know the girl’ or ‘did any of your other friends meet their soulmate’ all flooded your head. You figured the night had been going so well you’d avoid the topic of soulmate and save those questions for another time. After what seemed like a moment, another inquiry lights a bulb over your head.

“Wait... we never talked about this before, but do you have a marking?”

“Of course,” He looks at you confusingly. “We all have markings.”

“But I never saw yours, and you never saw mine.” You clarify, and he nods at your statement. “Well, okay, yes, that’s true. Did you want to see it? Where’s yours?”

“On my hip-bone.” You respond, tugging down on the fabric at the hem of your shirt gingerly. Eyes bulging at your response, his body tenses. “What?”

Meticulously lifting the end of his shirt up, there’s a daisy that sits on his hip-bone and you finally understand why he’s giving you such a strange reaction. Mimicking his actions, you show him yours— a daisy.

[imnotoverlyobsessive]

Looks Like Someone Picked a Whole Bushel of Oopsie Daisies

Chapter Seven: On the Subject of Falling (part two)

“Okay,” he agreed, pressing a gentle kiss to her brow.

He pressed into her further, perhaps half an inch at a time before she made him stop and wait several minutes. Jeez, wasn’t the vagina supposed to expand with arousal? Why was it taking her so damn long to adjust to him? Maybe it was his size? She wasn’t exactly a large person...

When he was finally seated fully inside her, his head was resting against her shoulder, and he was trembling against her from the effort he was putting in not to move.

“Kiss me,” she told him softly. He complied without hesitation, lifting his head to kiss her fiercely, putting every ounce of the passion he was holding back into their kiss, his tongue sliding against hers. Gripping him tightly, Mabel moaned quietly. “You can... you can move now.” Where had her confidence gone?

He did, and oh god, how could it be so incredible? He filled her up like he was fucking made for her, like their bodies had been specifically designed to fit together, and something clicked in her mind and she just knew what to do somehow, moving her hips against his.

“D-Dipper,” she gasped out, spreading her legs wider.

“You okay?” He asked again. “D’you want me to stop?”

“Stop? Are you fucking-“ She cut herself off before continuing. “Stop and I’ll murder you.”

“O-okay,” he stuttered. “It... it doesn’t hurt, then?”

“It feels fuckin’ awesome, bro,” she told him, yanking him down for another kiss.

“Good,” he murmured against her lips, thrusting into her with a gentle slowness.

“Does it feel good for you, too?” She asked between quiet gasps.

“Yes,” he said immediately. “You feel so...” he groaned, thrusting again, and leaned his forehead against the space between her neck and shoulder. “You feel so warm and tight and and wet and I just... fuck, Mabes, I’m sorry but I can’t-“

He didn’t finish his sentence and the words hung in the air around them: I can’t stop or control myself.

“Then don’t,” she responded to his unspoken words. “I don’t want you to.” He groaned again, clenching the sheets in his fists, and she could tell he was still trying his damnedest to keep his pace slow and gentle, which was not at all what she wanted.

“I said I don’t want you to,” she reminded him, wrapping a leg around him. “I don’t want you to hold back or try to control yourself.” He pulled back slightly to look at her, his face flushed and eyes desperate. “You said you wanted to fuck my brains out, Dipper.” He whimpered slightly, his thrusts shallow and slow still. “So do it.”

He pulled out of her slowly, and then slammed back into her with a force that surprised her, kissing her with the type of desperate hunger that builds up over years of pining after someone you fear you’ll never have.

“Yes,” she gasped against his lips. “Oh, fuck yes, Dipper, fuck-“ her words were cut off with another harsh thrust that caused her to emit a loud moan.

“Say my name again,” he growled.

“Dipper,” she moaned again. “Harder, I want it harder, please, pleasepleasepleaseplease-“

“Anything you want,” he told her again, pounding into her as roughly as he was able. “Fucking hell, Mabel, anything you want.”

“Just you,” she kissed him desperately, like the world was about to end and they had mere seconds left to live. “I just want you.”

“I- fuck, I love you so much, wanted you, wanted this, for so long, fuck,” he was babbling, thrusting into her as hard as he could, and she was meeting each thrust with her hips.

“I love you, too,” she moaned against him.

“You’re mine,” he growled into her hair, increasing his pace, which was already quite rough. “I’ll- I’ll never let you go. Never.” Kissing her with surprising ferocity for a kiss that only lasted a few seconds, he pulled back just enough to speak, their lips still touching. “Say it,” he demanded, fisting a hand in her hair. “Tell me you’re mine.”

Mabel nodded vigorously, wrapping an arm around his back and meeting him thrust for thrust. “I’m yours, Dip, I- I swear, I’m all yours.”

Growling again, he pulled her up, sitting up himself and situating her in his lap. Locking her hands behind his neck, she started to move her pelvis back and forth.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” at his encouragement, she started to move her hips faster. “Fuck, that’s good.”

Mabel wanted more things than she could count in that moment. She wanted him to kiss her, she wanted him to cover her body with hickeys, she wanted him to suck her breasts, she wanted him to keep fucking her -fuck yes, just like that-, she wanted the condom to break and her birth control to fail and for him to fill her with his cum and get her pregnant and-

He clutched at her hips with a bruising grip, encouraging her to move in the way he wanted, then ran one hand up her spine. Arching her back and neck away from him, her breasts lifting up off her chest slightly, and he reached up to squeeze one.

“That’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” he rasped, leaning forward to take her nipple into his mouth. Mabel cried out, fisting a hand in his hair to keep him against her.

“Di-Dipper,” she whimpered, moving her hips as he thrust up into her. “Please don’t stop.”

Clutching at the back of her neck, he lifted his mouth from her nipple (which he had been sucking so hard that she would later see in the mirror and notice he’d given her a hickey there). “I won’t,” he promised. “I’ll fuck you whenever you want, just... just don’t ever leave me.”

She pulled him up for a kiss. “How could I?”

Holding her tighter and thrusting harder, he leaned his head against her shoulder. She wanted to melt into him. She couldn’t get close enough. She’d never be close enough to him, no matter how much he touched her, how much she touched him.

Putting his hands on her waist, he guided her away from him so there was space between their bodies, and reached down between them to where she was moving against him. She was already extremely sensitive, so when he started to rub her clit, she couldn’t contain her scream.

“Yes, baby,” he growled against her neck. “Scream my name. Scream my name and cum for me,” he rubbed her clit harder, faster, thrusting up into her in time with his fingers.

“Dipper! Fuck, give it to me harder!” Her voice was somewhere between a moan and the scream he’d wanted, and he fucked her harder than she thought possible in response.

He kept rubbing her clit until her body shook and her toes curled, and she cried out his name again, and then he pulled his hand away and gripped her ass, guiding her pelvis to meet his thrusts, which were getting shallower and harsher at the same time, and it occurred to her just then why he’d wanted her to cum so badly: because he was about to himself.

“Mabel,” he gasped out. “I’m gonna- I’m gonna-“

“Yes, Dip, fill me up, gimme your cum, I want it, I want it so bad, please-“ fucking hell she hoped the condom had broken, she wanted more, more, more, she wanted him to fill her till she was dripping, she wanted-

His hips stuttered a few times, and he slammed into her again once, twice, a third time, before collapsing against her, his forehead resting on her shoulder.

After a few seconds, he moved to help her off his lap, but she tightened her legs around him.

“Not yet,” she told him quietly. “Don’t pull out yet. I wanna stay like this for a little longer.”

“Okay,” he was pressing gentle, loving kisses to her neck, particularly on the bruises he’d sucked onto her neck. She kept her arms wrapped around him for a few moments, playing with the hair at the back of his neck before he looked up at her, looking tired and elated and like the most lovestruck person she’d ever seen.

“I’m sorry I was so... rough,” he said, blushing. Damn, would his blush ever get less adorable? (Hint: no. No it would not.)

“Um... you know I legit asked you to be, right?” She raised an eyebrow at him.

“Y-yeah, but even so, I shouldn’t’ve-“

“Uh, no,” she cut him off. “You absolutely should’ve, and you should definitely do it again later, too.”

His blush deepened. “Okay, well... I’m sorry I got so, um. Possessive, or whatever.”

She blinked at him.

“I... didn’t really expect that. I mean, I’ve read that it happens sometimes, and that you can pretty much lose all control of yourself, but I guess I don’t think it would be... quite so severe...” he trailed off uncomfortably. How could he be so uncomfortable when his dick was literally inside her vagina? Like. Get some perspective, bro.

“I liked that, too,” she said bluntly. “Like. A lot. A lot a lot.”

“R- really?”

“Are you kidding? It was, like, the sexiest thing ever. Honestly, 10/10 would recommend,” she grinned.

“So, just to be clear,” he said slowly, “you don’t mind the whole, y’know. Me saying you’re mine and... all that stuff?”

“Why would I mind?” She asked with a light head butt. “I’ve always been yours, ya big ol’ idiot.”

His face was beet red at that point, and he looked down, only to find that his eyes landed on her breasts, and yup, that was... that was most definitely a hickey forming on her nipple right there, and, oh god, did he do that? He was pretty sure he had, and the craziest thing was he was pretty sure she’d been really, really into it.

“I’ve always been yours, too, Mabes,” he told her quietly.

She held him tighter with a happy squeal. “I love you, Dip Dip,” burying her face in the crook of his neck, she whispered, “I could spend a million years with you and it would never feel like enough time. I could be with you like this a million times and I’d never get enough of you,” she teared up at that point, overcome with emotion. “I’m so in love with you it hurts.”

He wrapped his arms around her, savoring the feeling of her hair against her bare back, her chest against his, the way she looked in the dim light of the hotel room. His love for her was overwhelming sometimes.

He lifted her tear-stained face up to look at him, stroking her cheek adoringly. “I’m in love with you, too, Mabes,” he kissed her lips briefly. “I’ll do anything to make you happy, to see you smile. To keep you with me,” he kissed her again, like he was sealing a promise, “anything.”

She cried harder and kissed him again and again. She never wanted to be separated from him for the rest of her life. Hell, if there was anything after that, she wanted to be with him then, too. She wanted everything, everything, with this stupid boy. Her dopey, adorable, dorky twin.

[revalise]

After the Sun [M] | 01

Pairing: Chrollo Lucilfer x Fem. OC

Genre: Romance and eventual smut

Rating: M

Words: 2500+

Notes: Huge thanks to Sky @pixiewombat for beta reading this chapter! 

All characters are humans unless otherwise stated in their description. Hence, Zazan is human in the story.

Masterlist | Prologue | 02

Chrollo Lucilfer gets everything he wants, when he wants-even if it means undergoing extreme measures. Nothing bothered him, until an aphrodite, Astra Gerber, appeared one night and stole from the infamous thief. In return that Chrollo doesn’t report her, he strikes a deal. But it could be more than what Astra bargained for. 

BOLD

“What do you mean your necklace was stolen?” Pakunoda eyed Chrollo carefully as he sat behind his desk at his penthouse, looking over the magnificent, illuminating lights of Yorknew City, while she stood in front of him.

“It just was stolen,” he deadpanned.

Pakunoda clicked her tongue. There was no way someone could steal from Chrollo—a bandit himself, and a good one at that.

She thought to herself for a moment. ‘Is he planning to steal the poor girl’s hatsu?’

Once, he had charmed the pants off of a girl who could write fortunes and stole her ability. Despite his obvious antics, he wasn’t found out, thanks to the girl’s inexperience. But when he managed to get a hold of how it should be done, he started doing it again and again. 

Pakunoda didn’t complain. Chrollo’s Bandit’s Secret was a trump card, not only for him, but for the rest of the group. When Chrollo noticed the drastic advantage the ‘strategy’ gave him, he started using it more often. To him, it felt like a shortcut.

And who would expect someone so sophisticated and pretty-boy looking?

She sighed and put the folder down on his desk.

Chrollo had asked Pakunoda to find the girl who had stolen his necklace. He remained vague about it, but knowing Chrollo, it might be something extremely important. 

He looked over the files, silently reading their contents, taking them in just as he consumed  knowledge from his ancient books. His fingers traced the letters of the name written in bold on one of the pages.

ASTRA BEATRIZ GERBER

Pakunoda gazed at him with suspicion. Meddling with this girl could endanger the nature of the group. She was nowhere near a simple girl, alright. The girl spelled trouble.

She was the illegitimate child of an acknowledged former lawyer, Martin Gerber, before he took over the Gerber family dynasty.  

This information wasn’t exactly kept a secret. It was silent gossip within the small circle of socialites and elites. Illegitimate children weren’t news to the circle. Three out of five families in the circle had a case of their own. But it so happened that the Gerber family was known to be conservative—faithful to their betrothed, or as painted by the media.

Nevertheless, it only took that mistake to have the head of the family, Rod Gerber,  wavering in his trust in Martin. To his dismay, this almost cost him the whole dynasty. Fortunately, Rod was a good man, unlike his son. To secure his position in becoming the next successor as the eldest, Martin had to keep the child and take her as his own.

It shamed Martin to do so, keeping an illegitimate of his own accord. Though his wife was noticeably against it, she had to agree if she wanted to be the wife of the very powerful man. Cleverly, she argued that it would bring discomfort to her family if the child were to live in the same house as them. Rod then agreed that Martin would just have to sustain the needs of the child in the mother’s care.

Chrollo took all of the information  in, almost feeling bad for the girl, if  it weren’t for his own experiences.  

The same thought as Pakunoda had crossed his mind. Her father had connections in law. If Chrollo, say for example, met the girl’s father and he decided to look deeper into Chrollo and his background, it wouldn’t really be a problem. The group knew how to cut their ties. They eliminated those who had seen them. But if worse came to worst, this could have blown the group’s cover. 

The Phantom Troupe weren’t regular thieves. They were thieves with intellect that calculated their every movement. Before they acted on anything, Chrollo, who had a personal philosophy of theological dualism - the balance between good and evil - that influenced his decisions, would first weigh his options. His actions were always calculated.

It was not that they feared the law or the man himself, but the Phantom Troupe managed to blend in with the crowd, no one knew of who they were. And the group loved being free despite the criminality they commit.

From the moment he first laid his eyes on her, he knew she was trouble.

But none of the information stopped him.

***

Zazan promised Astra dinner. But it was way past dinner, and the staff of the three-star Michelin restaurant she had booked kept going back and forth, assisting and asking for her order, which she refused to give until her aunt arrived.

Her aunt, Zazan, was her father, Martin’s, little sister. For all her life, she was her mother figure. Zazan always had her back whenever her father didn’t. Her aunt loved designer and luxury items, and was a designer herself. Hence, her love for luxury and designer.

To state it simply, Astra was given to her aunt after she lived with her dad for two years when her mother died. She was only six then.

She remembers how much scorn she received from Martin’s legitimate family, and how she was treated as less than a freeloader, being an illegitimate child. Not once did her father defend her from them.

After all, she was a nobody, aside from the Gerber blood running through her veins.

Astra, at four, never spoke with anyone, not even the maids that served the family in their mansion. She remained quiet, hiding inside her room, but doing everything she was told—even standing for hours, with no food and water, beside the silver knight decorations in the hallway of their house because her older half-sister told her to. She ignored the numbing sensation in her knees until a helper saw her.

That was, until Zazan returned to the city and took interest in the meek, little girl she once was. And for the first time in two years, she spoke and her voice sounded hoarse. Her words were: “Can I come with you?”

From then on, Zazan took her as her own. Martin had no objections, nor did his family. In fact, the situation was in their favor. In his father’s eyes, as long as Astra wasn’t disobedient or brought problems—more than she already had, being an illegitimate—upon the family, it’d be fine.  

However, it seemed Astra grew up to be a spitting image of Zazan’s personality. Astra grew bolder, braver, and stronger, all because she had Zazan to look up to. But Astra wasn’t nice on a daily basis. She was nowhere near a saint.

“May I take your order, miss?” a smiling boy, who looked a few years younger than Astra, came to assist her. But a girl, wearing the same uniform as him, came to them, gripping his arm.

“Sorry, miss.” The staff leaned in closer to the boy’s ear to whisper, “I’ve been trying to take her order. She’s waiting for someone, but I think she got stood up.”

“Oh...” the boy muttered “Too bad, she actually looks pretty.”

He turned his attention to Astra, about to apologize, when she interrupted him.

Astra laced her fingers together, her elbows on the table, and rested her head on her hands. With a sarcastic tone, she said, “If you’re going to talk shit about me, consider doing it somewhere else where I can’t hear you.”

“S-sorry, miss…” the staff muttered, afraid. All of their customers had power, because only the rich could afford the place. They feared they could lose their jobs. Most of all, they knew who Astra was. They knew of her influence.

“But thanks for complimenting my looks.” Astra flashed a grin that didn’t reach her eyes. “Get me some champagne.”

They scurried to give her what she wanted, too obvious in wanting to leave her sight.

Astra leaned on her chair, her arms crossed over her chest. She clicked her tongue in impatience. For once, she regretted asking for champagne. She felt the urge to leave. To elites like her, hunger didn’t come, anyway; she’d still have a lot of food at home. She could leave before they gave her champagne, and leave cash three times the bill, but her pride made her stay.

And she hated to admit it, but she really needed to see her aunt. She needed someone.

She needed someone to hold her at times she felt like slipping away.

As Astra waited impatiently, a man sat at the opposite end of the table. It happened so quickly, she didn’t have the time to process it. The man looked studly in his crisp suit. He wore a white shirt underneath, topped with a dark blazer and slacks.

“I’m sorry. Did I keep you waiting?” He asked in his most polite tone while he pulled at the opening of his blazer.

Her eyebrows shot up and she clicked her tongue, but she tried to maintain her composure. After all, it was a restaurant for the high-class. Manners above all.

“Sorry, you must have the wrong table.”

The man chuckled. “Oh, have you forgotten about me, miss? Allow me to reintroduce myself,” he grinned, “I’m the man you stole from a few nights ago.”

For a moment, perplexity was etched on her face, ‘Bitch, which one?’ 

Yes, the man looked a little familiar, but with the amount of people she was acquainted with, it was hard to keep track of the long list. 

“Oh, I see,” she said plainly. “I must’ve stolen from you when I was drunk.” 

Astra leaned forward and put her elbows on the table. She whispered, “You see, I have a habit of doing those when I’m drunk.” She flashed her sultry smile. 

Her hands reached for her fuchsia devotion bag made of python skin. It featured an exclusive bejeweled personalized heart closure, inspired by the techniques of fine jewelry, which etched her initials in it.

ABG

Astra clicked her tongue when her eyes met her initials on her bag. She laughed inwardly at how she sent it back to Italy when her initials weren’t in bold.

“How much was it? I could pay for it right now.”

The way the man grinned at her assured her that it’s done for. Game over. She wins. Whatever she did, she got away with it. Not because of her pull and connections, but because of her charm. And she knew it. She grinned at this. 

“Actually,” the man began, “I have other things in mind.”

“Oh,” Astra had a knowing smirk. She knew of what the man could possibly ask. It was no different. He was no different from all the other men she’d met before. ‘A night, perhaps?’

“Let’s hear it,” she said sultrily. 

It was the man’s turn to lean closer and rest his elbows on the table. He laced his hands together and flashed a smile. “I was thinking of jail time.”

Her hypocritical smile dropped. She was rendered shaken. Just as quick as the change in her mood, the sourness and bitterness of being embarrassed in front of the mysterious man in front of her, she showed her true colors. 

‘Where the fuck is my champagne?’ she thought.

Her back rested on her chair and she crossed her arms. “Name?” her tone was as rude as it could get. 

“Now we’re talking,” the man chuckled, and he rested his back on his chair as well. “Chrollo Lucilfer. I believe I already told you that. I’m hurt you forgot about me so easily.”

Astra didn’t reciprocate the demeanor Chrollo was showing. While Chrollo looked composed and polite, Astra, on the other hand, was irking in anger. 

“What do you want?” she spat, so rudely you wouldn’t think that it was the same woman who had been flashing sultry and inviting smiles.

“Nothing much, actually,” he grinned but it didn’t reach his eyes. “If you’ll come with me, I’ll discuss the matter, and I promise you it’d be done with.”

If it were only a few minutes ago, she would have gone with him at that very moment. She would’ve taken him to some backroom and let them do their business. But it was different now. 

To her, it seemed like the man didn’t want any physical relationships. He was danger, nothing else. 

“And if I refuse?” 

“Your scandalous actions will not only be known by your father, Martin Gerber, but your little circle as well,” he replied.

“I’m impressed. You’ve done your research about me,” she scoffed. 

One of the staff who assisted her earlier appeared with champagne in her hands. She kept her head down, but kept a shy smile and gave continuous glances toward Chrollo as she poured the liquid into their respective glass.

“Thanks, miss,” Chrollo flashed the girl a sweet smile. 

Astra could have sworn she saw the girl almost curtsy at that. She rolled her eyes. 

When the girl left, Astra arched her brow. Chrollo on the other hand, ignored her demeanor. “Shall I order you some real food?” 

He was about to call the staff again, but Astra stopped him. “I’m not hungry.”

For a moment, Astra almost regretted her actions because Chrollo might be hungry. But if it’d be the same staff who keep annoying her with how they tried to get the man’s attention, forget it. 

‘What is with this restaurant anyway? Why are they always the same people?’

Once the foam settled on her champagne, she drank it quickly, picked up her bag, and stood up. When she looked over at Chrollo, who still sat on his seat gazing at her, she scoffed. “I’m coming with you. Wait for me outside in a moment.”

“You’ve said that before,” he replied, reminiscing to when she said the exact thing when they met the other night, and then she was gone with his St. Peter’s cross necklace.

“You seriously have something on me. Do you think I’ll run away from you?” Astra argued. “Besides, you’ve done your research on me. So I expect you to appear wherever I am.”

“I don’t believe you,” Chrollo stood up. “Wherever you’re going, I’ll come with you.”

Astra rolled her eyes. If she didn’t have something, it would obviously be his trust. And she had to get it no matter what, if she wanted to get out of the situation quickly.

She turned on her heel and Chrollo followed closely behind her. Suddenly, something rang from Chrollo’s pocket when they stepped out of the restaurant and into the lobby of the luxury hotel. Astra turned her attention to it and then to his eyes looking back at hers. 

“Go,” she nodded at him in a dismissive manner. “I promise I won’t leave.”

Chrollo eyed her carefully, weighing the sincerity of her words, to which she responded with widening her eyes at him. There was a faint smile in Chrollo’s face before he finally took his phone out and turned his back on her. 

Astra lightly shook her head. She didn’t notice, but there was a small smile on her face as well. And just as if the timing couldn’t be more perfect, someone she knew all too well appeared in front of her, looking down at her, mocking her.

“Dad…” she whispered.