#sorry they got kept in the boutique for WAY too long

[crystallizsch]

“A Halloween party? Fun! Hopefully nothing… too interesting happens this time. Although I wouldn’t be entirely against it as long as no one gets hurt.”

Yuuna Perla Welcome To Halloween Town! (fan event by @theolivetree123)

[helpmeimblorboing]

Sneak Peek of a chapter from my story that probably won't make it's way into the final draft of either version - Crimson or Crimson Redux (feat : Tumblr's shitty formatting)

The next day, Riptide found himself shuffling uneasily inside a local bus, shooting wary glances at anyone wearing anything even slightly resembling the Deathbringer’s threefold cross... or, for that matter, anything that seemed just a bit too white to be wearing on a public bus, no matter how clean the interior was

A long pause, and then he pulled out his phone, scrolling down to the last text Serenity had sent him, about ten minutes ago, in that awkward, clipped way of someone clearly uncomfortable with texting, who was making a valiant attempt at trying anyways

Serenity (6:46 PM): Got us a booth 🎉

Serenity (6:47 PM): Restaurant’s p cool. You should see it

Right. The restaurant they were going to. Because they were going there. On a date. Riptide sucked in a sharp breath through pursed lips at the thought, feeling his heart hammer in his chest, as his fingers pulled up the keyboard, tapping out a rapid response

Riptide (6:57 PM): I still don’t know why we have to go at different times -_-

Riptide (6:57 PM): I mean, we live in the same hotel suite...

Serenity (6:58 PM): It’s about the vibes, Riptide

Riptide bit back a faint huff of laughter at that, looking at it for a second, imagining the way the skin at the corner of his lips folded when he smiled, the sparkle that glinted in the depths of his eyes when he laughed, like a new winter’s frost

Riptide (6:59 PM): Vibes ?

Serenity (7:00 PM): If we’re doing this, we’re doing this properly

Riptide bit back a smile, chewing slightly at the inside of his cheek as he tries to think up a response. Before he can, however, a new message pings into the chat

Serenity (7:01 PM): ❤️

Even if he’s getting used to this, to the way Serenity peppers his messages with heart emojis , it still makes his heart pound. Makes his belly twist. Especially the red one. It felt like an... official declaration, or something – you are my boyfriend. I love you

And that ? That made his breath speed up

Riptide (7:03 PM): ❤️

After a few long seconds of silence, Serenity messages him his location in the restaurant – a Cheesecake Factory, apparently one of the very few brands of the old, pre-parahuman world, to remain extant without collapsing in on itself or expanding outwards into a global empire – and asks him his drink choice so he can go ahead and order it for him

“Sorry if I eat all the bread before you get here”, Riptide receives as the bus rattles to a halt in front of the glass-and-steel facade of a boutique that stood within walking distance of the Cheesecake Factory, both of them set a ways away from the majority of the city, overlooking it’s jagged skyscrapers and glinting glass-and-steel monoliths

He smiles and sends him a middle finger, before pocketing the phone

The restaurant, Riptide can’t help but notice when he finally gets there, is packed to the gills, people bustling about basically every single table, packed so close together that it’s difficult for him to maneuver past them. He does manage, somehow, but it’s still difficult

It’s fancy too, fancier than any restaurant Riptide’s ever been too – mostly because he never really went to restaurants. His mother wasn’t the ���eating out” type. He’s got on something he threw together in about twenty minutes that afternoon, and even though everyone else is dressed in tourist shit, red-faced and sweaty from a day of sightseeing, he feels weirdly underdressed

It was called the Cheesecake Factory, for God’s sake. It’s interior should look like a local McDonalds, not the lobby of the Ritz, all dim and marble-y and orange

It takes him a moment to locate Serenity, seated in a two-person booth in one dark corner of the restaurant, idly poking at the basket of bread kept in the middle of his table, occasionally looking over to give the tall glass of something red beside it long, meandering looks. The shadows splayed about him were darker than usual – seems like he wasn’t the only one nervous about this date

He looks great, good enough that Riptide’s heart catches on his throat for a moment, dressed in dark wash jeans that clung sinfully to the lithe length of his legs, black dress shoes that looked ridiculously out of place on his feet, and a khaki green T-shirt that stretched over his chest tightly, leaving very little to the imagination. Black bands of cloth snaked their way up the curving lengths of his exposed arms, effectively hiding his wrists from view. Riptide just watches him for a few seconds, chewing at his bottom lip as he sees him reach forward to take a sip of the tall red glass, before setting it down and peering at it like it was a particularly enthralling puzzle

At last, he blows out a breath, shakes and flexes his hands to steel himself, and slowly makes his way over to the table

When he’s two booths away, Serenity looks up from the tall glass of red he’s examining intently, and spots him, his lips curling into a smile so beautiful that Riptide forgets how to breathe for a moment

“Hey”, he greets, standing up – and shreds of the shadows he had unconsciously summoned around him seemed to cling to his torso in thin, translucent flakes of sooty ash as he did, “You made it”

Riptide smiles back, leaning forward to press a kiss to the other man’s forehead, right in the furrow between his eyebrows, Serenity’s skin warm as a furnace under his lips, before finally breaking away and murmuring, “Course I did”

A long pause, and then Serenity reaches forward with one hand to pull Riptide into a quick hug, his face pressed into the smooth fabric of his T-shirt. The smell of men’s bodywash and some kind of flowery detergent fills Riptide’s nose, and there are strong arms wrapped around his torso, and he was fairly certain his heart was beating hard enough that everyone in the restaurant could hear it

He blows out a breath through his nose as Serenity finally releases him

“You smell good”, he says, sounding a twinge nervous, shuffling his feet idly. He looks up, and the orange lights of the Factory catch his face at just the right angle, glinting about his features like the halo of a saint, and Riptide just wants to grab his face and kiss the life out of him

But he doesn’t, much to his own dismay

He intead just raises his eyebrows at the other man in a meaningful gesture. Tilts his head slightly in a wordless acknowledgement, before shuffling awkwardly over to his seat to sit down

But just before he can, Serenity leans in and gives him a quick press of a kiss that’s probably meant for his lips but instead ends up landing on the space right under his nose. A flash of fire sears its way through the nerves of his face, and he feels the tops of his cheeks brighten with a scarlet blush, even as Serenity snickers his way out of the kiss, whatever mouthwash he had used that morning hitting Riptide in the face with the smell of spearmint gum

A moment later, they’re seated, both blushing like a couple of kids on a first date – which, Riptide supposed, they were – and Riptide reaches forward to poke at the bread basket, only to find it half-empty

He levels a look at Serenity, lifting his eyebrows, the corner of his mouth twitching into a crooked grin, “Really ?”

Serenity simply shrugged, lips curving into a ghost of a smile, sweet enough to give Riptide calories, “I did warn ya”

Another pause, and then Serenity awkwardly clears his throat into the silence, before waving at the glass of tall and red that had been set on his table, drops of condensation peppering the surface with a hazy translucence, “Is raspberry lemonade made of raspberry or lemon ?”

Riptide blinked. That was... a terrible ice-breaker, so much so that he couldn’t keep the faint huff of laughter that welled up at the base of his heart off his lips. Reaching forward, he picks up a piece of bread – something fancy, white and hard-shelled- idly passing it from hand to hand, even as he looks up to shoot Serenity a look that was no doubt unbearably fond, “Both, I think”

Serenity leans back, turning to give the glass of raspberry lemonade a wondering look, peering into its redness like it held the secrets of the universe, his lips parted in an “O” of surprise. The light reflecting off of his face ignites it’s sharp lines into shades so striking that Riptide was half-certain he was going insane

After a moment, Serenity seems to catch onto the fact that Riptide was staring, shooting him a smirk that sent a rush of fire blazing an ashy trail down the skin of his torso. Adrenaline rips through him at the sight, and his lips are moving before he can even comprehend it fully

“Can I kiss you ?”, his voice is breathless. Fragile and reverent, like a prayer in a temple

“You can do anything you want to me”, Serenity’s response is more neutral, even as he rises from his seat in one fluid motion, walking over to Riptide and dipping down. It’s a good thing he’s already seated, because he’s fairly certain his legs were too weak to support his body weight at the moment

Riptide is a bit too eager and lifts his face forward too much. Their foreheads knock together and he lets out a hiss at the sting. They readjust and their lips finally meet. Serenity giggles against his mouth and Riptide lets the sound fill up the hollow of his chest. Wants to hold it there, like a shrine houses the divine, and keep it safe forever.

He wonders vaguely if they should be doing this somewhere more private, feels the searing pulse of hundreds of eyes on them both, but that only serves to send more adrenalin through his veins – Serenity isn’t ashamed of me. Serenity’s willing to do this in front of an audience of this size. The thought is gone completely when Serenity’s lips opens up under this, replaced with a searing buzz at the meeting of hot tongues. It sets something in his stomach alight.

Serenity lifts a knee between Riptide’s thighs to press their bodies closer. The kiss deepens and Riptide feels nothing in the world except all the points their two bodies are connected. Heat and desire rip through his flushed skin like a forest fire.

And then it’s over, and Serenity gently, slowly, breaks away, shooting Riptide a phantom half-grin, before turning to stalk back over to his own seat, lounging carelessly in it, a smug grin pulling at his lips as he glances up at Riptide’s expression, dizzy from the ecstasy he’s just now beginning to come down off

“So”, he begins in a low drawl, and Riptide notices his lips, flushed-red and swollen with the remnants of their kiss, “what do you want to order ?”

Riptide pauses his buzzing, leachy thoughts. Stares at him. His lips part, “Oh my god, you asshole”

“What ?”, Serenity’s cheeks puff out in an indignant pout, and Riptide wants to reach across the table, grab him by the tantalizingly low V-neck of his shirt and kiss him until he’s a moaning mess, but he doesn’t – because enough people were levelling scandalized looks at them already without pouring twenty more cans of gasoline on the fire, “You liked it, didn’t you ?”

“That doesn’t – you can’t...”, Riptide sputters for a moment, cheeks lava-red, and lava-hot, “Fuck you”

“If you insist”, he shoots him a suggestive grin across the table and Riptide’s face was about to melt clean off, “Though I suspect you’d rather I don’t do it here, huh ?”

He reaches forward to playfully smack Serenity across the shoulder, only to falter and feel his breath catch painfully in his throat as the other man easily catches it, lacing their fingers together, something light and happy bursting across his face at the touch.

His stomach twists, that romance-twist that flushes his skin and makes him sweat, and as he looks down at their hands, he goes a little breathless, too, because he can’t believe that he’s holding a man’s hand in public.

He can’t believe that he’s holding his boyfriend’s hand in public.

He can’t believe that he has a boyfriend.

And from the stunned, breathy gasp that slips through Serenity’s lips, neither can he. A long pause, and then the other man’s thump rubs a small circle over the skin that stretched between his thumb and pointer, snapping him out of his thoughts

“Whatcha thinking about ?”, Serenity hummed, sounding a little breathless, a little excited. Riptide could relate

Riptide pauses. Thinks about saying “You”. Decides it’s too sappy to say in public. Remembers that they had made out in public not five seconds ago. Decides that hiding your emotions is for chumps, “You”

Serenity’s breath catches in his throat in a faint “hic” of noise, and he looks up with eyes so full of adorable surprise that Riptide desperately wants to kiss him again. A long second, and then the corners of his eyes go soft, so soft, so kind, “Is that... Is that good ?”

Riptide smiles, this stupidly gentle thing, and pulls the other man’s hand a little closer, causing him to lean forward, before he tilts down and pecks a kiss to Serenity’s warm, bony wrist--so quick, so soft, it’s almost like it never happened.

“Asshole”, he murmurs into the skin, in an almost reflex reaction to the kiss, and Serenity squeezes his hand, and Riptide chews his bottom lip and looks up at him with an expression that he thinks probably reveals all, if you know what you’re looking at

The service is slow, which isn’t surprising considering the restaurant’s so full.

The two of them play with each other’s fingers, even turning it into a thumb war once, as they talk about work and movies and music. Well, work. Mostly coded. Encrypted. Idly, Riptide wonders what the restaurant-full of people thought about their cousin Edna, who had apparently been through enough to put most veterans’ PTSD to shame

Even more idly, he wonders if they should come up with a better code name for Eagle

When the food comes – cake, because of course it is, it’s the fucking Cheesecake Factory, it was practically a capital offense to not order cake – they each give their connected hands a long mournful look

It was a single slice of Oreo Dream Extreme, which Riptide privately thought looked like a cookie drowned in frosting, but whatever, and the waitress brings two forks with it, giving them a fond look as she turns to leave. He wonders if she witnessed the kiss, too, or if they were just that obvious

Serenity looks at Riptide and plays with his fork, clearly thinking about how he’s having cake with his boyfriend, how the waitress had smiled at them like it was perfectly fine for him to have something like this. His eyes glisten slightly, and before Riptide is aware of it, he’s already reaching over the table to wipe away his tears

Serenity gives him a bashfully wide-eyed look, and it’s all Riptide can do to not stutter as he grumbles out, “Yeah, yeah, fuck off”

They eat the cake slice together, fucking around the whole time, battling forks, fighting over the Oreo on top, and debating who gets the mousse – it was Serenity for both, since Riptide was convinced he looked too thin to be in any way healthy.

“I’m just saying”, Riptide began, waving his frosting-dusted fork in a manner that could only be described as “pointed”, “you’re way too thin !! When’s the last time you ate properly ? 1995 ?”

“Oh my God”, Serenity let out a theatrical groan, stabbing disgruntedly at his share of the cake for a few seconds, before rolling his eyes and slicing off a miniscule triangle of mousse, shoving it in his mouth in one fluid motion, “There !! Happy ?”

Riptide smiles, a soft, curling thing, and he means it as he says, “Very”

They shuffle out of the Cheesecake Factory, stepping out into the cold night air. Evidently, it had started raining sometime earlier that night, a sprinkling, quick thing, for the ground is slick and shiny in the sun-yellow of the street lamps, and the earth is drenched in the sharp scent of coastal petrichor

The earth splashed below their feet as they walked, the wet, puddly stones reflecting the night sky above, peppered with the thin, pale pinpricks of the burning stars, the brilliant silver stamp of the moon, burning as a brand in the stillness of the night. Inky darkness pools in thick, viscous puddles all about them

They talk for a moment, but Serenity seems... different, somehow. Subdued, and distant, as if his mind were a thousand miles away, or years in the past. It takes only a few moments for the conversation to peter out into still silence, and Serenity barely seems to notice

So they remain in silence as they trudge down the street, broken only by the faint horns of cars on the expressway, laughter from far away. The distant noises of humanity

Nocturnal light spills down from the heavens, pouring over them both, all celestial and night-thin. It clings to the edges of Serenity’s form like the heavens themselves can’t help but worship this boy, the early-autumn-moon laying him in her silver silks and the stars kissing his hair, his long lashes.

Riptide’s breath catches in his throat and he averts his eyes. Looks back. Averts his eyes. Clenches his jaw

Serenity’s eyes are on him, and it’s almost unbearable. Riptide’s gaze skitters away, but he can still hear the gentle sawing of Serenity’s voice, as the raven-haired boy speaks, slow and shy, as if terrified of rejection – as if rejection, now, would shatter him irreversibly, “I...I wanted to show you something”

Riptide’s heart stutters in his chest at the soft plaintiveness in that melodious voice, and his eyes flick back upwards to alight on Serenity’s too-wide, too-eager ones. The other boy shapes starkly against the dark, all hard, bright edges. Starlight kisses his hair and the early-autumn moon lays him in silver. An otherworldly thing, he looks, a creature of sharped steel and sorrow. His hands are in his pockets.

They’re surrounded in street lamps, and not much else – a small outcropping in the sidewalk, jutting over the brink, thrusting out into the too-cold night air, the cityscape glimmering up at them from the bank of shadows at the base of the hill, shaded in warm contrasts, its popping colors glowing neon in the darkness. The noises of humanity are muted to almost nothingness here, rendered soft and silent ripples in the air

However, where they stand, lies only the slow, puddling smeariness of sodium vapor, and the trickling, inspid blue-silver of the stars. To his left stands Serenity, and darkness seems to puddle in great shadowy pools about his feet.

His lips part, colored a dried-rose pink in the soft light of the street lamps, yellow lamplight puddling in the sharp hollows of his face like liquid gold, “When I was young...”, he begins, in a soft, feathered voice, and Riptide’s breath catches in his throat again, “I was alone. Well, no... not..”, he drew in a rattling breath, before conceding, “...not entirely. Caz was there. Always there. But there was only so much she could do. Mostly ? I was alone. And so I... came up with this world. An endless sandy beach. Endless sun. Waves lapping at the seashore. And I escaped there... whenever”, the words clung to his throat like rotting flesh, “...everything... got too much”

A long momen, and then he chanced a glance upwards, eyes meeting Riptide’s confused gaze. His lips quirked further upwards, “Caz believed it was a... metaphorical thing. Psychological. Imaginary”, he shook his head, a slow, measured motion, “...she was wrong”

Riptide paused. Blinked, as a cool breeze wafted past their face, scented with salt and seaspray, fresh and sweet and warm, tinged with the heat of the sun. The sun, that was nowhere to be spotted in the sky. A moment, and his eyes blew wide, his lips curving into an “O” of surprise

He had heard of this before. A second trigger. When the host suffers such incredible, indescribable pain, that the universe itself seems to take pity on them, to grant them a secondary power. Riptide isn’t sure whether to laugh or cry

Serenity’s lips twisted wryly, his head dropping into an almost-miserable-looking smile, as his hands flex, before abruptly moving. His fingers rise and the street lamps bleed gold and yellow and white all over them. Shaded in their smeared glow, he looks like a burning thing

His voice is faint, but it carries, echoing through the crags and crevices of the hillside, off the concrete planes and sharp, cutting corners of the brutalist buildings that surround them. Somewhere in the distance, a phantom bell tolls, loud and resonant, “The sound of the Gion Shoja bells echo the truth that all life must end”

His fingers twist, thumbs and the very tips of his index fingers pressing together, the rest of his fingers splayed apart. The curving whorls inscribed into their soft-looking pads darken, leaking shadow down his arms in trickling threads of pale gray, fuzzy and hazy, like a build-up of dust, “The color of the sala flower reveals that to flourish is to fall”

His fingers press together, splaying out to make way for his palms. The threads of dusty gray seem to darken, somewhat, and Riptide catches a whiff of something cold and sweet in the air, ice water and strawberry rot, “The strong do not endure, a dream on the night of spring”

And finally, he pulls his hands apart, fingers of each hand stiff and rigid, pressed together like a Hamsa, the palms floating about five inches apart. His lips part, and a boundless darkness seemed to swirl inside his mouth, writhing shadows pressing against the backs of his teeth. At least, that’s what Riptide saw, before a hazy grayness seemed to envelop everything in a bank of thick, smokey fog. It obscured his vision, but still Riptide could make out the hard edges of Serenity’s figure through its hazy opaqueness. It dampened all noise, but still Riptide could hear the final line of the incantation, sharp and clear as if Serenity had spoken it directly into his ear, “The dauntless must wither, to become dust in the wind”

When the hazy grayness finally recedes, the first thing Riptide notices is the brightness that lay against Serenity’s skin – not the smeary glare of the street lamps, but something warmer, softer. Daylight, that puddled lazily against his form, ran down his sharp edges in trails of honey gold, highlighting him and flowing about his form like the halo of a saint

Serenity looks softer, in this cloudy lighting. It sands his sharp edges and dusts his colors into something more pastel. The black of his hair shades gray, and the striking edges of his features become less stark. Even the worried line of his frown looks soft like this. His lips are dried-rose pink.

The second thing he notices is the fact that there was sand beneath his feet, shifting as he shifted in place, as the hazy grayness of Serenity’s powers withdrew to linger at the corners of his vision in barely-visible splotches of feathered blurriness

As his eyes dropped, he noticed the stretch of sand that lay beneath his feet, shining like gold in the brilliant sun, curving off into the distance – a never-ending beach – dotted with palm trees that were almost certainly out-of-place here. To his right stood the lush greenery of an endless forest, colors rich and green, almost abnormally so

His powers told him that there was no water here, but to his left, an endless ocean lapped at the curving edge of the beach, surface held as smooth and polished as a mirror, gleaming sapphire in the golden sun, not even a ripple spreading across its surface. In fact, it looked like it was barely moving at all

But there was something off. The blue of the water was too bright, the yellow of the sand too pale, the green of the forest too smeared-together. And, as his eyes rise to where Serenity was pointedly looking away from him, a faint dusting of pink peppering the high tops of his cheeks, the sun was too smooth, less a burning star, and more a ball of molten gold hanging in the sky

The sun, that hung high in the sky, and yet poured down none of its burning fire. The sun, that at this time of the day should be coloring the sky a burning blue-raspberry, but instead was embedded into a sky as fleshy and pink as a sunrise

The whole thing looked like a child’s approximation of a beach. The whole thing looked like something a child, hurt and alone, would come up with as an escape from all his pain

This wasn’t a real beach, and this wasn’t a real world. This was something... inner. Almost like a....

His lips part, but Serenity beats him to the chase, “Make a Jujutsu Kaisen reference and I will kick you out”, he warns, and his voice is candy-soft and sweet. Riptide feels his heart warm at its sound

“Alright, alright”, he huffs out a quiet laugh, the sound echoing oddly in the not-real beach air, before shuffling slightly, feeling the imaginary sand shift around his feet, “Honestly, I’m surprised you don’t use...”, he gestures vaguely, “...this... as a Domain Expansion more often”

“Can’t”, Serenity muttered, refusing to meet Riptide’s eyes, his blush deepening into streaks of crimson, lying dark and gleaming against his pale skin, “Only people I.... t-trust”, his voice caught on that word, and Riptide felt his heart stutter slightly, “...can be brought in here”

Riptide stared wordlessly for a moment, his chest feeling tight and painful, before a single, choked-off sound slipped past his lips, “Oh”

“Yeah”, Serenity scratched sheepishly at the back of his head, and the air seemed to smear around his arm as he moved it, space distorting into blurry ripples of smeared graininess, like he were moving his arm through water, the colors of the backdrop running together like drips and trails of wet paint on a painting, greens melding with yellows with blues.

A moment later, the colors seemed to straighten out, the bleed petering out into nothing, ripples smoothing out like wrinkles in cloth, until finally, the undisturbed vista of the beach stared back at him once more

“I’ve”, his eyes flicker over to the other man, and Riptide can’t help but suck in a sharp breath at the sheer beauty of them. Here, in his own little world, the molten gold of his illusory sun glinted off the ice-blue of his irises, making them gleam, sharp and cold and brilliant, like the edge of shattered glass, like all the ocean, all at once, like the galaxy, but blue. His eyes are multilayered, made of reflections and refractions, fragmented shades of blue. Honed. Intense. Unlike every other part of him, his eyes are not softened in the cloudy lighting, they remain severe as ever, bright and sharp as the edge of shattered glass.

Because they reflected the truth of him – all that hurt and cold and pain he kept pressed down and hidden in his heart, like trying to hold back the flood. Because Serenity had always considered himself Atlas, trying to hold up the sky. But the sky was not a holdable thing

His lips part, dried-rose curves lifting into a faint ‘O’, delicate and fragile, “I’ve never brought anyone... here, before. Never been able to bring anyone here, before.Never... trusted anyone enough for it”. His eyes are fixed on Riptide, as if he still wasn’t entirely able to reconcile this – the sight of someone else, standing in the gates of his soul, submerged in the depths of his heart

Serenity looked away for a moment, staring out, across the boundless blue of his ocean, red peppering the high arches of his cheekbones, before finally turning back to him, “Yeah”, he said, after a long moment, “I...I... trust you. Riptide, I... I....”, his voice falters, before he seems to steel himself, “...I love you”

Something wet slicked against Riptide’s skin, and the ice-water strawberry-rot scent of the air took on a freezing quality. The cool touch of the water seems to snap Serenity out of his trance-like state, and one of his hand lifted to his face, coming away glistening wet, “...ah. It’s raining again”

Riptide blinked, trying his best to ignore the catch of his heart in the hollow his chest, the way it stuttered against the bars of his ribcage, beating out a staccato pulse of desire and love and longing, grateful for the distraction, “Rain ?”

“This beach is an illusory realm”, Serenity said, his voice soft and faint, more water slicking soundlessly against his skin, his khaki-green T-shirt streaked with dark streaks of wet, “How permeable the barriers to it are depends almost entirely on what I want”

“And you... didn’t block out the rainfall ?”

“No”, he shook his head, a stuttery, faint motion, looking up to meet Riptide’s eyes, his voice catching for a moment, before continuing, “I... it seemed rather pointless. We’re only becase... well, because I wanted to... show you. My soul. My self. My heart. Because you... um... you showed me yours. Yesterday”

Riptide simply stares for a moment. His heart feels so full that he’s sure he’s seconds from drowning in it. The water trickling against his skin is cool and icy, a stark contrast to endless rose-pink of the perpetual sunset sky, the molten golden sphere of the sun

Serenity looks pointedly away, “Sorry, that’s... I guess that’s pretty cheesy, huh ? Igno-“

And then Riptide was moving forward, before Serenity could react, and his lips were dipping down to press against Serenity’s, soft and gentle, and Serenity tasted so good against his tongue, sweet like strawberry lip-balm, and the rich bite of the chocolate cake they had just had, and the other man’s lips were parting under his, and –

And there were flowers blooming at his feet, brushing against his ankles, impossibly pushing their green stems and brilliant petals through the golden sands, the rubied bleed of red rose, the golden gleam of ambrosia, the deep purple of aster, and a hundred feathered white silhouettes of balsam.

He draws back, breaking the kiss apart, much to his own dismay, “I love you too”, his heart catches in his throat. For a moment, Serenity looks stunned

All around them, the golden sands of the beach are dusted a faint rose-quartz in the perpetual sunset. Pink like dried rose. Pink like valentine’s hearts. Pink like the blush suffusing Serenity’s pale skin

And before Riptide could part his lips, could ask if Serenity was okay with that, his lips are on his, sweet and sharp and cold, “I love you like that too”, he says into the corner of Riptide’s lips, and he feels like crying, “I love you too”

And overhead, the fleshy pink of the sky splits apart, edges hazy and gray as it slowly separates into a receding dome to reveal the stormy sky beyond, rendered in patchy blacks and grays. The cold scent of rain grew stronger, but Riptide hardly cared. All that existed in the world was the softness of Serenity’s lips on his, his earthen scent, his soft skin. All that mattered was him

Overhead, a shower of glittering water dripped down onto them, slicking against their skin, though the sand at their feet remained as dry as ever, a curtain of glistening wetness, rendered in translucent rainbows from the molten gold sunlight passing  through its thin surface

And in the distance, a thundercrack sounds, and white flashes of lightning fork through the black patchy clouds, spearing the final traces of the illusory beach, burning it up, as the sand beneath Riptide’s feet fades into wet, puddly stone, and suddenly they’re standing by the corner of the street once again, and Serenity’s lips are on Riptide’s and his back is pressing into the railing keeping them from falling of the cliff, the metal sharp and cold through the thin, wet fabric of his T-shirt

The rain building in the clouds begins to spill over. It’s no longer just a sprinkle. All around them, the asphalt tap-tap-taps with droplets. The sky isn’t a holdable thing, it’s liquid, it’s storms and rain. And if Serenity kept trying to hold him up, he would surely drown

But that was fine. His eyes closed, and he pressed hard into the kiss, tasting the iced strawberry taste of Serenity’s tongue against his, cool and sharp, sweet as chocolate. That was fine. His fist clenched, and the raindrops hammering against them froze in mid-air, hanging like crystal beads inches from their skin

That was fine, because Riptide was there, would always be there, to breathe air into his lungs, to protect him, like he protected so many

Axiomatic truths were things that were so sure, so true, so known, that they were the philosophical baseline. They were the things you could be sure of, when you were sure of nothing else. When the solid truths of your world – parents are meant to protect their kids, children are meant to be loved – start to fall away, you could always rely on them

Here are some of them, some of the truths that Riptide relies on. The sun will always rise. The tide will always fall. And Riptide will always love Serenity

[masked-alien-lesbian]

Aislinn Tanaka x Verity Wright and Raelyn x Hana Lee

"Verity, are you sure you're going to be okay? We don't have to stay long." Aislinn worried asks Verity the 5th time since they got in the car this morning.

"Aislinn, babe, I'm fine, we'll find a spot under the shade, put the umbrella up, keep my sunglasses on so the sun don't fry my eyeballs, I got a cooler of the uh you know what to keep my strength up and I got my bracelet on." Verity says shaking their wrist where the bracelet that kept the sun from burning them rattled. Being a vampire sometimes put a damper on the couple's daytime plans but Verity wanted to spend the day with Aislinn no matter what, so if being a little uncomfortable today was the price to see that golden glow of happiness on Aislinn's face, Verity had no problem roasting a little bit.

"Well okay, but you'll say something if it gets too-oh!" Aislinn suddenly lurches as another woman suddenly slammed into her.

"Oh my, I'm so sorry! Forgive me!" The woman apologizes to Aislinn.

"That's alright! I love your dress!" Aislinn says reassuringly.

"Thank you! I love yours! Maybe I can entice the name of your tailor from you with some of the coconut cake I made this morning." The brunette says as a blue haired individual casually walks up beside her.

"Hana, my love, not everyone has a tailor. Hello. I'm Raelyn and this is my wife Hana." Raelyn says offering their hand to Verity and Aislinn.

Hi, I'm Aislinn and this is my partner Verity, and a slice of coconut cake would be delicious! But only if you'll help us eat the strawberries I bought." Aislinn says after looking at Verity who smiled and nodded.

"That sounds delightful! Let's find the perfect spot!" Hana says excitedly which was contagious to Aislinn and as the two started walking Aislinn began to explain the boutique she bought her yellow sun dress from. Raelyn chuckles.

"Oh lordy, I forsee another shopping trip in the future. Let me help you carry something." Raelyn says and grabs the umbrella from Verity.

"Oof, you were carrying this big heavy umbrella and that huge cooler? You're quite strong!" Raelyn says in wonder.

"Heh...yeah I work out." Verity says sheepishly inwardly making a note to pay more attention to the average carrying limit for humans close to their size.

"Raelyn, Verity! We found a spot!"

"Coming! You're going to love Hana's cake by the way. She's such a good baker, she could give Yvette Flynn a run for her money." Raelyn says proudly. Verity smiles at Raelyn, already feeling like they were getting new friend. The sun still made Verity a tad nauseous, but with Aislinn smiling so beautifully at them and the friendly couple offering space, time, food and kindness to them, well...Verity couldn't complain! ❤️

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

And ofc, if anyone else's OC x LI wants to sit next to and befriend Aislinn, Verity, Hana and Raelyn, they're more than welcome to! Just don't drink from Verity's cup! It might be a little too AB+ for you ;)

Welcome to the first Choices Picnic!

Reblog with your responses to any and all questions! This can be an edit, OOTD, Moodboard, aesthetic, fic, etc.

I'd love it if you could reply/reblog with your MC and/or LI's outfits so people can see all in one quick place to be able to answer the last question, but you're more than welcome to post them as individual posts as well!

For more prompts and other event information, check here.

[allthingsfangirl101]

Overprotective Little Brother–Steve Harrington

Dustin's POV

When my sister and Steve first started dating, I was skeptical. I wanted my sister to be happy, but I knew Steve's reputation at school. I didn't want Steve to hurt her. She finally had the courage to open her heart to someone. The last thing that I wanted was for him to break it.

They've been together for almost three months now. Steve works at Scoops Ahoy and Y/N works at a boutique across the food court. After they started working at the mall, they decided to start having lunch together every day. They first started dating after one day when Steve missed their lunch break and asked to make it up to her by taking her to dinner.

Before he asked her out, Steve came by and asked me if it was okay. As awesome as I thought he was, I was a little nervous when he started to show interest in Y/N. After a long conversation of him promising not to hurt my sister, I gave him my permission.

When Y/N came home from their first date, she was glowing. She couldn't stop smiling as she told me all about their date. She kept saying how much she really liked him and couldn't believe that he liked her too.

"Hey, Y/N," I called out when I walked into the house. "I'm home! Were you still planning on hanging out with Steve tonight? If not, you could come and hang out with us."

I looked around the house, confused when Y/N hadn't said anything. "Y/N?" I tried again as I started walking down the hallway to her room. "You home? Or did Steve take a detour on your way home from work again?"

I knocked on her bedroom door before opening it. What I saw made my heart jump into my stomach and my anger immediately turn towards my sister's stupid boyfriend. Y/N was sitting on the edge of her bed with tears streaming down her face. I ran over to her and sat next to her.

"What's wrong, Y/N?"

"Steve," she said through her tears.

"What did he do?" I asked, ready to ride my bike to his house and punch him in the face.

"He kissed Nancy last night."

"What?!" I yelled as I jumped up. "When? Why? How? WHAT?!"

"He went to that party that I didn't want to go to," she explained as she slowly stopped crying. "I guess she was drinking and. . . she kissed him."

"Oh, Y/N," I sighed as I sat back down. "I'm sorry."

"I don't know what to do," she said shakily as the tears started falling again. "Do I forgive him? Do I let it go? Do I break up with him?"

When she asked that last question, her voice got caught in her throat. I wrapped my arms around her as she started to cry.

"Has he apologized?" I asked, trying to sound positive.

"He tried to," she stuttered. "I think. I don't really know. . . He told me about the kiss and said it meant nothing but. . . I left."

"I'm so sorry, Y/N," I sighed.

Y/N and I spent the rest of the night eating dinner and watching cartoons. When she fell asleep on the couch with her hair messy and tear stains on her face, the anger I'd been pushing down returned.

"I am going to kill you, Harrington."

                                * * * * *

The next morning, I was just about to jump on my bike when I saw the source of my anger's car parked in front of our house. I rolled my eyes when he got out of the car with a bouquet of roses.

"Listen, I've been thinking. . ."

I scoffed when I overheard Steve rehearsing what he was going to say to Y/N.

"Those better be for my sister," I said as I walked over to him, gesturing at the flowers in his hands.

"Yeah," he said shakily. "I just want to talk to her, okay? I want to explain."

"Explain why you kissed Nancy?"

"I didn't kiss her back," he sighed as he ran his fingers through his hair. "She was drunk and wasn't thinking straight. The second she kissed me, I pulled away, okay? I thought I was doing the right thing by telling Y/N what happened."

"Steve," I sighed, "Y/N has always been and always will be intimidated by Nancy."

"What do you mean?" He asked, his voice slightly dropping.

"Y/N's been insecure her whole life. Especially when it came to Nancy Wheeler," I started to explain. "She has always worried that she will never be as pretty, or smart, or funny, or interesting as Nancy. This was before you and Nancy even started dating. Once you asked her out, those insecurities doubled. Tripled. Quadrippled or druppled. Whatever the word is. The point is they got worse."

"I had no idea Y/N felt like that," Steve said as he leaned against the side of his car.

"That's not all." I hesitated. Y/N told me this in confidence, but I had to try and help fix their relationship. Y/N really cares about Steve. Breaking up would kill her.

"Once you and Y/N started dating, she couldn't shake the possibility that you were still in love with Nancy."

"That's crazy," Steve said as he kicked off his car and walked closer to me. "I'm not in love with Nancy. I'm in love with Y/N."

"You are?" I stuttered. I studied the look on his face. I had to make sure that Steve meant this. I cleared my throat before saying, "Be very careful, Steve. This is my sister we're talking about. When you say that, you better mean it."

"I do," Steve didn't hesitate to say. "I love Y/N, Dustin. I'd never do anything to hurt her."

"Good," I said, snatching the flowers out of his hands. I opened the front door and signaled for him to walk inside.

"She's in her room," I said, handing him back the flowers. "Go fix this."

                                * * * * *

Reader's POV

I looked up from my book when there was a soft knock on my door. I sighed as I brought my knees closer to my chest and fixed my blanket.

"Go away, Dustin," I sighed. "I told you I was fine."

I watched as the door slowly opened. My heart jumped into my throat when Steve popped his head into my room.

"It's not Dustin," he tried to joke. He showed me some flowers with a cheeky smile on his face. "Just me."

"What are you doing here?" I asked.

"Can I come in?" He asked, his smile slightly dropping. "I really want to talk about what happened."

"Steve. . ."

"Please," he begged. "There are some things I need to say to you."

After a few seconds of hesitation, I nodded. Steve let out a sigh of relief as he walked into my room. I moved to the edge of my bed and Steve sat next to me, putting the flowers on the bed. He hesitated before reaching over and grabbing my hand.

"You have to know that I don't have feelings for Nancy anymore," he said softly. He looked up at me, instantly looking deeply into my eyes. "I don't love Nancy anymore, Y/N. The second she kissed me, I broke it."

"I believe you," I whispered, looking down at our intertwined hands. I held my breath when Steve reached over and lifted my chin so I was looking back at him.

"I love you, Y/N."

I smiled, a different type of tears building. I scooted closer to him as I gathered my courage.

"I love you too, Steve."

                                * * * * *

Dustin's POV

I wasn't sure what Steve said to Y/N. I was trying to distract myself. I thought about going over to Mike's, but I wanted to stay here in case it didn't go well. If it went south, I'd be here to beat Steve up and to comfort my sister after.

I was in the middle of playing a video game when I heard Y/N's bedroom door open. I chewed on my bottom lip as I heard footsteps coming down the hall. I paused the game and looked over my shoulder. I tried to stop my smile when I saw Y/N and Steve walking down the hall, holding hands.

"Steve and I are going to go get dinner," Y/N said, her face slightly pink.

"Do you want us to drop you off at Mike's?" Steve offered.

"I'm good," I chuckled. "You guys go have fun."

The two smiled at me before leaving. I was just about to restart my game when Y/N came back inside.

"Is everything okay?" I asked her.

"It's great," she said with a small laugh. "I came back inside to thank you."

"I didn't do anything," I shrugged. Y/N set me a knowing look which she added to with a wink.

"Thanks for protecting me, little bro."

I laughed as I sent her a wink back, flashing my pearly whites at her.

"Anytime, big sis."

[storiumemporium]

omg today i wore heeled boots for the first time to go to work and now i can't stand my feet, i could do an imagine where reader is in a similar situation and viktor suggests a massage, but she doesn't want to bother him, she knows how her research and work are tiring please.Thank you

Hey!!! Sorry this is so late! Life got simultaneously hectic and a little depressing the last week, and I've been giving myself a break from the internet while I recoup. Hopefully however this lives up to expectations!

Feel free to leave more requests! 💗

Shoes were a mistake.

Shoes were a mistake and you were going to personally find out whoever invented the heel, so you could kill them.

Your feet are a blistered, reddened mess. The boutique girl who had dragged you around rack to rack for hours had insisted; "These are the most fashionable shoes in Piltover at the moment, and they're in your exact size! Everyone will envy you."

Okay, maybe you shouldn't have fallen for that- but who can blame you? Sometimes you want to be the impressive one.

And... maybe you were tired of feeling like you were so plain next to Viktor, dragging him down every time he was subjected to mingling with the highlife around here.

Regardless, all your endeavors earned you were scabs, calves and ankles so sore you could hardly bear to stand, and a decent heap of embarrassment. You were sure you'd injured something.

And the cherry on top? Viktor would be here soon.

You didn't know what to say to him- to describe the stupid predicament you'd put yourself in, you knew he'd be disappointed, or frustrated.

You were about halfway to the kitchen, attempting to start dinner and pretend you didn't want to chew your own legs off when the familiar click of the lock unlatching gently pinged through the apartment.

It was hard to not whip around looking like a moth tranced by flame, offering Viktor your best attempt at a smile, knowing it came out as the nervous contortion of a dog who'd been caught doing something it shouldn't. "Hey there! How was work!?"

Why did you say that- you never ask that, shut up, shut up.

You knew he'd immediately caught on, Viktor was all too perceptive a man for your blundering to go unnoticed. Those pretty golden eyes had narrowed to scrutinizing slits, and as he let the door swing gently shut behind him, he began to take you apart with his mind.

"Love..?" He's not accusatory- yet- his voice soft and imploring, as if talking to a frightened animal.

Fuck, play this cool.

"What?" Your voice comes out squeaky and defensive.

Goddammit.

It's a subtle shift. He pulls himself upright, the comfortable slouch he bore when he feflt safe in your company replaced by the regal mass of his entire height, leg straightening out as he put to work his full authority.

"What happened?"

For a short time you fumble your words, trying futilely to feed him some nonsense about how coworkers had made your life hell today again- but there was no point, the moment you'd gone to take a step your whole body telegraphed the pain you were in like a shining beacon of misery.

He's over in a startling flash- always so much faster than people gave him credit for- than he himself let other people see. Likely something he kept coyly hidden in the event of danger, a trait carried over from his early life.

His free hand is pulling you, steadying you, as he corrals you to the plush couch you share your evenings together on, and as soon as you're planted he's tugging at the plain shoes you'd changed into to see the handiwork of the cursed evil heels.

"Love..." His voice is soft in a way that instills a great deal of shame, those long expert fingers trace over the evidence of your struggle. "What- what happened? What did this?"

The guilty-dog look returns. "...Heels..?"

Were this any other situation, the look on Viktor's face would've been enough to send you into giggle fits. But as it stood, it just made you embarrassed.

"L-Look- I know it's stupid- don't worry about it, I'll be fine-"

"Would a massage help?"

What?

"They are sore, no?" It occurs to you that your thought was uttered out loud, caught off guard by his lack of ire.

"I-I mean, yeah, but-"

"Then let me help."

"Vik- you've been working all day, you're tired-" you deal with more pain than this on a daily basis and never ask for help, let alone something like this.

The prerequisite thought stirred up a new pool of cold shame within your belly. Here you were, crying and moping as if unable to walk over sore ankles and bruised feet, while the man you loved had bolts put into his spine to correct him- wielded a cane to even support his weight on one leg, and he took it all with silence.

Your face turned an unflattering hue.

But Viktor wasn't having any of it, brows furrowed and piercing gaze cutting like glass. "I can afford to spare minutes of my day to make sure you do not feel miserable, my little tinker."

"Vik..."

He did not wait for your approval now, pulling your feet into his lap as he fully discarded his cane against the armrest, nimble and calloused hands dug into the knots of your feet, avoiding areas that were rubbed raw or blistering.

It was conflicting, bouncing between sharp, stabbing pain and the immense relief that followed as he unworked the aches within your legs.

His voice began again, soft and lulling as he worked his masseur magic upon you. "It is okay to need help, tinker.

I want to help you, it makes me feel good to be able to do this for you." He wavers with amusement and something else you can't quite name. "Sometimes it feels as if I am the only one with problems, it's a relief when I can be the one with the solution."

His smile at you is wry and sardonic, layered with that wit you love. But his words ache. "I know you hide things from me, my dear. I will not pester you for them- but I want you to know, no matter what it is..."

His thumb digs, the aching sharp split of a muscle under duress begins to wane.

"Foot aches or anything else- anything more. It would be my pleasure to help you."

[the-quackeroos]

so, I held my promise, and here's the fic, which is under the cut! ^^ a second part is in the works right now.

cw: some scenes may be of a suggestive nature. reader discretion is advised.

A new shop had opened just outside of Arlesburgh. Duck and Donald previously agreed that they should have some time for themselves, and that was the chance for him to think about creating the best cozy atmosphere as he did his work routines on the Railway. 5:00 came and it was the time for Duck to clock out. He picked up his card and… click… punched the time clock on the wall when he got into the main building. Duck kept his eye on the signs leading to the new shop that opened, as he walked along the streets of Arlesburgh.

The shop was in an old small cottage that was left abandoned for a few years. Whenever Duck would pass by while at work, the cottage was boarded up, and weeds surrounded every corner. By now, it was restored by a new owner and bore a cozy pinkish color to tell every customer that it was a boutique. Duck came by the shop, humming a little tune, and stopped to behold.

So, this is the new shop, he thought, …Seems nice enough.

Duck continued humming as he entered the new boutique. The interior of the shop had a red-pink hue painted along the walls and the smell of many sensual-scented candles on display shelves struck his nose. Duck quickly noticed the smell and exhaled greatly soon after he inhaled.

“Now, a bath should be nice to start our night…” said Duck, out loud as he picked two candles, one thick lavender and a trio of vanilla, “But what candles should I choose?”

“Hello!” Someone called out from the cash register.

Duck turned around. There watching him was a woman, just about his age.

“You seem to be wanting a romantic bath with your partner right?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Duck blushed, “How did y’ know?”

“You were talking to yourself,” answered the woman, shrugging.

Duck paused for a moment.

“Oh… Ohhh… Hahaha, I’m sorry,” he chuckled, “It’s a weird habit o’ mine.”

“You’re fine, sir, you’re fine,” said the woman. “So, what do you need help with?”

Duck proceeded to explain his dilemma about which candle to get. The woman recommended Duck get the trio of vanilla candles since vanilla is also used as a natural aphrodisiac, yet had a relaxing sensation. Duck proceeded to buy a gallon-sized jug full of bubble bath soap as well as rose petals to decorate the bed with. When everything was all said and done… Kaching! … he left the shop, feeling confident about himself.

***

Donald’s schedule is different than Duck’s, as he was the first man to return home after a long day. 10:00 AM to 4:00 PM was his schedule. He was watching the telly as Duck entered the front door.

“Hullo, love,” Donald gave Duck a small peck on the cheek as he stood up from his couch, “Ur we huvin’ oor tea outdoors noo?”

“Soon,” Duck said, noticing his boyfriend in a black suit with a navy kilt, “I gotta change, too, y’ know. Judgin’ by th’ way yer dressed, I’d say yer ready to go!”

Donald chuckled as he saw Duck climb upstairs. It took several minutes for Donald to wait, but Duck soon came back down donning a dark green suit and an orange tie.

“Now, we can go,” smiled Duck, opening the door.

***

What took an hour or two at the restaurant Duck and Donald went to felt like minutes. The restaurant had the best seafood caught from the Irish Sea, which the couple gladly ate. The restaurant also had romantic live music, which Duck and Donald slowly danced to. The restaurant was close to the seaside, which is a place that Duck adored the most if he were to choose to go on holiday. The sun was soon starting to set as Donald and Duck returned back home.

“Y’ know, Donald,” Duck smirked as he closed the door, “Th’ night’s not over.”

“Oh?”

“C’mon. Lemme show you,” Duck winked to Donald.

The two men walked upstairs and Duck lead the way to the bedroom. With a sing-song “ta-daaa”, Duck opened his arm wide as Donald gazed in awe at the bed. It wasn’t much, but the rose petals sprinkled along the sheets was enough to let Donald know what was to come. Donald examined closer at the bed.

“Och, mah god,” blushed Donald with excitement, “Mon, dinnae tell me we're huvin oor bonnie moment noo!”

“ ‘Ee should see th’ bathroom, too, Donald,” said Duck, beckoning Donald to follow him. “I bought some candles to light up and bubbles to fill th’ tub with.”

Duck lead Donald the way to the bathroom. Donald beheld the unlit candles and a bottle of shampoo on the table beside the bathtub. The gallon-sized jug of bubble bath soap was placed at the end of the tub where the faucet was placed. Donald knew that the atmosphere would be sensual for sure, and he smelled the relaxing scent of the three vanilla candles. He moaned softly with a closed smile.

“ ‘Ee like that?” asked Duck.

“Absolutely, me Duck.”

Duck chuckled as he turned the faucet on to warm and plugged the drain. It took about ten minutes until the water was almost to the brim, but while the water was starting to fill, Duck did fill half of the gallon of bubble bath soap into the tub. The suds foamed as he stirred the soap into the water. When the bubbling water almost reached the brim of the tub, Duck turned off the faucet. It slowly stopped pouring the water until the water became quietly still. Duck soon lit the three vanilla candles on the table, and closed the shades of every window in the bathroom.

Donald grew more eager.

“God, I cannae wait.” He huffed. “Let’s see that fluffy body o’yers, Monty.”

“Heh. I wants t’ see yer young an’ thin body, too,” giggled Duck.

Soon enough, Duck and Donald landed on each other’s lips, and suckled before moving away. Donald was the first to pull Duck’s suit jacket away from his partner’s shoulders. His hands crept up to Duck’s tie and slowly loosened it. Duck did the same as Donald unbuckled his belt, letting Duck’s pants fall to the floor and leaving his buttocks bare. Donald unbuttoned Duck’s shirt. When the shirt was off, Donald impatiently placed his hands and rubbed Duck’s hairy pecs and round belly.

“ ‘Ee really like me fluffy pecs, don’t ya?” Duck proceeded to unbutton his boyfriend’s shirt and pull down his boyfriend’s kilt. Donald soon stopped rubbing Duck’s chest and stomach. “Hold still. I gotta take these off an’ put me cover on.”

Donald wasn’t wearing anything under his kilt, as to him, because it all worked perfectly. When Duck finished stripping Donald off his kilt and shirt, Duck bit his lip and blushed at the sight of Donald’s slim, short, and nude body.

“Och, c’moan,” sighed Donald, rolling his eyes. “Juist pat yer damn cover oan. Efter ye, though.”

Duck cleared his throat and scurried to the cabinet above the sink. He quickly put his cover on and walked back to Donald.

“Efter ye, Duck,” Donald said again.

“Right,” Duck grinned with a blush.

Duck stepped over the brim of the tub and sat down. He felt the warm sudsy water embrace his skin all over. He sighed with a big smile as he wiggled as if he was adjusting himself in bed. Duck turned his head to Donald. Donald climbed into the tub soon after and straddled Duck’s lap, being the small spoon. Duck wrapped his arms around Donald, his hands slowly caressing his bare chest.

“Urr ye aff tae wash me or nae?” Donald turned his head.

“Ooh arr, I’m gettin’ there,” laughed Duck, reaching for the shampoo. “I just like rubbin’ yer chest.”

Duck squeezed the shampoo bottle. A clear liquid oozed onto Duck’s hand, and he placed it onto Donald’s scalp. His fingertips dug deep into his boyfriend’s hair, and rubbed it every way until the soap of the shampoo foamed up. Donald felt Duck stroke against his head and he hummed in gentle bliss. After a while, Duck cupped his hands and scooped some of the clear water in the tub. The water slid right off his palms and spread all onto Donald’s hair. Donald felt the water run down, and he flinched a little. Duck scooped more water and poured it onto Donald again. It wasn’t long until Donald just had a small bubble on the tip of his hair after Duck finished shampooing.

“Awww,” the burly man chuckled, “ ‘Ee looks kinda cute with that.”

“Huh? Whit dae ye mean?” Donald turned around to Duck, who bore a wide grin.

“ ‘Ee have a small little bubble on yer hair,” said Duck, his finger picking up the sud and showing it. “See, love?”

Donald’s eyes looked up and then to the bubble. Then Donald blushed.

“Shut up…” he cooed.

“No, I’m serious,” replied Duck. “ “Ee look so cute with that bubble. It do remind me of a babber in a bath.”

“Hah,” laughed Donald, grabbing some of the bubbles floating on the water, “Ah jalouse ah keek youthful enough.”

Duck chuckled.

“We could adopt one sometime. I’ve been eyein’ this kid named Skiff.”

“Ehh, mibbie, Monty,” shrugged Donald.

“Alright.” Duck picked up a patch of soap floating on the water and placed onto Donald’s shoulders. Donald felt the warm water at first, but soon felt his joyfriend’s firm hands. Donald hummed and softly moaned, feeling his shoulder muscles relax and move with ease.

“Hooohh, Monty, yer hauns ur sae magical!”

“I try me best,” said Duck.

Duck scooped another patch on the water. He rubbed the soap lower along Donald’s back. Donald rolled up his eyes, feeling his joyfriend’s fingertips work inch by inch. That is until…

“A-awright, Mon,” told Donald. “Ye cuid wirk oan mah pecs, noo.”

“With pleasure,” Duck winked.

Duck scooped the last patch of bubbles for the bath. He looked at it on his palm, and he knew it had to be worth it until they could move on to the bedroom. So, he mixed the soap with more water and landed his hands on Donald’s chest. Duck’s palms snaked around the pecs, and despite how flat they looked, Donald moaned softly to the soft touch. Donald bit his lip as he turned his head to see Duck’s focused look.

“Jings, ah cannae wait ‘til we git tae oor bloody kip,” cooed Donald with a giggle. “Ye ken howfur tae loue me, Duck.”

“An’ you, Donald, knows ‘ow to love me, too,” Duck gave Donald a small kiss on the forehead.

Donald soon started to feel flushed. He could feel more of himself perk up. Duck smirked as he noticed his boyfriend physically grow unstable with stroke along the chest. Donald squirmed against Duck’s pelvis, causing the water in the tub to splash around a little. Duck soon started to feel flushed and perk up as well. He squeezed Donald’s pecs for a good thirty seconds before wrapping his muscular arms around him.

“Feelin’ good over there, Donald?” Duck asked.

“Och, aye,” Donald felt his heart beat faster as he got out of the tub, “let’s dae this. Ah juist wantae be hugged ‘n’ squeezed by ye richt noo.”

Donald unplugged the drain and helped Duck get out of the tub. The two quickly dried themselves off sharing a towel. The clothes that were stripped off were soon put into the laundry basket outside the doorway to the bedroom. As soon as they entered the bedroom, Donald languidly lay against the bed, and Duck watched him with his tongue licking his lip.

“ ‘Ee ready for our journey to th’ stars, Donald?” purred Duck.

Donald could only nod and beckon Duck to come closer. Duck closed the door and did what his boyfriend could tell him.

made another intimate piece with Donald and Duck. Donald's being washed with care before they can do anything else. ;3

I might reblog this with a brief fic.

[dreamilymagicalhideout]

Masterlist

Gojo Satoru x reader

Word count: 1.102

Summary: you're insecure and think Gojo deserves better.

A little ooc i think(?)

It's been a long time since i write, i hope you like it.

-

You didn't feel well these days. There were so many things bothering you, but the thing that stands above all is your inferiority feelings towards your partner, Gojo Satoru. You tried to mention all the good things about him, the list were endless. Now, you tried to name all the good things about yourself, but you can't find any.

He literally out of your league, his face is the one you classified as enchanthing, ethereal, exquisite. While you just... well, you.

Now, you are on Yuuji's birthday party, it was just an ordinary dining at a restaurant, while everyone is still allowed to eat at the restaurant. You can hear people whispered about Satoru, they were all smitten with him. Well, who wouldn't? You were like them when you first met him too.

"Look at that man. We should ask for his number"

"I bet he already has a girlfriend"

"Well, I'm sure she isn't there, just look at that group, there wasn't anyone worthy enough to be his girlfriend"

"What if the blonde one is his boyfriend?"

"Well, at least we tried"

You just couldn't hold it anymore, so you decided to be home first. You told Yuuji that you are not feeling well and then you take a cab and go home. You didn't even say goodbye to Satoru.

You take a bath and sleep on the bed, you were just about to sleep when you heard Satoru arrived. He cleaned himself and got into the cover beside you. He sneaked a hand around your waist and pull you closer.

"Hey, I heard that you're unwell. Why didn't you tell me?"

"It's okay, I'm fine"

He knew there was something wrong about the way you act, but he can see that you're tired. So he just let it go and let you sleep.

-

The next day he asked you to come with him to his friend's wedding. "I already booked the boutique for tomorrow, so you could find a dress or two, you can choose as many as you want"

You wanted to refused, but he looked so excited about it. You feel like you're going to embarass him if he really is coming with you. However, if you refused you're afraid he will be mad at you, you don't want to lose him.

That night you can't fall asleep, your thoughts were filled with negativity. You kept tossing around, thinking that he was sleeping. Suddenly, he pulled you closer, his chin is on top of your head. While, his hand secured you.

"What's wrong, hm?"

"Nothing, I'm fine"

"Just tell me the truth" It was silent for a moment, then you can feel tears slowly made its way to your eyes. You bit your lips to keep you from making any sounds, but the tears kept on going, and you just can't help to let out a few small sobs.

"Hey" Gojo made you face him, you put your hands om your face. Blocking him from seeing your ugly face.

"Who made you cry?"

"What's wrong? Just tell me, it's fine"

"I'm sorry, it was just-"

"I feel like I couldn't come with you to the party"

"What? It's not just about that, is it?" He urged you to say the truth, he can tell by the way you act these days that there were something on your mind.

"I feel like I don't deserve you"

"I mean, I don't know why you like me. It was just weird, you're too good for me"

"I just can't understand why someone like you wanted to be with someone like me. You're too pretty and awesome, and I'm just me. I will embarass you. If you come with me" you said in between the sobs.

"Where did you hear that from?"

"It's clear already. Everyone can see it"

"Who is this everyone we're talking about?"

"Well, every girls who asked your number was shocked when they knew I am your girlfriend"

"They were just jealous that they are not as pretty as you. And because they don't have a boyfriend like me too" it's clear that you don't believe in what he said. He removed your tears gently.

"How can you think like that?"

"I should've been the one to said that, Nanami always said you're too good for me, even Megumi sometimes said he pity you as my girlfriend"

"Nobara said if she can, she would've helped you find someone better, it was just Yuuji that said we deserve each other. He said you and me are pretty people, our visuals really matched"

"I could never be compared with your visuals. Yours were too striking" you said.

"You are extremely pretty. I'm Gojo Satoru, I deserve the best. And what's best for me it's you"

"Next time if there are anyone who said something like that to you, just tell me instantly" he continued.

"So I could kiss you and they will be jealous" You just playing with the duvet, still afraid to see him eye to eye.

"Is there something I do that make you feel like that?"

"No, it was just everyone will ask for your number everytime we were outside. I don't know, please don't talk about this anymore" you said as tears keep flowing like a river on your cheek. He knew you still haven't aware of your beauty yet.

"Who would dare asked your number when I'm around?"

"Huh?"

"There were thousands of men who wanted your number, but I always managed to scare them of"

"I'm not lying" He wasn't lying, everytime there are someone who looked at you to long or smile at you even when you didn't realize that, of course, your boyfriend realize it. He will glare at whoever it is, and the nect second he will smile warmly at you while putting his arms around your waist.

"You're beautiful" he kissed your wet cheek, then your nose. He looked at you in the dark, yous eyes were glistening, your face were red. He kissed you, slowly. You can feel an electricity around your body. Then, he kissed you hungrily, his lips were trying to taste every inch of your lips, he bit your lips, making you open your mouth.

He can't stop, his tongue was going inside of your mouth, you pushed him away, trying to take a breath, even the sound of you taking a breath pleased his ears.

"Fuck. I can't control myself, you're just too pretty" then he bit your cheek. You laughed. "Why did you do that?"

"You're too adorable"

"Thank you"

"You're most welcome, darling"

*fin*

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[yeojaa]

( DEVIL IN A NEW SUIT. )

Money’s something that makes the world go around.  There’s absolutely nothing wrong with securing the bag.  You don’t shame anyone for doing what they need to do.  

That is, until you come face to face with the poor guy that’s being suckered out of both his heart and cash.  You simply can’t let it go on.

pairing.  jjk x f!reader.

genre + rating.  idiots to lovers.  fluff, angst, smut.  the holy trifecta, babies!  explicit, obviously.  

tags / warnings.  mentions of infidelity, kook being adorable and sad, reader being a bit of a tactless butthole, a satin playsuit (very nsfw), kook does a 180, smut in the form of: a slight oral fixation, too much spit, overstimulation, pussy slapping, unprotected sex (pls don’t be irresponsible).

wc.  12.2k of nonsense.  pure nonsense, i tells ya. 

beta reader(s).  @hobi-gif​ did what she always does aka read through this and made me a better writer and @yeoldontknow​ dealt with my big dumbass and let me cry about my pea brain to her.  i love you both sm!!!  ✨💜

author note.  the long-awaited fic is here!!  i really hope you enjoy it.  if you do, please maybe leave a comment or something?  i swung back and forth between loving and hating this so it’d really, really mean a lot.  anyway, thanks as always for reading and i adore you!  stay safe and happy and healthy!

He’s a sucker.  That’s what you think of him, despite the fact you’ve never met him.  It’d be impossible not to, given what you’ve heard. 

His girlfriend - or something - is in every other week, flashing his black card like she has something to prove.  Sometimes, she’s by herself;  often, she’s with another gaggle of girls that fawn all over themselves and shriek a little too loudly for your taste.  They’re vapid, snooty in a way that makes you cringe every time they step into the boutique.  Still, you’re nice because this is your job and you have to be.  You can’t exactly tell a paying customer to get lost - even if you think it at least six times each visit. 

“He has no idea.”  It’s always the same thing, a story that pulls at your heartstrings yet has you scoffing in equal parts.  “I told him we were doing a girls’ trip but Hyunjin’s going to meet me on his way back and we’re spending the week at the Ritz.”

How can he possibly be this dumb, you wonder.  How can’t he see past the pretty pink lipstick and perfectly coiffed blonde hair?  It isn’t even that nice of a colour job - too icy and reminiscent of Malibu Barbie. 

(She’d bragged about it once - how she’d gotten an appointment at one of the most coveted salons in the city, spending hours in the stylist’s chair to get this “perfect shade”.  Her words, not yours.)

You figure he must be some lonely schmuck, some poor old sap who can’t possibly get what he’s looking for anywhere else.  Maybe he had some weird spoiling kink - if so, where was your man like that - or he just wanted companionship and found it in the arms of girls who paid him any sort of attention.  Truthfully, you thought a lot of things about him.  Kind of had to, given how often his girlfriend was in, rambling about her exploits and snickering behind his back.

You’d never expected him to be like this.

Jeon Jungkook shows up on a Sunday afternoon, shortly after lunch and with the dopiest smile on his face. 

Your colleague notices him first, nudging you to attention because you, unlike her, actually do productive things while you’re at work like go through layaways and make sure items aren’t sitting in the back gathering dust.

“He’s cute,”  she very poorly whispers, voice carrying because it always does.  She’s a younger girl - maybe a few years your junior, who’d gotten her job through pure nepotism - but she’s sweet enough.  Zero tact, though.  Never notices when she’s being just a little too forceful with her sales but her sweet smile and full rack seem to keep her from getting into any trouble.  You consider her a vaguely annoying sister, someone you love even when you don’t necessarily like her.

You glance up from the iPad balanced in your hands, disinterested.  “Who?”

There’s an older couple striding past the entrance, hand-in-hand with three Hermes bags.  (God, what awful taste.)  There’s another couple standing at the mouth of the Louis Vuitton boutique, bickering about which belt will best match the boyfriend’s tux best.  (The answer is neither, because those belts do not belong with a classic black tux.)

“Him.”

Yejin all but points him out, jerking her chin in his direction.  You don’t know how you hadn’t really clocked him in the first place.  Maybe because he’s so unassuming that you’d just brushed over him, noting his outfit before moving on.  When you look at him - really look at him - you can’t look away.

You think he’s handsome in that off-kilter kind of way, too-big teeth and too-wide eyes.  He’s terribly innocent looking, despite the fact that he’s wearing a gleaming gold Rolex and sleek black boots you recognise from Prada’s 2019 RTW.  Everything he wears is tailored, fitting him to the point you wonder who his seamstress  is.  

But then he speaks, and it’s not the suave, sultry voice you’d expect.  It’s featherlight and almost shy, bashful in its delivery.  

“I’m here to pick up a bag for my girlfriend?”  He upspeaks.  It’s stupidly adorable.

Bless her soul, Yejin throws a glance in your direction first.  A silent ‘yours or mine?’ that’s answered when you step forward, blindingly bright customer service smile in full effect.  “What’s the item and the name it’s under?”  You keep in mind he’s said girlfriend very clearly, even as you can’t help but trail your stare over his shoulders, the dimple that digs itself into his cheek when he speaks again.

“Oh, it’s under mine.  Jungkook. Jeon Jungkook.” 

You’re floored.  This is Jeon Jungkook?  This specimen draped in leather and fine Japanese silk is the poor idiot wrapped around Barbie’s finger?  You’ve got to be kidding.

You wonder whether the surprise is evident on your face.  It must be, given how quickly Yejin interrupts, piping up in that saccharine sweet voice of hers.  “I’ll grab it!  The Box bag in cloud, right?”

Jungkook can only nod dumbly.  He has no idea what he’s there to pick up - only that he needs to because his girlfriend is away on a trip with her two best female friends.  He tells you as much, chuckling at his own ignorance.  It’d be cute if it weren’t so sad, his eyes twinkling like the jewels set in your ears.  There’s so much love in his eyes it’s frankly sickening.  

It comes before you can help it, snapping off your tongue - an oil spill ready to drag him to the depths of hell.

“Oh - you’re Kiko’s boyfriend?  I thought you’d left for Hong Kong already.”  Your head tilts - the picture of innocence as you continue to spew things you shouldn’t, staining the innocence of his expression with each word that drops off.  “She said she was leaving on Friday.”  Even while you’re tearing this poor man’s life apart, you’re racking your brain for the off-handed comments she’d made.  “She kept going on and on about how she was so excited to be staying at the Ritz.”

It’s almost like you gain some sick sort of satisfaction in watching his face fall.  You’ve never seen someone crumble so quickly, every ounce of affection swept up and spat out in the time it takes you to take a solid, proper breath.  

You do feel bad.  Not for saying it, but for being the person to do this.  For hurting this stranger.  (At least he knew?)

“I think you have me mistaken for someone else.”  Gone is the sunny friendliness, the blissful geniality.  He’s very much uncertain, bunny teeth digging into the full swell of his bottom lip.  He’s pigeon-toed and round-shouldered, thick brows drawn neatly over his stare as he focuses on some indeterminate point somewhere by his feet. 

If Yejin were on the floor with you, she’d tell you to knock it off.  Chastise you for getting involved in something you had no business being in.  (She’d be right, but you’ve always been an advocate for tough love.)  As it stands, she’s still in the back finding that stupid girl’s bag and you’re here, shaking your head, weakening Jungkook’s resolve with the edge of your teeth.  “No, she definitely said she was going away with her boyfriend.  Did you maybe give us the wrong name?”

Maybe if he weren’t so upset, he’d be more offended by the insinuation he’s stupid.  Instead, he only falters further, head mimicking yours.  Poor guy.

“I—I think there’s been a mistake.”

Yeah, you dating that gold-digger, you want to say.  Instead, you meet his stare like you haven’t just dug a thousand holes in his foundation.  “Oh, maybe.  I’m sorry.”  The apology is honest, even if the meaning behind it isn’t.  That’s a thing, right?  Apologising to make someone feel better, even when you don’t necessarily agree with it?  

God, you’re an altruist. 

“It’s fine.”  When he stutters, adorable lisp coming out to play, you know it’s not.  You applaud him for his brave face, even if it’s very poorly offered - a makeshift mask you think you could tear off with just another well-aimed word.  (You won’t.)

“Here it is!”  Yejin’s back, bouncing out from behind the counter with the giant white bag in her hands.  If she notices the atmosphere, she says nothing.  You remind yourself to tell her good job once Jungkook leaves - and you know he’ll leave the moment he’s got those silk handles in his hand.  He looks about ready to cry - or ready to fight, you’re not sure.

Once the purchase is passed over, he nods his head furiously and you swear you see a tear go flying.  You don’t have time to ask before he’s hoofing it out of the store.  

He doesn’t even notice he’s left his wallet on the counter.

By the time you snatch it up and round the corner, he’s nowhere to be found.  Probably because running in stilettos is next to impossible and he’s gotten an embarrassed head start.  Well then.

“I guess we’ll have to call him,”  you hum, turning the Prada bi-fold over and over in your hands.  It’s practically brand new, stuffed with large bills, his driver’s license, and few credit cards, including a Hyundai black card.  The same one on file that his girlfriend - maybe soon-to-be ex-girlfriend? - uses shamelessly.

Yejin’s watching you carefully, silently.  You’re counting down how long it’ll be until she asks - because you can see the curiosity swimming in her eyes, practically bulging her cheeks with the effort of keeping her questions caged behind her teeth.

Finally, after a good three minutes, she’s at your side, bony point of her chin digging a grave into your shoulder.  It’s probably not the most appropriate thing but she’s never much been one for decorum.  (You either, but still.) 

“So… what was that about?”

You don’t bother to turn when you speak, back to running through order details and matching them with customers.  “What?”

“You know— that!”  She waves her wrist in a circle, gesturing toward the space Jungkook had occupied not five minutes ago.  “He ran out of here like he was scared for his life.”

“Scared of the truth,”  you correct. 

You hadn’t thought it was possible for her to get more pale - she’s already fine porcelain, perpetually slathered in sunscreen - but she somehow does, balking at your response.  There it is. 

“What?”  There’s a reproachful edge to her words, an uncertainty that tells more than the single syllable. 

“What?”  It’s mimicry and a challenge all in one, meeting her stare from the corner of your periphery.  You can read every emotion that runs through her expression:  shock, displeasure, confusion.  

She retreats a step, bottom lip caught between her teeth.  (She really does remind you of your little sister.)  “So, you told him?”

You shrug, a noncommittal gesture that disrupts the curtain of silk that falls over your shoulder.  You hadn’t laid it out for him but surely he had an idea now.  There was no way he didn’t. 

“I pointed out a few conflicting facts.  That’s all.”  You’re not ashamed about what you’ve done.  You’d want to know if you were him.  Consider it an act of goodwill. 

The silence that meets your ears isn’t surprising but you don’t pay it any further mind.  What’s done is done.  Now he knows, or something close to it.  The chips would simply fall where they were meant to. 

You have to admit - you’re rooting for him. 

Whatever Yejin’s thinking, she keeps it to herself for the rest of the shift.  She knows better than to berate you about something like this, not that she would anyway.  Obnoxious as she can be, you have an understanding.  It strengthens your not-quite-close-friends-but-more-than-colleagues relationship. 

It’s only at the end of your shift that she brings it up again, drifting over to you as you complete your cash count for the evening. 

She holds Jungkook’s wallet in her hand, mouth pursed thoughtfully as she taps it against the edge of the counter.  “You have to call him.”

You almost lose your count, finishing with a pinched expression.  “Whoever works tomorrow morning can call him.”  You’re not brushing off the responsibility - you really could care less - but simply passing it along to the next person.  Sensible. 

As it turns out, you’re the person who works the next morning, called in because another associate has come down with a cold.  

You’re two lattes deep when you remember the wallet, tucked neatly behind the counter with a yellow sticky note posted to the front.  You suppose it’s your responsibility now.  You know if Yejin comes in tomorrow and sees it, she’ll give you her childish brand of hell. 

The line rings twice before it picks up, that oddly familiar voice crackling through the speaker.  “Hello?”

“Jungkook?”  

There’s a beat of silence followed by a careful confirmation. “Yes, that’s me?”  Upspeaking again. How cute. 

“I’m calling from the CELINE boutique.”  You can practically imagine the look on his face, eyes as wide as saucers as he recalls the awful-to-him encounter.  “You left your wallet here and I wanted to make sure you got it back.”

“O-oh, uh—“  It’s like encountering a baby bunny - or deer or something equally adorable and vulnerable.  “Thanks.  I didn’t even notice.  Um, I can come pick it up today?”  There’s another pause, the sound of fingers over a screen, and then he’s back.  “Is that okay?”

Leave it to him to have lost his wallet and yet be worried about putting someone else out.  He truly was a sucker. 

“That’s fine.  We’re open until six tonight.”  

“I’ll be there before dinner.”  As if realizing how vague that is, he continues, words running headlong into each other like he can’t get them out fast enough.  “Before six, I mean.  Um, is around five-thirty okay?” 

You want to tell him to just come whenever, that it really doesn’t matter to you, but that probably isn’t going to help the situation.  Instead, you hum a quiet sound of confirmation.  “Of course.  We’ll see you then.” 

He hangs up immediately. 

The second time you meet Jeon Jungkook, he’s just as endearing as the last.  It’s actually surprising, if you’re being honest.  You’d thought he’d be resentful or mean or any other emotion better fitting someone whose entire world had turned upside-down.

As it stands, he’s just the right-side of anxious, a hundred little sparks of uncertainty flaring beneath his skin and lighting him up in neon.  You can see him from a mile away he’s lit up so bright, seemingly uncomfortable in his own skin.

Your heart aches for him - and then it skips, almost trips over its own two feet when he wanders into the store with his hands dug deep into the pocket of his pants.

How he looks tonight is nothing like how he’d looked yesterday.  Somehow, you like it more.  The undone head-to-toe Balenciaga, the unruly curl of his dark hair.  It’s effortlessly chic - though you think it might have something to do with the fact that he’s just an attractive person.  (Good-looking people could get away with anything - even god-awful fashion faux pas.)

At the sight of you, he seems to further lose steam, eyes widening to such an extent you briefly worry for him.  Surely they’ll fall out of their sockets one day.  

“O-oh.  It’s you.”  The moment the words come, he’s blushing the colour of your red-soled shoes, horrified.  “I m-mean, just—”  He takes a deep breath, finds his footing and tries again.  “You’re the girl that helped me yesterday.”  Spoken like you, the exact girl who helped him yesterday, wouldn’t remember that fact yourself.  

“That’s right,”  you say evenly, expression neutral.  It’s almost as if that surprises him more - as if he’d expected you to shy away from the knowledge.  

The two of you stare at each other for longer than is strictly speaking necessary.  Well, you stare at him and he kind of bounces his eyes around the room.  You know he can’t be that interested in the croc stamp Belt bag behind your head or the selection of small leather goods in the glass case.  

He’s so awkward.

(You did kind of ruin his day though, so you can’t blame him.)

“So, um, my wallet?”  He’s made barely any headway, still lingering awkwardly by the front of the store.  You can’t help your smile - it’s more of a smirk - as you raise the item in question.  

“Right here.”

Jungkook glances from it to your face, then back again.  He makes the same trip twice more.  “Can I have it?”  To your surprise, he’s taken two whole steps toward you, brow furrowed.  He’s still terribly soft, rounded edges and innocent eyes, but he’s making progress.  Good job, you think.

“Of course.”  You mirror him, moving out from behind the counter.  Somehow, that’s not the right move, because his features are breaking and rearranging, big bunny teeth worrying a hole straight through his bottom lip.  You’d think he’d be more confident, more demanding, more… everything.  (You quite like that he isn’t - a complete anomaly - but you also imagine it’s also to his detriment.  Too much honey, not enough vinegar.)

This time, he closes the distance with three long strides.  It hadn’t escaped you how tall he was, the length of his gait - after all, you’d tried to run after him - but you’re still a little surprised when he’s in front of you, not a foot away, arm extended.  Palm out, he asks again, all while refusing eye contact.  “May I have it, please?” 

You hand it over with a soft laugh, pressing the grained leather into his hand.  You expect him to retreat immediately and he does - but then he turns and his expression is inscrutable.  Is he going to say thank you?  Berate you for what you’d done yesterday?

Neither, it seems.  “Why did you do it?”  There’s no anger, just an abiding sadness that laces his words, turns them the saddest shade of blue.

“Do it?”  You know what he means.  You ask anyway.

“Why did you tell me?”  Jungkook’s doing that thing again, alternating between biting his tongue and chewing his cheek as he stares at you.  You can practically see the melancholy rolling off him;  it shines dark on the depths of his irises, how his fist trembles just barely at his side.  For all his good looks and leisurely charm, you can see the effort it takes to hold himself together now.

Guilt ascends, starts somewhere deep in your stomach and turns stomach acid to butterflies.  It creeps higher and higher over your spine, locking each vertebrae until you’re immobile, unable to tear your gaze from his.  “I thought you deserved to know.”

“But why?” 

“What do you mean?”  

It’s almost comical, how both your expressions descend into bewilderment - like looking into a fun house mirror.  He’s trying to wrap his mind around your actions and you’re just trying to make sense of his confusion.  

You anticipate a response - can see it tittering on the tip of his tongue - but he seems to think better of it, shaking his head.  It dislodges a wayward curl from behind his ear, silver twinkling with the movement.  

“Thank you” is all he offers before speed-walking away.

You don’t expect to see Jeon Jungkook for a third time.  

He’s waiting for you when you end your shift on Thursday, standing somewhere between the two boutiques, loitering like some kind of gremlin.  (Except he’s dressed exceptionally well, slick black jeans and a Balenciaga tee shirt that rivals the cost of your shoes.  Of course he’d get away with hanging out in the store without being told off.)

“Excuse me.”  For once, he doesn’t sutter.  The lisp doesn’t present itself, either.  Was this the same Jungkook?  You’re not sure until you meet his stare - or try, his own skipping away the moment you make contact.

There he is.

“Yes, Jungkook?”  He flinches, as if he isn’t expecting you to know or say his name.  How can someone so big, so broad across the shoulders with a face that belongs on billboards, look like such a terrified rabbit?  It makes no sense to you.

“Can we talk?”  The stare he levels you with is unfair, too sweet and coaxing for you to even consider saying no.  You’ll still mess with him a bit though.

“We are talking.”

He sputters at that, hacks out a cough that makes you snicker openly.  It’s just so easy with him, like taking candy from a baby.  

“I mean like— talk talk.”  The set of his jaw gives away the whisper of frustration, the fleeting touch of exasperation that doesn’t allow itself to live anywhere else.  His eyes are still soft, round and glossy beneath the fluorescent storelight.  

“Sure, we can talk talk.”  

“Did you, um, want to grab dinner?”

You don’t mean to mock him (at least, not really) but he just makes everything so easy. You hope he doesn’t take it the wrong way.  “Are you asking me on a date?”  

“W-what?  No!”  Despite the immediacy of his response - the look of utter shock that cracks the careful facade - he’s burning bright, cheeks aflame with colour that licks up and over his ears.  “I just— I thought you’d want to talk somewhere else—”

“I’m kidding.  Let’s go.”

You move first, stepping past him and onto the elevator without a backwards glance.  He scampers after you, trails like a lost puppy in the wake of your shadow.  Even while you stand in the corner, waiting for the lift to meet the main floor, he keeps a careful distance, hands jammed into the pockets of his jeans.  

“So, what do you want to talk about?”  It seems you have to take the initiative, throwing him a curious stare as the floor number ticks down.  His gaze is trained on neon digits, unmoving.  You repeat yourself, glancing up at him, half-tempted to nudge him out of his reverie.  It’s almost like talking to a really hot brick wall.  “Jungkook?”

He tears out of his thoughts like a wayward bullet, head swivelling wildly.  “Huh?”  

“What did you want to talk about?”  

“Um—”  He hesitates, not as if he doesn’t know the answer, but rather that he’s hesitant to speak it into existence.  There’s a tidal wave in the depth of his stare, a cresting wave that looks on the edge of breaking.  “—m-me?”

Brows furrow then amusement spills out.  “You want to talk about… you?”  

“That sounds bad.”  The shape of his grow prominent over his bottom lip, his mouth pulling and pursing with whatever maelstrom exists inside that pretty skull of his.  

“It’s fine.  We’ll talk at dinner.”  

He nods.  You think it means thank you.

Sitting across from each other in the Michelin-starred restaurant - a sought after spot that takes reservations weeks in advance - it’s easy to imagine Jungkook is just another guy.  Another bachelor with too much money and not enough sense, eager to sink his teeth into his next victim.  

It’s hilarious how far that is from the truth.

“What did you want to eat?”  He’s speaking into the pages of the leatherbound menu, half his face hidden.  Whether it’s a defense mechanism or just how he woos pretty girls, you’re not sure.  (You have a feeling it’s the former.)

“Whatever.”  Everything here is incredible.  You really don’t mind.

Jungkook’s face falls, folds in on itself like wet paper and you sigh a sound that further breaks apart the pillars keeping his composure in place.  His right cheek is hollowed, interior being shredded by enamel.  You take pity on him then, flipping open the menu with a great flourish. 

When the waitress - a lovely little thing whose gaze lingers on your dining partner for too long to just be polite - comes to take your order, you rattle off your usual order, doubling certain selections.  Soft-spoken as he might be, you have a feeling the size of his stomach makes up for all the mumbling and half-hearted glances.

“So?”  You level him with a stare over the rim of your glass, lavender and lemonade bursting across your tongue.  

He echoes you, wide-eyed and Bambi-like and stupidly cute.  “So?”  

“What did you want to talk about?”  If you’d had a worse day, if you were a lesser person, you might be irritated by having to repeat yourself so often.  As it stands, you’re only curious, your inquisitive nature outweighing your naturally short temper. 

“Oh.”  Poor boy looks like he’s been asked an impossible question, like what’s the meaning of life or the secret to eternal youth.  He fumbles with the edge of his sleeve, turns the plaid over and over in his fingers as if it were a puzzle.  You stare at him the whole time, unflinching, unrelenting.  He’d asked you here so you damn well expect an answer.

You’re about ready to repeat yourself - fourth time’s the charm? - when he finally finds his voice.

“I wanted to say thank you.”

It’s not the answer you’d expected.  It whacks you in the face, smacking your usual confidence out of place and shooting your carefully threaded eyebrows into your hairline.  “What?” 

He’s terribly uncomfortable, unhappy with being on the spot.  You watch the flicker of emotions through his face, the ones that creep into the delicate skin beneath his eyes, the wobble of his bottom lip.  Try as he might, he can’t keep the light from his eyes - twinkling stars that bloom like newly minted stars.

“Thank you.”  It’s just that much harder when he repeats himself, edges he builds with his bare hands and a clearing of his throat.

You’re silent for a long while - long enough for the first few plates to be set before you.  You gather up shredded radish and perfectly charred beef with your chopsticks, chewing thoughtfully on the morsel.  Jungkook doesn’t move - doesn’t even reach for his chopsticks - and simply stares at you.  You might find it off-putting if it were anyone but him.

You get through half the bowl of green beans, well on your way to finishing it, when he finally begins eating, deftly transferring little bites to his bowl.

The only sound is crunching - king oyster mushroom tempura, ice from your cocktail - and you’re pleasantly surprised to find it’s not uncomfortable.  A little different, sure, but altogether nice.  Like dining with an old friend.

You finally answer when half the plates are gone, another three laid out in their wake.  You’re careful not to speak with your mouth open - you notice Jungkook doesn’t either - and take a long sip of your water.  “You’re welcome, I guess.”  

Something tells you you’re always surprising him - whether intentionally or not.  His eyebrows have a tendency to shoot up, making him look even more shocked than he normally does.  (Seriously, how big are his eyes?)  You find that funny but don’t comment on it, opting to pop a silken piece of black cod into your mouth.  Your stare never falters, trained on his face as you chew thoughtfully.

“What?”  He’s had enough of your quiet observation, apples of his cheeks reminiscent of the tree in your parents’ backyard.  

“What?”  You parrot back, shameless, dark eyes twinkling at him.

“Y-you’re staring at me.”  

“You’re sitting in front of me.”

The line of his mouth hardens then, tongue rolling against his cheek in a gesture that stands out.  It’s the first glimpse of something rude, something not doe-eyed and innocent.  Oh?

“You don’t have to stare.”  Said with a speared piece of sashimi, the end of his chopsticks assaulting the poor piece of bluefin tuna like it has personally offended him.  

You reach for the same place, knock ornate wood against his, and quirk a brow when he meets your stare.  “Does it bother you, Mr. Jeon?”  The inflection is drawn out, almost mocking, only softened by the smile you offer.  

“That’s not my name.”  The bite disappears past his teeth.  You expect him to continue three chews later but he only goes for another, filling his plate and then his mouth.

“Sorry— Jungkook.  Does my staring bother you?”

It feels a little like playing with fire - holding your hand too close to a flickering flame, curious what it’ll do.  Juvenile in a way but enticing in another.  You’ve never met anyone quite like Jeon Jungkook.

“It’s rude,”  he reasons, glossy eyes meeting yours for perhaps the fifth time that evening.

“Maybe I’m just rude.”

He shakes his head then - dislodges untamed strands from behind his silver-lined ears - and sets his chopsticks down.  (Perfectly matched up, propped against the provided rest.)  “You’re not.”

You can’t keep the surprise away, the emotion threading through your brows to tie them into a little knot of consternation.  He says it so readily, as if he knows you and this isn’t one of a handful of very short, very unexpected conversations.  He’s not even looking away, meeting your stare with a confidence that surprises you.  

It lasts for all of five more seconds before he clears his throat and sips at his tea.  Anything to busy his hands, you think.

“You don’t know that,”  you finally return, after what seems like too long.

“I do.”  He nods - almost to himself - and continues, matter-of-fact.  “You care about people.  You’re… hard around the edges but you don’t mean to hurt anyone.  You want to do what’s right.  Sometimes it means you have to do things that aren’t easy.”

For once, you’re at a loss for words.  Really and truly silenced, unable to articulate anything that might beat back the kindness he’s offering.  

How the tables have turned.

He likes waffles with chocolate syrup rather than honey.  He doesn’t like whipped cream or citrus-flavoured desserts.  He has a tailor he’s gone to since he was a child, the same elderly woman he sometimes calls halmoni because she’s watched him grow up.  He decorates his apartment with the most random things:  limited edition KAWs figurines and the guitars he still hasn’t had the most practice with, one of a kind paintings from the gallery one of his best friends curates.  He buys the most expensive bottles of wine at any given restaurant not because his palate is so evolved it matters, but because it’s what he’s been taught to do.

He’s been in four serious relationships in his twenty-five years.  All of them have ended poorly, though his latest with Malibu Barbie is the first where he’d been cheated on.  (Somehow, you doubt that but you don’t voice this disbelief.)  He tends to lean towards long-term relationships with women who baby him (your words, not his).  He scoffs when you call him a serial monogamist, insists he isn’t even as you list out all the facts pointing otherwise.

“I just… don’t like wasting my time,”  he insists from behind his coffee cup.  

“You mean you don’t like the potential to be hurt.”  

Jungkook blinks at you then, Bambi eyes so big and bright you almost want to laugh.  “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”  He seems confused - as if his reasoning is solid, irrefutable. 

“High risk, high reward, Jungkookie.”  It’s something your father had taught you years ago, the crazy old sap.  It’s probably why he’s had three divorces since you were seven years old, but you suppose it’s worked out for him now.  He’s been happily married for the last ten years - the longest relationship he’s ever had.  Youngin is good for him, though.  You like her - even if you sometimes wish she weren’t young enough to be your older sister and not his wife.

“You say that a lot.”

“I mean it when I say it.”

He’s quiet then, shoving a corner of his croissant past his lips.  When he speaks - starts to, anyway - his mouth is still full and you level him with a look that silences him until all traces of the pastry are gone.  “Girls are scary.”

You laugh.  Cackle, really.  You can’t help it.  He says it with a pout, the expression so utterly at odds with the offensively revealing shirt he wears, the smooth unblemished skin of his chest almost too much for such a quiet afternoon.  He glares at you across the table, shoves another piece of the flaky golden treat into his mouth, and waits for you to speak.  He knows you’re going to give him a piece of your mind because you always do, rebuffing 99% of the things he says.  (Sometimes for fun, often with good intentions.)

“Heights are scary.  Death is scary.  Leaving your wallet at home when you’re low on gas is scary—”

“Don’t you have Apple Pa—”

“Don’t interrupt.”  He clamps his lips shut, folding his arms across his chest.  From anyone else, it’d be a defensive gesture;  from him, it’s patient.  “Girls aren’t scary.  Having real feelings for people is scary, but that doesn’t mean you should just stay with people who don’t deserve you.” 

“Not all of us have cheater-sniffing noses.”  

You suppose he’s right but the fact still remains that he’s too nice for his own good.  Too trusting, too lenient, too blind to all the red flags.  Like he’s living life in greyscale. 

“Well, that’s what you have me for.”

The look Jungkook gives you then is incredulous, screwing his pretty face up as if he’s about to sneeze.  Instead, he laughs.  “I’m not hopeless.”

“Oh, but you are.”  You’re adamant, insistent.  He’s more comfortable with you now - sometimes teases you in a way you’d never have expected weeks ago - but he’s still so soft.  An absolute marshmallow dressed in designer duds, a heart of gold wrapped up in a bubble gum package.  

You want to protect him, teach him to fly.  Be his wingwoman until he’s soaring the skies on his own.  

You know it’s not his pride that keeps him from saying yes.  He doesn’t have an abundance of that, far too gracious to ever deny help when he really needs it.  He’s just shy, doesn’t know what he wants until it’s staring him right in the face.  

“Fine,”  he agrees after you’ve stared at him for too long.  It’s one of his weaknesses - his inability to handle attention when it’s laser-focused.  It makes him sweat, prompts his nervous habit of chewing at his bottom lip, long fingers picking at the peach fuzz on his cheeks.

“You won’t regret it.”

Jeon Jungkook has gone on six dates over the last ten days.  You know, because you’ve helped him pick out outfits for each of them, seated at the edge of his bed with your knees folded and a bag of white cheddar popcorn in your grubby little paws.

It’s not that he isn’t stylish - you both know he is - but there’s a certain finesse to dressing for dates, to knowing the likes and dislikes of your potential partner and playing to those.  

He, to no one's surprise, does not have this finesse.  If it were up to him, he’d wear his favourite clothes every day, different jeans and joggers in medium-wash denim and impossibly soft cotton.  He’d swap his Balenciaga separates in and out and stick with the finely tailored Gucci suit he calls his lucky ticket (ew).  He’d live in those stupid two-toned sneakers and barely do his hair, allowing it to become a powder puff reminiscent of old Hollywood movies.

The girls would probably still love it.  (It’s easy to love him.)

“What do you think?”  It’s low-cut black, relaxed in the shoulders and flattering in the torso.  It holds him just right, hugging the muscle that threads across his shoulders like armour, coils around his upper arms and makes his tattoos stand in stark relief where the sleeves end, mid-forearm. 

It looks good— but then again, a lot of things look good on him.  He wants great.

You answer honestly, because that’s what you do and that’s what he has you there for.  To knock him down when his (admittedly small) ego gets a little too big, remind him of his hubris like the summer sun upon his candle wax wings.  “Not bad…”

You don’t even need to finish the thought for him to be tugging the shirt over his head, back flexed, ink-strewn fingers gripping the hem.  

Not for the first time, you’re reminded of just how unfair life is. 

How had Jungkook - bona fide dork, certifiable shy guy - been gifted one of the best bodies in human existence?  (You wish you were joking.)  It was utterly absurd, a complete waste on someone who’d only learnt to utilise his good looks in the last five months you’d known him.  

“This one?”  He’s grabbing another hanger, all but thrusting it into your face.  Medium-weight cashmere.  Probably too hot for a night like tonight but you’ve seen it on him before and it hugs him like a lover, displaying his best assets (titties) and drawing attention to the narrow shape of his waist.  It’s the equivalent of a little black dress.

“Look at you go,”  you tease, mouth full of mirth and popcorn kernels.  “Throw that Juun.J trench you have overtop and you’ll be set.”

Jungkook nods sagely, as if your word is law.  You suppose it is.

“Thanks, ____,.”  He says it in that sweet way of his, eyes lost to the weight of his gratitude.  

Your response is a shrug.  “Bring me back some dessert and we’ll be even.”  You don’t know where he’s going tonight but you figure it’s one of the many restaurants you’d recommended earlier in the week when he’d started lining up his various dates.  You know there’ll be something good on the menu.  

He promises he will as he slides the turtleneck on, tucking it into the dark trousers he’d picked up days ago, and redoes the slim black Rag & Bone belt around his waist.  You have to admit - you’ve done another great job of styling him.  Simple yet painstakingly attractive, playing at all the little bits of Jungkook’s best qualities without outlining them in bright red ink.  Understated but elegant, effortless yet seriously hot.  

Maybe you should quit your day job and become the female Hitch.  That was a viable plan, right?

You’re mulling it over when you realise your walking Ken doll is making toward his bedroom door, wallet clasped in one hand and phone in the other.  “Hey!  You’re leaving already?”  It’s polite surprise that colours your words, stare drawn to the screen of your iPhone.  It’s only 6 PM and the reservation isn’t for another hour.

There’s a sheepish look creeping over his features, painting itself in delicate strokes that you spy past the line of his smile, how the skin crinkles around his eyes.  For a moment, he’s the shy Jungkook you’d met in your store and not the one that now bleeds careful confidence, filling his little black book (read: phone contacts) with names as easily as he breathes.  “I was, uh, going to stop and get f-flowers.”  A silver-lined hand scrubs across his nape, dislodges the carefully styled waves he’s settled for.

Flowers, huh?  Well, that’s certainly something new.  Good for him, you think. 

“Jeon Jungkook, going all out.”  It’s heavy on the teasing, playful mockery lending a warmth to your words.  “She’s special.”

Which you’d figured, given he was seeing her.  Repeats were rare for him now that he’d learned how to weed out the bad seeds, held his hand a little closer to his heart (at least, sometimes).  Since he’d started dating again, this would be the first time he’d be going on a second date.  It’s a big deal. 

“Yeah—“  Nervousness sparks across his face, lights up his stare like the stars in the night sky.  “I guess she is.”

You smile fondly, like a proud mother.  “Go get ‘em, tiger.”  

“I will,”  he promises, looking so giddy it makes your heart swell ten sizes.  

You don’t even think anything of it as you follow him out of his room, bag of popcorn neatly rolled under your arm and your socks slid back into place.  It’s only when he levels you with a strange stare, pauses in the shrugging on of his coat, that you return his look.  “What?”

“Where are you going?”

“Leaving?”  

“Why?”

Wasn’t that the million dollar question?  

You don’t normally leave, usually waiting here at home for him until he returns to give you a rundown of his date (and the promised appetizer/dessert/whatever).  It feels somehow wrong to stay, though, as if you’re taking up space that doesn’t belong to you.  He’s going on a second date, after all.  Soon enough, he won’t need your help picking out clothes or deciding on a restaurant.  You won’t get to curl up on your usual corner of his sectional, wrapped up in the obnoxiously soft blanket you’d convinced him to buy one night while online shopping.

But it’s fine.  Totally, one hundred and ten percent fine.  The two of you are friends.  You’d always expected - anticipated, hoped - this day would come.  Baby boy was growing up. 

“Y’know.”  You answer a second too late and he’s still wearing that odd expression, handsome face flooded with something that looks like disappointment.  It flickers in the bits of his stare you can make out past his fringe, partially concealed by the dark silk that you know feels as soft as it looks.

“I know?”  He never tries to read your mind - knows it’s utterly useless.  

You wiggle your hand dismissively.  “Second date and all that.”  

Jungkook giggles - the same deceptively sweet sound he always makes - and finishes tugging his jacket on.  It fits him so well it should be illegal, falling to his knees and ending just shy of the intricate laces of his boots.  “Just stick around.  I’ll drive you home when I get back.”

It’s something he always does - his way of saying thank you for putting up with all of his first date jitters, his outfit changes, his worrying over how to first approach a girl on Tinder - so you don’t doubt him.  “Fine.  I’ll stay.”

He beams, caught halfway out the door.  “Tell me to break a leg.”

“Go break her back,”  you retort to the sound of his laughter.

You’re almost asleep when your phone starts going off, the vibrations jolting you awake.  It rattles across the glass table, won’t shut the hell up until you’re slamming your hand atop it, glaring at the screen as it lights up with notifications.

It’s almost 2 AM and they’re from Jungkook.  This can only mean one thing.

from jeon jungkook:  Hey. from jeon jungkook:  I’m really sorry but I won’t be home tonight. from jeon jungkook:  If you want to stay over, I can drive you back in the morning. from jeon jungkook:  Please don’t be mad.

Leave it to him to apologise for getting his dick wet - to feel bad about having a successful second date.  It makes you laugh as you stare down at the texts, tap a quick response you know will have his heart racing.  (Even after months of friendship, it’s hard not to tease him just a little bit.)

to jeon jungkook:  i officially hate you

The typing notification gives him away immediately, but the moment you do the same, he stops.  Of course.  He hates confrontation - would rather leap off a cliff-face than deal with negative emotions.  (He’d told you that once, over a night of beer and fried tteok.)

to jeon jungkook:  it’s fine!  have fun! to jeon jungkook:  turn her world upside down 😏

He doesn’t answer after that but the read receipt pops up.  Good, you think.  About time he finds someone nice.  You wonder what she’ll be like when you meet her.  

Jungkook’s third date comes with another third - you.

He drags you along to dinner, insisting there’s nothing at all weird about the fact.  He has to repeat it at least four times during the drive there, head nodding like a plastic bobblehead as he weaves in and out of traffic. 

“I want you to meet her,”  he mumbles, like that makes it better.  As if bringing a friend along to a date with that reasoning means it’s totally acceptable and not on the list of Hard No’s When Dating.

“Don’t you think that’s kind of weird?”  He’s too focused on changing lanes to answer you, signalling before seamlessly drifting over.  (He’s an impressively responsible driver, but that’s unsurprising.)  You repeat yourself.

“It’s not… weird.”  But you have a feeling that he knows how odd the request is.  Knows and doesn’t care, unfortunately.  “She wants to meet you too.”

(When had Jungkook turned into this person who argued with you?)

You somehow highly doubt that.  No girl in her right mind would leap at the chance to meet her potential beau’s wingwoman.  It’s something reserved for official status, when the foundation is set.  Still, you play into his hand, level him with a stare he should recognise.  It’s the one you throw his way any time he’s too nice, gives a mile when he shouldn’t even offer an inch.  (It doesn’t come as often anymore, but it still makes appearances once in a while.)  

“What does she even know about me?”

“That we’re friends.”  His vague response speaks volumes.  The look changes - grows into a glare that has him furtively peeking at you from the corner of his periphery.  When he speaks, it feels like a dead giveaway.  “That I really value your opinion.”

You groan, a noise so loud it rattles around in the car and interrupts the ballad playing through the speakers.

“She’s trying to figure out if I’m competition or not!”  Of course.  It’s obvious.  She wants to know what she’s getting into it before things get too serious, determine if her Prince Charming is really all that.  (He is.)  “I’m not coming to dinner.”  

“You’re already in the car,”  he reasons.  

You note he doesn’t deny your first statement, mouth rounding into a pout that should crush your resolve.  Instead, it drives you mad, irritation bubbling in your throat.

“I just won’t go in.”

“____,.”  When he says it like that, it’s hard to deny him.  Jungkook might not utilise his charms often but when he does, it’s lethal.  Undeniable with those dumb Bambi eyes of his.

“No.”

“____,,”  he repeats, almost pleading.  You can’t look at him.  You won’t.  The moment you do, you’ll be sucked into the swirling vortex that makes up his stare - a million pretty little lights caught in the brown of his iris, so many possibilities you’d lose yourself trying to explore them all.

You last a whole ten seconds before his staring becomes too much, those round eyes tracking you in the rearview mirror until you’re relenting, softening in the way that only he can cause. 

“Fine.”  You hate how it sounds rolling off your tongue, terse and a little pissed off.  You’re not actually mad.  Just worried.  You’ve seen situations like this play out - not that you’ve been in this position before - but female friends and potential girlfriends just don’t go hand-in-hand.  It takes a very special kind of person to facilitate a meeting this early and you are not that person.  You’re ragged edges, uneven temperament, distrust that you can’t help.

Jungkook knows that.  Should, anyway.  You’ve grown close over the last nearly half a year.  

When he mumbles a quiet sorry, turns to rest his chin against his knuckles as he drives, you know he means it.  He’d never put you in this position if it didn’t mean a lot to him - if his own happiness wasn’t somehow also on the line.  (Truthfully, it’s your fault.  All that self-love encouragement was coming back to bite you in the ass.)

You grumble an obligatory acceptance as the streetlights fly by.  You’ve got a reputation to uphold. 

“You’re paying for my dinner.”

“Of course.”

How many times have you pictured this same situation, watched it unfold on your television screen as the protagonist gasps wildly, hand at their throat?  How many times have you laughed at the exchange, snickering into your palm as the romantic interest makes some wild declaration of love and wins the protagonist’s heart?

Answer:  you’ve lost count.

Still, it doesn’t prepare you to be thrust beneath the spotlight, half-dreaming and terribly confused.  

“What’re you doing here?”  At any other time, it might be as reproachful as you want, full of disapproval and sleepiness.  Here and now, it’s slurred speech and the lines of your pillow dug into the softness of your cheek, lashes dusted with sleep and breath freshly minted.

Jungkook’s oddly surprised, considering he’s appeared unannounced at your doorstep at the crack of dawn (not really).  “C-can I come in?”

You don’t budge.  It’s not because you’re about to say no, but because you’re still really tired.  So tired you stare at him for a moment too long, zoning out as you drink in his appearance.  He’s wearing the clothes from last night - the same animal-print silk shirt that hangs obscenely low and reveals too much skin.  You recognise it because you’d picked it out for his date.  

(The one where he was supposed to ask Jiwon to be his girlfriend, you fail to note.)  

You repeat yourself around a yawn, ignoring the way your vowels crash into each other and barely make it to the light of day.  “What’re you doing, Jungkookie?”

“Please let me in,”  the doe-eyed prince at your door mumbles, gaze bouncing somewhere beyond your shoulder, over your face, to the wayward strands that’re the result of sleeping too well.  Everywhere but your eyes.

“Fine,”  you huff, stepping back to allow him over the threshold.  You don’t miss the way he smells - his signature cologne and something else.  If you had to guess, it’s her perfume.  It’s distinctly floral, drawing you into a garden of roses.  You don’t know if you like it.

Without a second glance, you’re shuffling away from him, dragging your slippered feet into the kitchen.  

You move on autopilot, spooning coffee grounds into the Chemex filter.  You don’t bother asking whether your surprise guest wants any - assume he does, because the fiend somehow lives on caffeine - and settle against the counter as you wait for your kettle to whistle.

You’re still so tired you feel like you might fall asleep standing up but you think you do a good enough job of levelling Jungkook with a solid stare.  “So?”

“W-what?”  

It’s been so long since you’ve last heard his stutter that it surprises you, recentres your attention from your own exhaustion and has you frowning.  Something’s happened.  Must have.  There’s no other explanation for it - for how he looks at you, so uncertain like all those months ago when you’d smashed his glass house to pieces.

“What’s going on?”  You’re demanding, full to the brim with concern as you round on him.  He flinches away as if your words have burnt him, leaning into the stainless steel side of your fridge.  

(Silly Jungkook - that won’t protect you.)

“What do you mean?”

The early hour has, luckily, dampened your usual aggression.  He’s stalling, you can tell.  You hate when he does this.  You tell him as much, glowering at him as he tries to shrink his nearly six foot frame into something small.  “You’ve showed up at my house unannounced.  What do you mean ‘what do I mean’?”

He looks as if he’s on the brink of repeating himself, biting it back behind his neat white teeth when your expression grows darker, more frustrated.

It’s impossible to stay dressed in red, lethargy swathing you up like a cocoon and softening your edges.  You sigh heavily - perhaps a little overdramatically - and go about completing your coffee ritual.  Patience works best with Jungkook, you’ve learned.  (Though, he sorely tests your own sometimes.)

With a steaming mug in your hand and the other passed over to him, you gesture toward your living room.

He nods once - a small up and down of his head.  

“So.”  You try again, softer this time, warmed by the heat that permeates ceramic and settles your sleep-ravaged nerves.  You’re seated cross-legged on your couch, facing him with your back pressed to the arm rest.  He’s half-turned to you, coffee cup slotted between his thighs.  Feet turned in, mouth wobbling with the intensity of how hard he’s chewing into his bottom lip.

“I couldn’t do it.”  The words rush out too fast, tumble into each other in such a way you have to take a second to comprehend what he’s said.  Couldn’t do… it?

You stare at each other for a long while, you trying to understand and him refusing to meet your stare.  

When realisation dawns on you, you can only imagine how you look.  It must be terrifying by how Jungkook practically tries to crawl into the cushions of your couch, shoulders rising around his ears like a turtle.

“You didn’t ask her?”  It explodes out, a question that demands an answer. 

He’s staring past your head, unblinking.  You’d almost worry he was a robot if his voice weren’t so damned human, full of melancholy and rounded by his lisp.  “I c-couldn’t.  It was just…”  The shrug he offers is half-assed at best, not nearly good enough to excuse him.

“Just what?”  

“Just—”  There’s the wiggly hand gesture you do that he’s adopted, his ink-strewn hand waving through the air like a floppy chicken foot.  He thinks it’ll earn him a pass but your unrelenting glare indicates otherwise.  He deflates, hand falling back to his lap, clutching his mug like it's a makeshift security blanket.  “It didn’t feel right.”

What did that even mean?  Feel right?  

Love didn’t just appear, fully-formed and complete.  It took work and dedication and the understanding it could all come crashing down.  Didn’t he understand that?  Hadn’t you drilled that into his head?

You exhale through gritted teeth, push breath past enamel that acts like a solid steel gate.  

“Jungkook, it’s not going to just ‘feel right.’”  You’re air quoting, all tact thrown out the window.  “You like her, don’t you?”

You expect him to nod immediately.  He doesn’t. 

“Jungkook.”

“Yeah?” 

“You like her, right?”  

“I think so.”

You want to tear your own hair out.  Instead, you press the pads of your fingers into your temple - apply pressure in hopes of alleviating the tension that settles there.  “So, you like her.”  It feels a bit bad, condescending in a way;  you don’t mean it in any way but supportive.  You just want him to be happy.  “But you couldn’t ask her out because it didn’t feel right?”

“She’s not you.”  

He’s looking at you now, looks like he might have a heart attack if he does so any longer.  But he doesn’t tear his gaze away when you meet it, entire expression warped into something you don’t recognise.  Hope, maybe?  Fear?   

“What?”  You wish it were hard rather than feather light, almost lost to the cacophony in your head.

The hollow of his cheek is thrown into stark relief, the line of his jaw clenched tight.  He repeats himself even as you’re the one looking away, shaking your head as if that might will away the irksome answer.  (It won’t.)

“Don’t say things like that.”  

It’s hurt that flashes through his expression and strikes you right in the centre of your chest.  His face crumbles, brows knit together beneath his mop of shiny hair.  He looks so terribly sad - a kicked puppy, an abandoned deer.  Bambi, through and through.

“You asked why I didn’t do it,”  he reasons in a voice far more solid than he looks.

“I didn’t think you’d say something so ridiculous.”  It’s cruel.  “You’re making a bad choice.  You’re into this girl.  Don’t be dumb.”

His features rearrange, then so do his limbs, entire body lifting from his seat in jerky, disjointed movements.  “I’m not dumb.”  There’s a reproachful quality to his words, a distaste he doesn’t bother to mask.  It’s not something you’ve ever faced, surprising you enough to draw your eyes to his face.  

He doesn’t look like the Jungkook you know.  

When he leaves - sets his cup in the sink and storms out the way he’d come before you have time to stop him - you wonder if you ever knew him at all.

“Okay.  Spill.”

Yejin’s tired of your abrasiveness, tired of having her head bitten off every time she tries to approach you with a question.  You can’t blame her.  You’ve felt like shit the last week, sleep-deprived and generally pissed off.  

All because of a doe-eyed idiot.  

“What?”  It’s less snark, more sigh.  You’re counting down the minutes until you’re free, until you can curl back up in your bed and try to sleep like you’ve done the last four days.  

“What’s going on with you?”  

“Nothing.”  

“Bullshit,”  she hums, trailing after you as you move behind the counter.  “You’ve been in a bad mood all week.  I’ve never seen you this upset like, ever.”  She’s right, of course.  You’ve always been very careful to keep business separate, pushing the customer service agenda no matter what.  “Did something happen?”  

You grit your teeth.  An expletive careens off your tongue when you slam the tip of your finger within the drawer you’d just shut.

“____,”  she tries again, concerned.  

“Nothing happened.”

“See, I don’t believe that because like, look at you!”  She gesticulates wildly, adorned wrists clinking loudly.  “You look like hell—”

“Thanks.”

“—and you’re being clumsy and like, I think I know you well enough.  So just tell me?”

You hate that she’s right.  It doesn’t mean you’ll relent, too caught up in your own strange brand of strength to unload.  (Maybe it’d be helpful.  Probably.  But you’ve never found comfort in other people.  At least, not like this.)

“Yejin.”  Her name stops her in her tracks, hurried and insistent as you pull your coat on.  “It’s fine.  Really.”  You’re swallowing your pride - practically choking on it - as you offer what you hope is a reassuring smile.  “I just need to get some sleep.”  And figure out what the hell to do about Jungkook, but that’s a can of worms you refuse to open and certainly not here.

Maybe at home, over a glass of wine, fueled by liquid courage.  

The bottle of Côtes du Rhône has aided you more than you’d hoped, offered an armour that slinks over your shoulders and drives your fingers to action.  It’s prompted something - started the ball rolling.

(Idly, you think that might not have been a very good idea, but it’s too late to care now.)

“You’re here.”  You being him and him being Jeon Jungkook, hair damp and imposing frame draped in an oversized sweater.  He looks terribly uncomfortable standing in your doorway - more so than he had days ago - hands shoved into the kangaroo pouch of his hoodie, dumb sneakers pigeon-toed as if he’s ready to take flight.

“Y-you asked,”  he mutters, refusing to meet your stare.  At least, you think he’s refusing.  It’s a little hard to focus when there’s this fine film turning everything hazy, the bitter taste of wine heavy on your tongue.  

“I didn’t think you’d come.”

He looks at you like you’re crazy then, though he never quite meets your eyes.  It’s a smart tactic - level you with a look then immediately bounce it away.  It has you coming back for more, eager to refocus his fretful gaze until it’s locked with your own.

“Will you come in?”  You sidestep, give him enough space that he can enter without feeling suffocated.  He still hesitates, takes a second too long in deciding.  “I won’t bite.”

You don’t miss the better promise that comes under his breath.

“So.”  This feels oddly familiar, him backed into the corner of your couch again while you settle across from him.  He hums a noise but offers nothing further.  

This is how it’ll be then.  Fine.  If he wants to be this way.

“You like me.”

He sputters - doesn’t mean to, by how big his eyes go.  He hadn’t expected it to come barreling out of your mouth.  “I—  I don’t—  I didn’t say that.” 

If it were anyone but him, you’d take his reticence as rudeness.  

“Tell me why.”

The poor boy blinks, stares at you full on now.  Can’t look away, locked in the intensity of your stare.  

“W-what?”

“Tell me.”  You sip carefully at the liquid in your glass, swirl it ‘round and ‘round.  “You said that girl wasn’t me but you haven’t made a case as to why that matters.  What have I got that she doesn’t?”  

“You’re serious?”  

“As a heart attack, Jungkookie.”

The brunet swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing with the motion.  You think he might say no, outright refuse.  You don’t expect him to start rattling things off like the list lives in his head, answers printed against the darks of his eyelids.  

“You’re funny.  You’re honest.  You speak your mind.”  You don’t mean to scoff but his reasons are so shallow - so easily found in other people.  He must read the doubt in your expression, pushing on to cut you off from doing the same to him.  “Y-you care about people even when you pretend like you don’t.  You’re just as scared of being hurt as I am.”  

For the first time in a long time - in years and years - you feel seen.  As if he’s pulled back the cover of your unpublished draft, memorised the redlines and notes in the margins.  

“I don’t—”

“You have this face you make when you’re proud of me.”  He’s turning his own fingers over in his lap, knuckles white from the strain of locking them together and undoing them again.  “When I do something you approve of or when I make you laugh.”  

There’s something thick in your throat.  

“You make me want to try.”  He clears his own, speaks so softly you have to strain to hear it.  “Y-you make things not so scary.”  

It grows heavier, harder to breathe as you stare at the man sitting across from you.  He’s focused wholly on his hands, too caught up in his words to help the way he plucks at his skin, fiddles with the silver chain that loops around his wrist.

“You know what I need, even before I know myself.  You make me laugh.”  He laughs, an almost choked sound that fizzles and rattles bashfully. “You look really, really good in your work skirt.”  You know the one he means - all black, pencil-fit.  Makes your legs look a mile long, despite the fact that they aren’t.  

You can’t help but join him, a little breathless, with a strange sensation behind your ribs.  Like sunshine on a cold day, filtering past the walls you’ve put up, streaming through the windows that’d replaced drywall when Jungkook had waltzed into your life with his fluffy hair and boyish laugh.

When you speak, you don’t even believe your own words.  They come of their own accord - a defense mechanism.  “I can’t.”

As if he knows - as if he’s got a polygraph going, Jungkook shakes his head, meets your eyes and holds you there with the intensity of his attention.  “Can’t or won’t?”

“I—”

“I’m not asking for the world here.  Just a chance.”  He’s got a peculiar look on his face.  “Don’t you think you owe it to me?”

“Excuse me?” 

All of a sudden, he’s close.  Closer than you’d expect, far closer than he should be.  There’s nothing beyond his expression, the way his eyes twinkle under the dimmed apartment lights as he stares you down.  The scent of his cologne is cloying now, the fading nectarine hint of his shampoo making your mouth water.  

“You kind of ruined my life.  I think this makes us fair.”

You sputter, gasp, make sounds that careen off your tongue and fill the air with nonsense.  You’d ruined his life?  (You’d made it better - made him see the light, you thought.)  You’re working to find your voice, ready to tear into him for this abrupt accusation.

Then he’s giggling, nose scrunched and delight filtering past his teeth.  

“I’m kidding.”  

It feels like whiplash.  You’ve created a monster.  

“But you do owe me, I think.  So why not?”

You only have yourself to blame when you say yes, conceding to his pretty eyes and sweet smile.

Dating Jungkook is easy - as effortless as breathing.  He’s a bona fide dreamboat plucked from your wildest dreams. 

He texts when he says he will and picks you up every night, stamping a kiss to your cheek the moment you’ve clocked out.  He holds your hand and refuses to let go, rubbing soothing circles over your wrist when you’re tired or stressed or annoyed.  He brings flowers to every date - insists on them even when you tell him they’re a waste of money.  He knows your coffee order, has learned the art of the pour over when he wakes up before you.  

You understand now, why he’d stayed with women who were terrible for him (to him).  If you were them, you wouldn’t have let him go either.  Would lock him up in an old tower like your own personal Rapunzel.

(You say that because you’ve been on a Disney movie binge.  He is, unsurprisingly, very into these sorts of things.)

“Open it,”  he pleads, pushing the luxurious pink box towards you.

You stare down at the lid, the Agent Provocateur label glaring back at you.  You can’t help how you laugh, sound bouncing around his bedroom.  “Are you trying to tell me something, Jungkookie?”

Your lover - not boyfriend, because you haven’t had the talk and it’s still new and you’ve never been this careful before - rolls his eyes, pushes the box closer with a huff.  It’s adorable.  

“Just open it.”

You finger the soft bow strapped across the top, play with the neatly cut ends.  You can feel the impatience radiating off Jungkook, feel those pretty doe eyes boring holes into the top of your head.  You take your time even more now, unravelling the ribbon with slow, measured twists of your wrist.  

Whatever you’d expected to find nestled among the tissue paper, this isn’t it.  

You’d imagined he’d be into something feminine, all pristine white lace and scalloped cups.  Something he could brush his cheek against, run his fingers over.  

Tucked within the box is something that doesn’t even earn the title of lingerie, a few flimsy straps bonded together.  Blush pink satin and dressed with buckles, you turn it over in your hands, trying to make sense of the way it all connects.  Surely there’s more to this.  Surely, darling innocent Jeon Jungkook doesn’t expect you to wear just this?

“Do you like it?”  You can sense the eagerness in his voice, that desire he has to please that seems to never go away.  

“What is it?”

“It’s a playsuit.”  

“A playsuit?”  You’re no stranger to experimenting in the bedroom but this— this looks like it’s meant to harness a dog in.  Would it even fit?  Soft as it is, it seems terribly restrictive, made for someone with model proportions and no body fat at all.

He nods, round eyes so bright, so hopeful, you can’t voice your concerns.  “Will you wear it?”

It fits you better than you’d expected.  Or at least, you think it does.  If Jungkook’s reaction was any indication, it’s heaven sent - the perfect gift wrapping for a present he’s been dying to claim. 

The buckles you’d studied earlier - that had taken you too long to strap together - dig into the tender flesh of your hips, the shape of his fingers imprinted along the metal.  He grips you so tight you think you might bruise, left with a reminder of his love for weeks.

“S-so wet,”  he groans, sound dropping into an almost whine as the swollen mushroom head of his cock brushes through your folds.  The satin of the playsuit has been long since tugged aside, stained with your arousal as it cuts into the softness of your thighs.  He repeats the motion once, twice, coats your clit in pre-cum that leaks out of the slit and adds another layer of slick.  “So ready for me, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

You nod dumbly, drool around the two fingers he’s got slotted against your cheek, ring finger pressed down over your tongue.  

“Use your words, gorgeous.”  As if you can, as if you’re not riding the high of your last orgasm and about to come apart beneath his playful teasing.

The palm of his hand meets your overstimulated clit with a sharp smack, the cold of his teeth bared against your neck.  He doesn’t like when you don’t answer - much prefers to make an effort even if it’s indiscernible.

“What did I say?”  

Something garbled comes, a plea as much as a sob.  Another hit lands, just shy of the pearl that throbs with need and pain, landing instead on the sensitive, already red skin of your inner thigh.  He soothes it this time around, massages your own wetness into the roses that bloom beneath his touch.

When he speaks again, it’s so utterly sweet, tender as can be.  The Jungkook you’ve known for months and not the devil in disguise.  

“You like this, don’t you?”  His kisses are searing, laced with reverence that feels at odds with the way he forces your gag reflex, taps his curved cock against your pussy.  “You like what I’m doing?”

“Y-yes,”  you cry, spit pooling past the sides of your mouth, dripping lewdly across your breasts.  The hand cradling your chin is all but drenched, dark ink thrown into stark relief by the way it slides over his skin.  Jungkook hums against your cheek, licks a fat stripe from shoulder to ear.  

“Good girl.”  Two fingers spread across over your heat, pointer and index sliding over your lips.  You’re spread obscenely - can see it in the mirror that rests against the far wall.  Can see how the head of his cock peeks between your thighs, runs the same path over and over with each languid, slow roll of his hips.  “Such a good girl for me.  My perfect girl.”

Your shoulders shake with the effort you put into nodding, throat clenching on reflex when the three fingers in your mouth flatten over your tongue, hold you steady in place.

“Pretty girl wants more, doesn’t she?  Wants me to fill her up?”

He’s teasing you, the bastard.  Dragging his aching erection against your cunt as you writhe against him, desperate.  It’s amusing to him - you can read the delight in the reflection, see it shining bright like a beacon when he pulls his hand away and recentres it across your chest.  Digits tease at the already pebbled buds, swollen and sensitive from how hard he’d sucked them into his mouth earlier.

“Say it.  Say you want me.”

You do, without hesitation, without fear.  You know he’ll catch you.  “I want you.”  

He sinks into you the same instant the words fall, holds you tight against him when your entire body begins buzzing and threatens to do the same.  Your walls feel like a vice grip around him, greedily sucking in his cock as he slams home, ruts into you like a wild animal.  

Strong as he is, he’s weak to the noises you make - the broken sobs that spill off your tongue and make up the prettiest sound he’s ever heard - and how you feel absolutely perfect, wet and warm.  The muscle in his thighs strain, pleasure vibrating up the notches of his spine, setting every nerve ending alight with its ascent.

“B-be mine,”  he returns, practically begging as he spreads you wide, making you take everything he has to offer.  Heart and soul and stupidly huge, perfect cock.

“I am.  I am.  I am,”  you chant, tears welling along your lash line.  They fall when his rhythm stutters, when the heat overwhelms and you’re coming for the third time that night, crying his name like it’s the only word you know.  

They continue to pour, carve trails down your reddened cheeks as you reach nirvana, wait for moment he’s right there with you.  It doesn’t take long - a few more punishing thrusts into your fluttering heat - and then he’s found his bliss, crying into the silk of your hair, spilling inside you. 

It doesn’t happen how you thought it would - a shy question poised over dinner, sealed with a sweet kiss on the way to the car - but it means just as much.  Breaks you apart as it rebuilds you, fills you up as it splits your seams.

You’re his and he’s always been yours. 

tag list.  @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound @snackhobi @codeinebelle @shaybtsforever @we-found-wonderland-in-1989 @justanothergirlfromeurope @jalexad @bonnyskies @coffeeismylife28 @haeilove @purplespaceymermaid @sunsetsnsirens-blog @beingbeings​ @veronawrites​ @notmontae97​ @papillonsgf​ i’m really hoping i didn’t miss anyone e___e

[fortheloveofwonderland]

Sweet Tooth [Spencer x gn! Reader]

A/N: this is for my “Donuts” square on my CM Bingo Card for @cmbingo​ AKA The four times Spencer gave you donuts and one time he didn’t. 

CW: absolutely none, complete and utter fluff.

WC: 1.5K

Find my Masterlist here.

You would always remember the first time you saw him. The morning rush had you exhausted, sweaty and somewhat flustered. You swore every DC man and his mother got their coffee for their morning commute at your shop. 

Just as it was dying down he stepped up to the counter, large hazel eyes and a slightly awkward smile. 

“Black coffee please.” His voice was like honey to your ears. It took a few seconds for you to register his words. 

“Uh...yeah sure. Coming right up.” You swallowed the lump that had formed in your throat and turned towards the coffee maker. “Anything else?”

The man mused this for a moment. He had unruly curly hair and a jawline that could cut glass. 

“Do you have a donut recommendation?” 

You finished his coffee and slid it across the counter as you contemplated this.

“Well my favourite is strawberries and cream. But you have to have one hell of a sweet tooth for that.”

He smiled with a small nod. 

“I’ll take one of those.” 

You got a paper bag and cautiously placed the delicacy inside. 

You rang up his order and he paid. You slid his donut across the counter but he smiled playfully.

“It’s not for me.” He slid it back, his eyes sparkling at you. “Enjoy.” 

And with that he was gone. 

You stared dumbly at the spot he had just been standing. The moment had been so fleeting it was almost as though it had never happened.

But there was a strawberry and cream donut on the counter in front of you.

***

Three weeks passed and there was no sign of your mystery donut customer. Every time the little bell over the door chimed over those three weeks your heart skipped a beat and your eyes would dart to the door. But it was never him.

Over time you started to think you must have imagined him. You’d been exhausted that morning and maybe your mind had created the handsome stranger as a distraction.

Or if he had been real, he’d probably been a tourist which would explain why you hadn’t seen him again. And every day your hope dwindled a little more that you ever would see him again. 

You weren’t even sure why it mattered. It had been a fleeting moment, a small act of kindness but for some reason it had stuck with you. Maybe it was his intoxicating eyes or his warm smile. 

After you returned from your break that day and were getting your apron back on, something caught your eye. It was a paper bag behind the counter with your name on.

“What’s this?” You asked your colleague with a frown. 

She turned from where she was cleaning the coffee machine.

“Oh some guy came in and asked what the sweetest donut we did was. I told him it was probably the caramel sensation and he paid for it and told me to keep it for you.” She shrugged.

“What?” You picked up the bag. “Who? When?”

“Some guy.” She shrugged again. “Tall, messy hair. Said his name was Spencer I think.”

“When? How long ago?”

“I don’t know?” She laughed. “Maybe a quarter of an hour ago?” 

Your heart dropped and soared all at once. He’d been here and you’d missed him. But he’d left you a donut. 

You cautiously removed the donut from its bag and before you took a bite you muttered to yourself, “thanks Spencer.”

***

Two days later right smack bang in coffee lovers rush hour, he appeared again. He sidestepped being served by your colleague and as a dad and his boisterous children stepped away, he materialised in front of you.

“Hi.” He smiled. “How was the donut?”

“It was good thanks.” You blushed, you couldn’t help yourself. 

“Good.” He blushed slightly too. “So you know my name, am I allowed to know yours?”

You giggled a little and pointed at your name badge pinned to your apron.

“Y/N.” 

Oh god he felt foolish. He’d never thought to look. 

“Oh yeah.” His blush deepened. “Sorry.”

“Can you hurry it up!” A large, angry looking man behind Spencer grumbled. “I don’t got all day for your flirting.”

You both blushed again at his words.

“Uhm...black coffee?”

“Yes please. And a donut of your choice.” 

You set about making his drink, trying not to stare at him but it was hard when he was so gorgeous. 

You picked out two chocolate sprinkle donuts and bagged them separately. 

“Why two?” He frowned a little when you slid one over the counter. 

“It’s your turn to have a donut on me.” You pulled at all your confidence and winked at him. “Coffees on me too.”

“What? I can’t do that.” He shook his head a little frantic. 

“You’ll think of a way to return the favour.” You smiled at him and then you moved on to serve your next customer while Spencer just stared, slightly slack jawed. 

***

Another few weeks passed and Spencer didn’t come back into the coffee shop. You worried you scared him off with your blatant flirtatiousness. Maybe you’d come on too strong. 

Just when you’d resided yourself to the fact you had indeed frightened him away and that he was probably getting his fix at Starbucks rather than your small boutique cafe, a delivery man of all people proved you wrong.

He nudged the door open with his hip, a large flat box in his hands.

“I’m looking for Y/N.” He grunted slightly as he came to the counter.

“That’s me.” You pointed at your name badge. How did people always miss that?

“These are for you.” He set the box down on the counter. 

You stared down at the delights through the transparent lid. At least a dozen donuts of all varieties laid inside. 

You looked back up but the delivery man had already gone. 

You carried your treats through to the back office and opened the lid where you found a small note inside. 

You unfolded it and read the messy handwriting inside.

Y/N, 

Sorry I haven’t been in for a while, my job is hectic. But I wanted to make up for it, so here is a donut for everyday I haven’t been able to see you. Hope to see you soon,

Spencer.

You felt yourself blushing as you read his words over and over. He wasn’t avoiding you. You hadn’t freaked him out. He sent you a donut for every day you’d been apart. 

God this man was something else. You couldn’t wait to thank him to his face. You just hoped you didn’t have to wait too long.

***

It was another week before you spotted that mop of curly hair sat at a table outside the coffee shop in the DC sunshine. 

You waited for the place to quieten down, placed two chocolate custard donuts on plates and took your break. 

You took a few deep breaths as you pushed open the cafe door and stepped out onto the street. He had his back to you reading a newspaper as you approached. 

“I thought it was high time I returned the favour.” You spoke, making Spencer almost jump out of his seat. 

You giggled a little and without being invited you slid into the empty seat opposite him. 

“Oh hi Y/N.” He spoke, regaining his composure and folding his newspaper. 

You slid him one of the donuts.

“Hi Spencer.” You smiled back at him. 

You kept eye contact as you both took a bite of your respective donuts. 

“So, as much as I love trading donuts back and forth,” you started between mouthfuls. “Are you ever going to ask me on a date?” 

You weren’t sure what came over you, you were never so forward with men. But Spencer was different. You would do anything it took to make him yours. The attraction between the two of you was palpable. He’d made the first move with the donuts, now it was your turn.

“That’s why I’m here.” He smiled at you and it sent shivers down your spine. “What time do you get off work?” 

“Five.” 

He looked at his watch, it was just before two.

“Ok, I’ll be right here when you finish.” 

“You’re going to wait all that time for me?” You couldn’t hide your blush.

“As long as I have coffee, I don’t mind waiting.” His smile turned a little shy and you thought it was the most adorable thing you’d ever seen. 

“I’ll make sure you never have an empty cup.” You finished your donuts, your eyes fixed on one another. “I need to get back.”

“I’ll be waiting.” You pushed your chair back and stood up. 

“Where do you want to go for dinner?” He looked up at you, eyes sparkling. 

You thought about this for a second before you grinned. You started walking away and turned to speak over your shoulder. 

“I donut mind Spencer. I donut mind at all.” 

[jimlingss]

i have a request for something Taehyung! maybe taehyung christmas/holiday??? OR taehyung and the prompt "Give me attention"??? honestly i will take anything taehyung 🤩

↳ The Best Friend’s Older Brother Cliché

2.3k || 99% Fluff, 1% Angst || Kim Taehyung || Best Friend’s Older Brother!AU

Taehyung is your best friend’s older brother. 

It’s so entirely cliché that you cringe whenever you think about it, but it’s true and it happened…..you had the tiniest crush on him in high school. Okay— it was a big, fat crush. But you weren’t willing to admit it, not then and certainly not now. Mostly because it’s weird. Plus there’s the fact that it would be breaking the code of honour between besties. Sisters before misters.

The last thing you would want is to make Joy upset. 

But when you came home from college in the summer and Taehyung returned from his own studies abroad...you didn’t expect him to look like that.

“Hey, Y/N.”

“H-Hey.”

Taller. Leaner. Better dressed.

Maybe it had just been a long time since you’ve seen Taehyung. Maybe you had gotten desensitized but the long period away from him made you hyper aware of his existence again. Either way, seeing him made you realize that he had very much become a man.

He was no longer just the unattainable, cool teenage boy that you swooned over but left behind nonetheless in your coming of age years. And that fact slapped you across the face.

You didn’t expect for him to be like that either.

To smile at you like that. To strike up conversations. To be interested in what you were doing, where you were going.

“What are you majoring in again?”

“Anthropology.”

“Really? That’s super cool. I took one anthropology class when I was a freshman. Do you like it?”

“It’s not too bad. I think it’s interesting.”

Taehyung smiles faintly. “I always knew you were smart.” 

It was one date. 

You came over. Joy was abruptly called in to fill a shift at her summer job at the ice cream parlor.

“Oh my god. I’m so sorry. I swear I’m going to choke Jimin.”

“And then who’s gonna have to bail you out? Get going before you’re late.”

“Promise we’ll hang out more tomorrow.”

“Have fun at work!”

Taehyung happened to be there, hanging around the house, and he offered to drive you home.

“You really don’t have to.”

“I’m not going to make you take the bus in this hot weather, you know that right?” The corner of his mouth tugs easily. “Just get in the car.”

Except you both stopped to grab a small bite. A burger and fries. While sitting out at the park.

You’re not sure if that even constitutes as a date — there was nothing said about it, no mention made, all entirely too casual to be considered one. But it was the first time you and Taehyung were alone together.

Okay, if that counts...then technically it was two dates.

You and Joy went out to Jungkook’s party. She had a little too much to drink and the pair of you needed a ride home afterwards. Naturally, Taehyung was the one who picked you up in his car, begrudgingly, as Joy fought him before she laid down in the backseat, but he still flashed you that smile.

“Had fun tonight?”

“It was alright.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t end up going home with him.”

“Who?”

“You know. That guy with the glasses you were talking to on the lawn.”

“Namjoon? Oh no, we’re just friends.”

“Hmm. Is that so.”

After Joy was put to bed and tucked in, Taehyung asked if you wanted to stick around to watch a movie. You might or might not have cuddled into him during those three hours, but really was it cuddling? He just slung his arm over the couch where you were sitting and you leaned into his chest.

The two of you were just getting comfortable.

Alright, if that counts, then it was three dates but just three!

Taehyung asked you out personally, but it was to help him pick a gift for Joy’s birthday. He drove you downtown and you walked together in the streets, checking out boutiques before parading around the mall.

“What do you think?”

“Joy hates camo print and she doesn’t need another backpack, Taehyung.”

“Perfect! So she’ll love this then.”

He ended up getting a sweater she’d been eyeing for months.

When it became dark and you got hungry, instead of being dropped off at home, you went to the night market together on a whim. You snacked, had conversations and exchanged numerous stories. You still remember the laughter and how much your cheeks ached when you finally jumped into bed that night.

But before the summer ended, before you both left for your respective colleges, he wanted to talk.

“I had a lot of fun this summer.”

You eye him. “What did you even do this summer?” 

“Hang out with you.” Taehyung grins, eyes sparkling with mischief. “And I liked it.”

“Good. I might be hurt if you thought this entire time was awful.”

“I like you too much to ever think that. But...hear me out. What would you think we made things offici—

“We’re going to be super busy,” you interrupt in a panic, having a sense of where he was going with this. “...going to different schools and all that.”

You search his expression while schooling your own. Taehyung stays silent for a second and tries to read you. You’re not sure how successful he is.

“Right.”

“I’ll contact you, Taehyung.”

He smiles at that and eases. “Okay. Yeah. Sounds good. You can call or text me anytime.”

“Anytime?” You try to lighten the mood by shooting him an incredulous look. “I wouldn’t want to bother you.”

“If it’s you, it wouldn’t be a bother. Trust me.”

Except when you got back, you didn’t call him. You didn’t text him either.

You only saw him briefly when Joy would occasionally facetime him in the same room as you, when you were merely a figure in the background and Taehyung would ask who it was.

“Y/N, of course, who else?”

And you would give a small wave.

There were no conversations, no small talk, no exchanges of laughter. But it was better that way. Otherwise, you wouldn't know what Joy would say, how she’d react. You don’t even know if he’s serious about you. And you’re too scared to find out the answers to any of these questions.

It didn’t matter anyway. Deep down, you know Taehyung should be kept at a distance. You know it would be better if these feelings could fade away as a sweet, brief summer romance.

What you didn’t anticipate is to come over to the Kim’s for the holidays a few months later.

“Where are you going?”

Taehyung’s following after you, trailing at your heels like a lovesick puppy. “And don’t tell me you’re showering because you already used that excuse to avoid me today.”

You spin around, masking your startlement at just how close he is, and you frown. “I’m not avoiding you.”

The corner of his mouth tugs. “We shouldn’t lie to each other, sweetheart, even if you have the tendency to do that.”

You feel hot in your face from the pet name. “I never lied to you.”

Taehyung raises his brows. The both of you know then and there it’s a lie.

“My empty phone says differently.”

You cross your arms defensively. “I never promised I’d remain in contact. I was just...busy with classes.”

“Oh. Another lie again.” Taehyung grins, and he exhales softly causing a hundred goosebumps to raise along your skin when you feel the warmth of his breath. “You should really stop your bad habit, Y/N.”

You take a step back and he steps forward.

Before you know it, he’s cornered you in the dark hallway, staring at you intently before his half-lidded eyes flicker to your lips.

You swallow hard. “Go annoy your sister instead.”

“Why should I?” His mouth slyly curls. “I like you way better.”

For the entire duration of the break so far, the both of you have been sneaking around the whole time. From Taehyung instigating a game of footsies under the dinner table to whispering in your ear when no one’s looking to winking at you from across the room so quickly that you’d miss it if you blinked. You feel his affectionate hand on the small of your back when he slides by you, feel his gaze when his shoulders graze yours, and you feel the tickle in your tummy when his voice lowers into that seductive, husky pitch. 

During the summer, he was kind and friendly Taehyung. Cautious when it came to you. Hesitant to look your way.

But this time, he’s intensified. Flirtatious. Bold. Pulling out all stops.

Maybe it’s because he’s pissed that you didn’t contact him like you said you would. Maybe because he doesn’t understand why you’re restraining yourself, and he feels the need to push to know. Maybe because he suspects you know he likes you, and you like him — he wouldn’t be wrong. 

But either way, his new brazen approach was making you weak in your knees.

“Your mom’s coming,” you mutter while pressing your hands to his chest. You don’t know how or why he feels so firm.

“She isn’t. But even if she was, she’d be more than happy to know we’re together.”

“W-We’re not together, Tae.”

“That could change right now.”

“I...I can’t.”

His thick brows furrow. “Why not? I like you, Y/N, a lot.”

You swallow hard, feeling scrutinized under his heavy gaze. Taehyung’s beauty is lethal when he’s this close and you feel an urge to brush away the dark strand that’s fallen in front of his forehead from his neatly styled hair. It was a contrast to the casual hoodie and sweatpants he was wearing. He was handsome and cozy, ready to stop hearts or be hugged like a teddy bear.

It didn’t help that he was saying these kinds of things either. “I know.”

“I don’t think you do.” His voice drops a pitch. “For the past few months, I’ve been thinking about the summer and you. The entire time, I was waiting for you to call me, to text me. Do you know what that’s like?”

“Taehyung.”

“We can make this work. I want to make it work, so don’t make me wait anymore.”

You gaze at him, breath hitched in your throat and your self-control meets its limit. You practically leap onto Taehyung, heart thundering against your rib cage, standing on the tips of your toes — all to kiss him.

It’s soft and unhurried. 

Taehyung is caught off guard, but then you feel his wide smile against you. Immediately, his strong arm reaches for your waist and he tugs you in. A yelp escapes your throat as your bodies become flush against one another. Taehyung’s other hand presses against the wall behind you and he tilts his head to deepen the kiss. His tongue licks into your mouth and you groan, wrapping your arms around his neck. He tastes like sugar cookies, smells like citrus, and absolutely makes your knees weak.

You’re not sure how long you and Taehyung make out for, swapping spit like horny teenagers without experience.

It’s not until you hear a— “what the hell!” — do you break apart.

Joy is standing at the end of the hall and you shove Taehyung away from you, wide-eyed. He stumbles back, equally surprised.

“I-I can explain!”

Joy’s jaw has gone slack and you realize she’s waiting for said explanation.

“I….I…we….umm….”

Taehyung looks at you and then at his sister, opening his mouth to rescue you from this mortifying experience. But his sibling beats him to the punch—

“Look.” She raises her hands and you brace yourself. She wouldn’t end your years of friendship over this, would she? Then again, you can’t blame her if she did. “You don’t have to make this weird. It isn’t weird unless you make it weird. So I’ll just pretend I didn’t see anything.”

“Wait.....what?” That was certainly not the reaction you were expecting. You think you’re more taken aback than she is. “You’re okay with this? You’re okay if we’re dating?”

Joy nonchalantly shrugs. “It’s not a big deal. You’re adults, so you can make your own decisions and I kind of had a feeling there was something going on anyway.” She smiles and looks at her older brother. “Taehyung, you’re way too obvious. The biggest gift under the tree is for her from you.”

He grins. “You caught me there.”

You’re shell-shocked at how unconcerned she is and seemingly supportive at that.

“You knew?”

“Of course I do. We’ve been friends for what, ten years? I knew you had a crush on my brother back then. So if anything, it’s about time.” Joy raises her fist at Taehyung. “You better not make Y/N cry or I’ll make you cry.”

He snorts. “Wow, thanks.”

“Anyway, continue.” Joy lazily gestures. “But we’re watching a movie in five so be quick.”

Your best friend leaves to the bathroom where she was heading to in the first place and you turn to Taehyung who has an amused grin. “Well?”

“I don’t know.” Your mind is reeling at everything that’s happening and how real this is becoming. “For some reason in my mind, I thought that would go way worse.”

“Is that why you were so worried? You didn’t need to be. Joy likes you way more than she likes me, so if anything I’d be the one getting the flack.” Taehyung smiles and leans in. “But does this mean we can finally make it official? Can I call you my girlfriend already?”

You sigh and lift your arms to loop around his neck again. He leans in for another kiss, but you stop short an inch— “Depends on what that gift under the tree is.”

Taehyung grins and before you can pull away, he tugs your waist into him once more. 

This time you kiss each other unabashedly. 

[prurientpuddlejumper]

A Cat Called Dickface

Written for @storiesofsvu’s Fall Bingo, filling the Fireplace square. 

Dickface stolen from discord headcanons & plot inspired by @lannister-slings-and-arrows​ and @pascalispretty​ I’M SORRY I’M RIFLING THROUGH YOUR ASKS ;_;

Warnings: NSFW discussed (no smut), secret soft cat dad Bryan. You came for smut but got fluff instead oops. 

1,170 words

Your one-night stand with Bryan Kneef was not going anything like you had imagined.

First, there was Dickface.

The anticipation of pleasant soreness ached between your thighs the entire ride up the elevator to his swanky Chicago penthouse. On your modest salary as a legal secretary, you could only dream about affording a place like the firm’s top litigator, but tonight you were more interested in the legend between his legs. You’d seen the outline of his massive cock pushed up against the front of his slacks as he swaggered through the office, snapping at interns, and he wasn’t even hard.

Bryan had a reputation: heartless toward coworkers, ruthless in court, and an absolute god in bed.

There would be no feelings, no phone call the next day, and that was OK. You didn’t want any. Being his latest conquest was a thrill, and if the rumors were true, well worth it.

The elevator door opened to a monstrosity of modern design straight out of Forbes, and the sound of shattering glass. Bryan stormed out ahead of you.

“DICKFACE, YOU ASSHOLE!”

Hungry meows erupted from another room, and you followed Bryan into a sparkling white kitchen. The shattered remains of a whiskey tumbler lay on the tile floor. On the granite counter above it sat a black cat with white markings on his lips and nose that looked… well, like a dick.

“Sorry. Usually, I’d lock him in the guestroom before company, but it’s been a long day. Didn’t have a chance to feed him. Did I, you little shit?” Bryan ruffled the cat’s fur between the ears.

Dickface purred and rubbed against Bryan’s fingers before meowing loudly and giving them an impatient bat with his paw.

“Alright, Jesus. Fucker.”

“I never took you for a pet person,” you marveled, a fond smile rounding your cheeks.

“I’m not.”

You offered to clean up the glass while Bryan opened a can of boutique-brand grain-free cat food, then topped it with raw salmon from the refrigerator and a powdered supplement for dental health. He explained that he was such an infamous dick at STR Laurie that when he was promoted to head of litigation, some colleagues gave him the cat as a joke.

“A live animal? As a joke?”

“Wasn’t even funny. Poor guy was hunkered in the back of a carry-case, scared shitless.”

“Did you tell them you wanted a cat?” You tried to find some reason this wasn’t as horrible as it sounded, but Bryan rolled his eyes at your naivety.

“I’m allergic.”

“What the fuck.”

Bryan let out a gruff breath of agreement. “They were going to dump him back at the shelter, so I kept him.” Before you got too many ideas about him being sensitive, he added with a smirk, “He’s got a dick on his face, I mean—it is kinda hilarious.”

***

Then there was the fireplace.

It wasn’t a real one, with earthy-smelling logs that had to be stoked to a blaze from kindling, but a modern installation encased in glass that roared to life at the touch of a button. Still, it had fake logs which crackled and glowed like the real thing, and it cast a romantic ring of heat and flickering light into the living room.

This should have been where the fucking began, and Bryan didn’t waste any time laying you back on the couch, softly growling filthy promises in your ear. He asked about your boundaries, fantasies, protection, and safewords with such clarity and confidence, you could see how many men and women had been in his bed before, drawn by the raw sexual fire burning in his eyes.

His voice could be so much softer than you ever imagined from the way he barked and raged at work—soft, low, and warm against your skin, even as he asked questions like, “What about degrading language? Would you like me to call you a slut?” The beard tickled as he kissed you the first time, tongue working slowly at the seam of your lips while his hands slid up your sides. The faint smokiness of scotch on his breath. His eyes were nearly closed beneath lids heavy with lust, and up close, they were a beautiful, bright green like jade sculptures, not brown or blue as you once thought.

But as he was running through all those preliminary details, four black paws padded into the room and jumped onto your lap. As unwelcome as it was while you were getting aroused, you couldn’t help but grin and pet the kitty, who promptly curled up and began rumbling with quiet, continuous purrs.

Bryan released your earlobe from his teeth and stared at the wrong kind of pussy between your legs.

A bit of a mood killer.

“He never does this,” Bryan said. Oddly, it wasn’t apologetic or exasperated, but with genuine wonder. It made your cheeks heat, learning that Bryan had this soft spot for his cat and that it didn’t usually like strangers.

“It’s probably the fire. Cats love napping where it’s warm.”

“Yeah. Maybe.”

You didn’t have the heart to move a sleeping cat, so Bryan turned on the flatscreen above the fireplace until Dickface decided to move.

***

And finally, that brought you here. The couch.

It was dark leather, masculine, and in keeping with the penthouse’s sharp lines and minimalist monochrome color scheme. Fluffy grey throw pillows added a touch of comfort, and it was upon one of those that Bryan Kneef’s head lay, snoring.

Barely ten minutes had gone by before his drooping eyelids fell shut completely in the cozy warmth, and the effect of his long day made itself clear.

Outside the panoramic windows, the Chicago skyline stood in black geometric shapes against a dark blue sky, a sea of glowing yellow windows making the shapes swirl with light like embers from a hundred million campfires. It was a disappointment to be sitting here watching the view while he slept, never having seen the dick that satisfied a thousand partners—no exquisite soreness, no claiming bites or blossoming bruises. But he was… surprisingly cute.

Ironically, if you had fucked tonight, Bryan would have called you a cab and coldly insisted he didn’t cuddle. But as you watched his chest rise and fall peacefully (save for the occasional interruption by an inelegant snort), you figured you ought to at least get something out of this stand, if it was only going to be one night.

Dickface kneaded his paws on your thigh, tiny sharp claws pricking through your clothing, before finally stretching and jumping to the floor. He would be back to curl up on top of both of you before morning. You laid down next to Bryan, tucking your face against his chest, his bearded chin over your head. He smelled mesmerizing—a natural muskiness blending with his clean, sensual cologne—and his solid body gave off waves of heat matching the fire at your back. It would have been nice to fuck him, but he made a comfortable pillow, too.

He shifted in his sleep but did not wake up, wrapping a muscular arm around your waist.

• ● • ━━━━━─ ••●•• ─━━━━━ • ● •

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[sturchling]

Hey, I was wondering if you could do a story of marinette moving to Gotham.

And going to gotham academy and having her own boutique. Damienette pairing. Cat noir salt. You dont have to if u dont want too.

Sorry for the long wait, work has been keeping me super busy lately. I hope you like this and it was worth the wait! I had a hard time trying to work in the Chat Noir salt, so its more like Adrien salt. Let me know what you think!

-----------------------------------

Marinette was tired of Lila and her lies. She was tired of Adrien’s refusal to help defend her from the liar. And she was tired of everyone believing the liar over Marinette. Most of the school now believed that Marinette was a horrible bully that had been attacking Lila since she arrived. Marinette had been removed as class rep and was constantly given detention by Mr. Damocles. Marinette’s parents have been very supportive, and now realized that Lila was just a malicious liar. But even with their support, it had become to much for Marinette and she knew it was time to leave Paris.

------------------

Her parents were hesitant when she brought up the idea. Marinette had found a study abroad program where she could attend Gotham academy, hosted by Bruce Wayne himself. She discussed it with her parents, really hoping to convince them. They were obviously concerned for a number of reasons. The main one being the crime rate in Gotham. They knew that Marinette needed to get away from Paris, that things had gotten bad in the city for her. But they didn’t want to send her to a dangerous city where she could be hurt or killed. But after speaking with Marinette for several hours, they started to realize how excited Marinette was for the opportunity. While they were still worried, they knew this was the right place for Marinette. And they were comforted that if she was accepted, she would be hosted by and staying with Bruce Wayne. His manor is one of the safest places in the city. So, they agreed with Marinette that she could apply the program.

----------------

So Marinette applied to the study abroad program. She didn’t tell anyone at the school, not like anyone in the class was speaking to her anyway. She waited anxiously for news from the program, hoping to hear that she had been accepted.  The longer she didn’t hear anything, the more anxious she became. She was sure that she had been rejected and they just hadn’t told her. Marinette had just got back from a particularly bad day at school, when she noticed she had a new email. An email from the study abroad program. She raced to open the email, and started cheering when she read the line We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted into the Gotham Academy Study Abroad Program. Marinette raced downstairs and told her parents the news. The email said that she would be expected in Gotham by the end of the month. It went on to explain details of the program. That night the Dupain-Cheng family celebrated, and began preparing for Marinette’s departure. 

----------------

The last month of Marinette’s time in Paris seemed to drag on and on. Everyday she had to listen to Lila’s lie all day long and the whole class fawn over here. She had to endure Lila accusing her of bullying almost daily and almost daily detentions. But finally, it was her final day at the Dupont. She was almost giddy as she walked to Mr. Damocles’ office with her parents. When she entered the office and Mr. Damocles saw her, he just sighed. “What did you do now Miss Dupain-Cheng?” Then he saw her parents in the office and straightened up. “I didn’t do anything Mr. Damocles. I never did anything Lila accused me of, but I know you will never believe me on that. We are just here to get my academic records and inform you that I will no longer be attending this school after today.” Mr. Damocles was flustered by the sudden declaration. “What do you mean you won’t be attending anymore? Where are you going?” Mr. Dupain stepped forward, barely containing his contempt for this man who had been helping to make his daughter miserable. “Marinette will be studying abroad in America for the next year at least. Now, give us the academic records.” Mr. Damocles stuttered for a while, wondering how such a bully got accepted to such an amazing program. But soon, the Dupain-Chengs got the records from him and were on their way.

------------------

 Marinette went down to the locker room with her parents and started emptying her locker. Class hadn’t started yet so, everyone was still in the locker room. They were confused when Marinette started emptying her locker. Adrien, who was about the only  person that still talked to Marinette from time to time, approached the young designer. “Marinette? What are you doing?” Marinette didn’t look at any of them, continuing to empty her locker as she responded. “I am emptying my locker. Starting Monday, I will no longer be here for school. I am transferring to Gotham Academy.” The class stood in shock, they never expected Marinette to leave. Sure they were happy that Lila would be able to come to school in peace, but it would be weird without Marinette here. They just stood in shocked silence, as Marinette finished with her locker and walked out with her parents. 

------------------

Adrien was shocked by Marinette’s decision. Why would she leave? He knew things had been tough for her lately, but he had kept telling her that it would get better soon. Soon the class would realize that Lila was a liar. That she just had to wait a little longer. But Marinette had clearly given up and was running away. That wasn’t like Marinette at all. When he had the chance, Adrien was going to go pay her a visit in Gotham and convince her to return. 

------------------

Marinette was already loving Gotham. She had been met at the airport by Alfred who brought her to the manor. Mr. Wayne was very nice and introduced her to his children as well. Marinette was the same age as Damian and would be in the same class as him as well. Damian had expected to be irritated by this girl when he was first informed of their guest. But to his surprise, he didn’t find her presence as repulsive as everyone else. 

-------------------

Weeks went by and Marinette was having a wonderful time. She had made some wonderful friends in her class, though she was nervous to try and make friends after Mrs. Bustier’s class. But she was welcomed warmly by her new class. Her and Damian had also grown close over the weeks. They had started dating recently, and would often spend their time together quietly working on their different craft projects; Marinette working on her designs, and Damian working on his most recent painting. The Waynes were shocked at the change Marinette had caused in the youngest Wayne. Damian was still a very reserved person, but he was considerably warmer to Marinette and had started to act warmer to his family as well. 

---------------------

While Marinette wasn’t aware of it, her departure brought about Lila’s downfall. Lila hadn’t been at school recently, on a ‘diplomatic trip to Achu’, and because of that, she didn’t know Marinette left Paris. So when she came back, she was planning on making her next attack against Marinette’s reputation. She used makeup to make fake bruises and called up her tears as she entered the classroom. The class was horrified to see their friend crying and injured. They raced forward and asked Lila what happened. “It was horrible. As soon as I returned to the city last night, Marinette was waiting for me outside my home. She was so mad that she got detention for a week when I told Mr. Damocles that she had stolen my book. She beat me up and said if I ever said anything I would regret it! I am so scared!” Lila was proud of this performance. It was probably one of her best performances yet. But when she looked up at the class, she was surprised to see that the class was staring at her doubtfully. 

-------------------

Alya, feeling dread in her stomach, asked “Are you sure it was Marinette last night? No chance it was someone else?” Lila, irritated that they were questioning her, didn’t notice the tension in the room. “Of course it was Marinette. I saw her face and there is no way it was anyone else last night.” Nino, who was now realizing that this could mean that Marinette was right and that Lila was a liar, asked “What do you mean Marinette attacked you last night? Marinette moved to Gotham almost two weeks ago. She couldn’t have attacked you last night.”  Now Lila was horrified. This was a major mistake. Lila was trying to back pedal, and figure a way out of this mess, but the class had realized at this point that Lila was lying and that she had probably been lying before when Marinette was still here. The class started to yell at Lila as they realized that she had been lying to them all this time. Lila raced from the room, not wanting to face the class. The class quickly tried to reach out to Marinette, to apologize and ask her to come home, but the number they had for her had been disconnected. Adrien was disappointed that Marinette hadn’t told anyone her new number, not even him. He was going to go to Gotham soon and try to convince her to come back. He was sure their Everyday Ladybug would be willing to come back.

-----------------

One day, weeks after Lila’s exposure, Damian and Marinette were sitting in the garden just relaxing. After watching Marinette work on a new design, Damian said, “Marinette, you should really try to open a boutique. Your work is terrific and you would be very successful.” Marinette seemed shocked for a moment. “You really think I should? I wouldn’t even know where to start. And how would I afford a building? I don’t think I could do it.” Marinette continued to anxiously ramble, until Damian came to stand in front of Marinette. “Marinette, Angel, breathe. I am sure you would do wonderfully. And as for the building, my father has multiple buildings in the city that he isn’t using. I am sure he would allow you to set up in one of them.” After more convincing, Marinette agreed to at least ask Bruce about it. When they approached Bruce, he was very willing to help Marinette set up her first boutique. He had seen the girl’s designs and knew that she would be a major success. Marinette felt bad about just taking one of his buildings and accepting his help with getting everything she needed for the boutique, but she accepted when Bruce told her to consider it a loan if that made her more comfortable. Then, they immediately started setting up her boutique.

---------------------

After about a month, everything was set up and Marinette’s boutique had opened under the name MDC. She was an instant success and quickly became very busy with several orders from big name clients. As time went on, Marinette began to feel like Gotham was her home. One day, after she had closed the boutique and was leaving with Damian to go on a date, they were approached by a familiar face. “Adrien?” Adrien smiled and approached her. “Hi Marinette.” Damian sensing the tension, stepped closer to Marinette. “Who is this Marinette?” Adrien looked at the boy standing next to Marinette and didn’t recognize him at all. “Damian, this is Adrien, someone I knew in Paris. Adrien, this is my boyfriend Damian.” That took Adrien by surprise, but he moved past it. He was sure that Marinette would leave this Damian and come back to Paris where she belonged.

----------------

“So what are you doing here Adrien?” Adrien smiled again, “I am here to bring you home Marinette! Lila has been found out and she is gone. You don’t have to keep hiding here in Gotham. You can come home and back to the class. Everything can go back to normal.” Marinette just stared at him, as Damian started to get angry. Adrien didn’t pick up on the tension. “So come on. Lets go get your things. We can fly back to Paris in the morning.” Adrien tried to grab her arm, but Marinette moved back, avoiding him. “I’m sorry Adrien, but I’m not going back. I am really happy here. I still have months with the study abroad program and may stay here permanently if I can. I have friends who wouldn’t leave me for a liar. Damian is here. And my boutique is doing really well. I am not ready to go back to Paris.” Adrien just rolled his eyes. “Come on Marinette, you have friends in Paris, and you can set up a new boutique in Paris. Its no big deal. So come on, lets go.” Adrien once again tried to grab at Marinette’s arm, this time Damian got in his way and shoved him back. “Marinette said she didn’t want to go with you so that is that. You should go now, you have embarrassed yourself enough.” Adrien glared at Damian, angry that he was getting in his way. “I am not leaving. Not until Marinette tells me to, so stay out of this.” Marinette stepped out from behind Damian, looking more confident then Adrien ever remembered seeing her. “Adrien you should leave. I am happy here and I am not going back to Paris. My ‘friends’ in Paris turned their backs on me because of the liar’s pretty words. My friends here would never do that to me. Now please leave.” Adrien was shocked, and didn’t move. Damian rolled his eyes and guided Marinette around Adrien and back to the manor.

------------------

Adrien went back to Paris, alone, the day after his conversation with Marinette. He was surprised that Marinette wouldn’t come back with him. Mrs. Bustier’s class was sad when Adrien came back without Marinette. They had hoped she would come back, but unlike Adrien, they knew the chances were slim. While they were sad that Marinette was gone and that they had chased off such a good friend, they were happy that she had found a place that she could live happily. They tried to move on, hoping that one day they may get the chance to apologize to Marinette in person. 

-------------------

Marinette stayed in Gotham after her conversation with Adrien. She finished her year with the study abroad program and then decided to live in Gotham permanently, with her parents blessing. She continued to stay at the manor, living happily with the Waynes. She continued using the horse miraculous to go back and forth to Paris for the akumas and soon revealed her identity to the Waynes once she realized they were the Batfam. Her boutique continued to be a major success. Her life had improved in every way it could. She was surrounded by true friends, she had a boyfriend who truly cared for her, her fashion business had started with great success, and she didn’t have to deal with the liar anymore. She was the happiest she had been in a long time, and she intended to be this happy for the rest of her life in Gotham.

[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.” 

[buckyownsmylife]

daddy issues - chapter xv

The one where Ransom doesn’t feel ready to become a father, but he should have thought about it before sleeping with a complete stranger.

When Ransom’s latest one night stand lets him know that he’s going to become a father, he finds himself looking for the qualities he never believed to have so he can become the parent he never got to witness as a child.

for general warnings and author’s notes, please go to the fic’s masterlist.

A/N for this chapter: this is 3.2k of unedited drama and I am so fucking proud of it. I wrote this entire thing today, and it’s easily one of the pieces I’m most proud of. So I haven’t been able to fit a proper conversation between the reader and Harlan - I couldn’t make the scene justified if his presence was there, since he does seem to be the one thing that keeps the family on the line - but that means I had some ideas of how I can make up for it in the future! Extra chapter? Perhaps. We are approaching the end though. I only have two more chapter planned for this fic and an epilogue. We’ll see how that goes!

Y/N’s P.O.V.

“Hey!” I got into the car excited to see him again, but I tried to reason with myself that it was all because of his visit to his grandfather’s publishing company, of course. I wanted to know how that went and I was curious as to what Harlan’s plans were, that was mostly it.

The fact that I had genuinely missed the man by my side after spending just four hours away from him had very little to do with it, or so I tried to tell myself. I didn’t know how to deal with depending so much on someone yet.

But I was trying to.

Ransom’s silence alerted me that something was different. I stopped trying to fix myself to look to the side and find him staring out the window, face expressionless and eyes void of any sentiment.

“Ransom, what’s wrong?” Reaching over, I squeezed his thigh to get his attention, and he jerked as if he was genuinely surprise by my presence in the small vehicle. “You look stressed,” I clarified, eyebrows furrowed in worry as I reached over to push away a strand of hair that had fallen out of place.

He just stared at me for a while and still I couldn’t read what he was thinking. Was he mad at me? Had I done something wrong? After what felt like eternity, he sighed, gripping the steering wheel as he looked on his lap and admitted, “I’m gonna have to go to this family dinner on Friday.”

Immediately, I breathed deeply in relief, suddenly realizing just how worried I actually was that his mood had something to do with me. But then I was reminded of the little that Ransom had told me about this family - even that little felt like too much.

I could only imagine the anxiety he was feeling, and my heart ached to soothe him as best as I could. “Do you want me to go with you?” I asked, running my digits over his nape calmly, keeping my voice as soft as possible to help him relax.

Still, his head snapped up so he could meet my eyes, his wide as two saucers as he struggled to process what I’d said. “… You’d do that?” He sounded so surprised, so genuinely shocked by my offer, that I couldn’t stop myself from giggling, taking both of his hands on mine and squeezing them gently.

“Of course I would, honey.” Ransom’s eyes were so soft as they stared into mine, even as my heart doubled its size in its effort to reach out for his, I found myself justifying, “You went with me to see my parents!”

The way his smile dropped at my explanation had me feeling cold and empty, desperate to see him look at me the same way he was doing only seconds ago.

“Besides,” I forced myself to admit it, trying not to sound as breathless as I felt while I opened my heart to him. “I-I don’t want you to go through that alone. I wanna be there for you, like you were for me.”

Immediately, I felt rewarded on my effort to open up by the smile he gave me. “Thank you, baby.” He squeezed my hand this time, and when he leaned over and connected our lips on a quick peck, my heart skipped a beat.

I was in love with this man.

Ransom’s P.O.V.

I sighed as we stood in front of my grandfather’s front door, trying to adjust my sweater that suddenly felt uncomfortable. Beside me, she seemed to be doing the exact same thing, fingers pulling on the end of the dress she was wearing, making me smile.

The dress highlighted her bump - it was now undeniable that she was pregnant and even if I’d never been particularly attracted to women in this stage of life, I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her now.

It was like she shined from within. Her beauty amazed me, and so when she noticed me staring and stopped fiddling with her clothes, straightening herself up to ask, “Do I look okay?” I had to stop myself from laughing.

“Yes.” More than okay. “But are you sure you won’t be cold?” We’d gone through this argument before leaving the house, so I was prepared to see her rolling her eyes as she reached out to take my hand in hers.

“Unless your family has the habit of dining outdoors regardless of the weather, I think we’ll be alright.” I chuckled, rubbing my thumb on the back of her hand, but it sounded nervous even to my own ears. It didn’t surprise me that she noticed it. “Are you ready?” She questioned, voice in that soothing tone she used whenever she noticed my stress.

“Not at all,” I admitted, but in all honesty, the prospect of joining my family for dinner didn’t seem as bad as it usually did. Not with her by my side.

“I’m here for you.” Hearing her say those words meant more to me than I was able to properly express at that moment so I just stared at her, taking in the fact that this incredible person actually cared about me.

“Just… don’t leave me alone, okay?” Her immediate nod had me smiling. It prompted me to once again lean over and connect our lips, only this time, when I tried to pull away, she kept me close with her hand on the back of my neck.

Who knows where this kiss might have led us if the door hadn’t open right at that moment, revealing my lousy uncle who stared from me to her with wide eyes?

“… She’s pregnant? With your baby?” A groan was all I could muster as a response, tugging her into the house with me. “When were you going to tell your family?”

“For fuck’s sake,” I cursed, looking around the living room for the bar. “Where’s the goddamn alcohol?” There was no way I’d be able to survive this night without it, as much as I wanted to be supportive of Y/N.

“I think that’s a bottle of scotch,” I heard her whispering next to me, pointing towards a corner of the room, and I sighed in relief at her understanding.

“Thanks, sweetheart.”

Y/N’s P.O.V.

An hour into the evening and I had already understood why Ransom was the way that he was - and why he liked his grandfather so much, despite how he felt about the rest of the family.

Harlan was gentle where all of his children were… prickly. In fact, he was the only one who addressed me at all, but I found myself feeling grateful for it, since when the dinner actually started, I wanted the rest of the family to forget about me completely.

“I am so sorry,” Harlan apologized, rubbing his hands nervously as he stared at the rest of the family who was walking towards the dining room. “I sleep early, everyone knows that, but this is the only time they could all gather and since they didn’t know you were coming…”

I waved away his apologies, offering him a hug as I wished him good night. “Just as long as you’ve had your dinner, Harlan. Thanks for welcoming me into your home.”

He accepted my embrace easily, taking advantage of the proximity to whisper in my ear, “Just hang on to him, dear. I promise it’ll be worth it.” I smiled when we parted, nodding in confirmation to his words.

“It already is,” I assured him, but he only sighed.

“Make sure to remember that during dinner…” Now I understood why. It started with a simple question, one of the maids offered me some meat, and when I hesitated to answer…

“God, are you daft, girl? Have you never eaten lamb?” My eyes widened in surprise, but before Ransom could have the chance to throw himself at his mother, I just squeezed his thigh.

“I was going to ask her if there was any oregano in the sauce. It’s been making me feel sick.” I didn’t need to add why - the reminder of my situation, of what led me to be there with them in this dining room was very clear in me.

And still, that didn’t stop them.

“That’s a pretty necklace…” Ransom’s father commented before we could even grab a bite. I chuckled to myself, immediately catching onto what he wasn’t saying.

“Thanks, I got it at a little boutique back home. It was a gift for myself after I got my first paycheck.” I could feel Ransom’s gaze on me, the waves of pride rolling from him in waves. It made me smile, but it was just the calm before the storm.

“Ransom, have you contacted a lawyer?”  This question came from his uncle’s wife, Donna - I think that’s what she was called. Not that she tried to introduce herself to me or anything, but Harlan made sure I knew everyone’s name as soon as I stepped inside the house.

“Why?” Ransom’s tone was vicious and his squinted eyes alerted everyone that he was prepared for a strike, but the fact that he still hadn’t anticipated what was coming almost made me laugh.

Even Donna herself hesitated, unbelieving that he was going to make her say it. “There’s no way you’re that stupid.” And just like that, the doors to hell were opened up.

Ransom’s P.O.V.

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing, but then again, was I really surprised?

“You should make sure to draw a prenup,” Donna insisted, while the rest of the family pretended not to hear, undoubtedly coming up with their own ways to insult Y/N. “Something that will assure only your kid has access to your money.”

I could hear Y/N quietly laughing to herself next to me, but while she was able to find the irony in the situation amusing, all I felt was blinding rage.

“God, do you even hear the shit you say? I never asked for your input, this, right here, is precisely why I didn’t tell any of you all about my baby.” I saw Y/N flinch from the corner of my eyes before I heard my mother’s fork drop against the precious porcelain dish she was pretending to eat from. I knew this was the sorest topic of discussion for her. I knew this was why she had been pretending Y/N wasn’t even there, hadn’t even been invited to dinner with me.

“Fair enough,” she spoke, lying back against her chair as she finally raised her eyes to meet mine. “I don’t know if we even should learn anything about this child, considering it most likely isn’t even yours.”

It was like someone had thrown a bucket of ice over me. Y/N was oddly quiet now, seemingly as frozen as me - and when I realized that, my anger returned with twice its power.

“Watch your fucking mouth,” I warned, just as my mother retorted, “Don’t you talk like that to me.” I didn’t even have the chance to talk back when she stroke again. “You fuck so many ransom desperate chicks, I’m surprised this is the first you knocked up.”

This was as insulting to her as it was to me, and it also struck a chord in me because of how I feared this was just reinforcing Y/N’s views of me. “Don’t say shit like that,” I threatened, to no avail. “Don’t talk about her like that.”

“Ransom…” Her sweet voice tried to intervene, but I was too far gone to hold myself back now. I couldn’t stand the thought that I was hurting her because I was the reason she was here in the first place.

“You know nothing about her, and yet you feel comfortable judging her,” I continued, ignoring her completely. “She’s a lawyer, actually. You would know it if you had even bothered to talk to her. If there was ever the need for a prenup, I’d have her draw it.”

Maybe they thought I’d stop at that - I thought so myself, until I realized there was still so much I wanted to get out, and I was going to do that now.

“And you know what? I trust her more than I trust you, and I came out of you. So maybe you should consider that before you attack the one person I try to introduce to my family.” I hated everything about this. I hated how they still managed to get to me, how the fact that my own mother, who I didn’t even respect, still managed to make me feel inadequate about the one thing in my life that made me excited.

I knew I’d always lose with them. They just had this way of inciting the beast in me - they brought out the worst in me, and I felt helpless to fight it.

“Okay, so she’s not some random skank,” my uncle oh-so-helplessly interrupted, immediately making me want to punch him in his stupid face. “But this just means she’s the one playing you.”

“Oh, shut up!” I threw my hands up, pushing my chair away from the table, fully intended to storm out of the room until Meg was the one who stopped me dead in my tracks.

“Did you even get a paternity test, Ransom?” She seemed almost uncomfortable to voice it, eyes darting from me to Y/N, but I could read her apologetic smile perfectly.

She just didn’t want someone else to get Harlan’s attention and interest because that would potentially mean less money to each and everyone of the people in this room, as he’d add one more person to his aid list.

My father took advantage of what Meg said, waving in her direction. “Don’t you know how important this family is? How quickly she could rise in any job because of a connection to us?”

My mother scoffed, finally ready to interfere again. “Knowing she’s actually smart leaves me even more surprised that you’ve relented and decided to become someone’s little plaything until this baby pops out. I’m assuming a few months with a screaming kid and you’re just gonna abandon her anyway. Which is fine by me, I won’t have to pretend to be a grandmother for long.”

Y/N’s P.O.V.

All I could think was how grateful I was that I had accompanied him to this dinner tonight. As I watched his chest heaving with fury, I could not imagine how he would have felt having to deal with all of this on his own.

“Ransom,” I tried to catch his attention, pulling him back to his seat. “Ransom, it’s okay,” I tried to appease him, but he was too fucking gone to care.

“No, it’s not okay, he pushed my hand away, getting up from his chair to lean over the table, both hands on top of it as he stared at his mother.  “What the fuck is wrong with you?” He yelled, making me flinch, although Linda hardly seemed bothered by it.

Then, much to my surprise, Ransom straightened up, running a hand through his hair as an emotionless chuckle escaped him. “No, you know what? You’re right. You’re not gonna be a grandmother. I’m gonna be a father, Harlan’s gonna be a great-grandfather, but that’s it. I’m not gonna keep taking your shit anymore, Linda, you know why? Even if this child wasn’t mine, I’d still want her and this kid.”

My heartbeat pumped out of control as he continued, “She’s not just someone who’s carrying my child. I care about her. And if you can’t respect her, than I guess I was right in keeping this pregnancy from you.”

I held my breath as Ransom apparently caught his, my head swirling with the different emotions running through me - my infatuation for this man, who had so fiercely defended me from his entire family, the adrenaline from witnessing such a vicious argument.

I truly believed this would be the end of it. I didn’t know where they could go from here - that was, of course, until Linda decided to attack him.

“Oh, and you think you’re going to be so great with it?” My blood boiled when her words turned against her own son so easily. Attack me and my dignity? That was okay, these people didn’t know me.

But seeing her attack Ransom was just too much for me.

“Do you think she’ll want to keep you around once she realizes she’ll be raising two children with you to weigh her down?” Ransom visibly faltered, like she had slapped him, and that’s when I had enough. “You’ll never be able to give her the emotional support that she needs and you know that.”

I rose to my feet at that, holding onto my lower back as I softly slapped Ransom’s back in an attempt to calm him down. “I got this, babe.” He was so surprised - and still so hurt by his mother’s statements - that he didn’t even try to stop me. In fact, I think he didn’t even realize what was going on until I turned to Linda and started talking.

“Do you really think that poorly of your son that you can’t believe he has anything to offer in a relationship?” Now she was the one who looked up at me with an expression that looked like I had physically hurt her.

“Is it that unbelievable to you, that someone would be able to like him for him?” She didn’t seem to be able to find anything to answer to me, and when I turned to Richard, I was also met with silence.

Ransom’s P.O.V.

“Well, I do,” she announced, like it was the single most obvious thing, the simplest fact to deduce in the world, while I stood back watching her with my mouth hanging open. “I like him enough to be willing to open up to him even if one day he might leave me because to me, he is worth any possibility of future pain.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I’d never had anyone defend me like this, not even Harlan - not even my parents, when I was a kid and the bigger children decided to bully me.

No, back then all I got was a talk about how “real men don’t cry” and if my father ever caught me cowering from someone else again he’d give me a real reason to be afraid.

“And I do say possibility,” she continued, not having raised her voice for even a second and still to effortlessly able to catch the attention of everyone in the room, assure herself the ground to speak her mind without the fear of interruptions. “Because Ransom’s actions have never given me any reason to think that outcome is even remotely probable.”

“So maybe you think about your own opinions of your son’s character and see if they don’t reflect your own more than they reflect his actions.” She turned around after that, tiny hand encircling my wrist as she began to yank me in the direction of the front door.

“Let’s go.”

[queenxxxsupreme]

Rare Mornings

A/N: I just got to Chapter 6 and it’s all fucking sad and I just need my cowboy to be happy so this takes place at Clemens Point but there’s no spoilers. <<< This was a note I left when I first made this but I have since passed Chapter 6 and I am sad. This doesn’t have a first part and is a stand alone (for now at least) If you saw my previous post about accidentally making a part 2 to something that doesn’t even have a part 1, this is it. Sorry if anything is confusing

Warnings: none, pure fluff

Summary: Quiet mornings with Arthur are rare, but they’re something you enjoy when you can.

***

Thunder rumbled quietly in the clouds above camp. Rain tapped against the canvas of the tent, the gentle noise creating a relaxing ambiance. 

It was early in the morning. The sun was just beginning to peak over the horizon. Arthur would usually be up by now, getting ready for the day. But he couldn’t bring himself to get out of bed just yet. You were too peaceful of a sight to leave. 

The cot you were sharing was small, but you both had learned to make it work. While Arthur was on his back with one hand behind his head and his other arm wrapped securely around you, you were on your side tucked into him. Your head rested on his shoulder and one of your legs was thrown up over his hips. 

Arthur kept his eyes on you, watching the way you tried to fight falling back asleep. You woke up some time ago after nearly rolling off of the cot and you were doing your damnedest not to fall asleep again. You wanted to spend as much time with Arthur as you could. 

But it seemed like you were losing your battle with sleep. Your eyelids grew heavy and your head began to sink forward on his shoulder. Then you jolted suddenly, sucking in a sharp breath and rubbing your eyes. 

Arthur chuckled softly. 

“Just go back to sleep, pumpkin.”

“No.” You insisted. “This is one of the few times me and you get to spend time alone without everyone and their brother botherin’ us. M’not sleepin’ for shit.”

He kissed your forehead, his hand at the small of your back tracing circles on the material of your chemise. 

“I’m thinkin’ I need to go take a trip to one of those fancy boutiques they got in Saint Denis.” You repositioned your head on his shoulder so you could get a better look at him. 

“Yeah? What’re you gonna get at one of them places?” He raised his brows inquisitively. You propped yourself up on one elbow, pulling the sleeve to your chemise up into place on your shoulder. 

“Molly says they’ve got really nice clothes there. Says maybe even somethin’ you might like.” You looked down at his chest. Your eyes found a scar that cut across his sternum. You traced the jagged, pale line with your index finger. 

“Oh, I doubt one of them boutiques would have somethin’ I’d like.”

“Not for you, silly.” You giggled softly, swatting at his chest. He caught your hand and brought your fingers down to his lips where he could press kisses into the pads of your fingers. “For me to wear for you.”

A sly grin came to his lips. 

“Shit, pumpkin.” He kissed your palm and then placed your hand on his chest. “I wouldn’t want ya wearin’ anythin’ like that around camp. If anyone else saw ya in that…. I’d get in a whole hell of a lot of trouble.”

“Oh, I don’t think I’d ever wear anything like that around here.” You shook your head. “I already don’t like how Micah looks at me.”

“I’m just waitin’ for the right time to start swingin.” Arthur muttered, shaking his head. “Don’t you worry.”

“Deserves a lot more if you ask me.” You sighed. “But I don’t want to think about him.”

“I don’t either. Ugly bastard makes me wanna puke.” Arthur scrunched his nose up. 

There were a few moments where neither of you said anything. You heard a little bit of movement outside of the tent. 

“I wish we could have more time to ourselves.” You moved around on the cot so that you could sit on his lower stomach. “There ain’t even walls here. We can’t talk without worryin’ bout someone hearin’ us unless we talk early like this.”

“I know.” He sighed softly, bringing his hands from the outsides of your thighs to your knees where the hem of your chemise was bunched up. He played with the lacy hem for a few minutes. “Maybe after all this here settles…. Maybe we can take a trip somewhere. Just the two of us. We’ll find somewhere nice to stay for a couple days, somewhere I can spoil you.”

His fingers pushed the hem of your chemise up a few inches, exposing your thighs to the cool morning air. 

“I heard…. I heard that there’s this place in Saint Denis. It’s a real nice place.” Arthur’s eyes focused on the locket that rested on your chest. “A little cute hotel. Couples go there when they wanna get away.”

“Ohh.” You smiled, leaning down to kiss the scar on his chin. “You aren’t just wanting to take me away for a couple days. This is a week long thing you’re wantin’ to do, Mr. Morgan.”

His eyes followed you as you sat back, baby blues focused on you as if you were the brightest star in the night sky. 

“I was thinkin…. Maybe for our honeymoon.” His voice was low. 

The smile fell from your mouth as your lips parted in realization. He wanted to do something special with you, he wanted to treat you to a weekend alone together and away from the hectic life of the gang. But more importantly, he wanted to marry you. 

Mistaking your silence for a negative reaction, Arthur shook his head and brought his hand up to rub his face. 

“We don’t- We don’t gotta do something like that. It’s just a stupid, silly idea.”

“Arthur, it’s not stupid.” You murmured, pulling his hand from his face. “And it’s not silly. I-I thought…. I just didn’t think you were serious when you told me that.” 

Arthur furrowed his brows as he looked at you. 

“Lemme sit up a second, pumpkin.” 

You shifted your weight to your knees, giving him the opportunity to slip his hips out from underneath you. He sat up, leaning against the chest that rested behind the cot. You sat just above his knees, messing nervously with your hands. 

“You didn’t think I was serious when I said I wanted to marry you?”

You looked down at your hand. Your eyes focused on your left ring finger. There was no ring there, therefore it was hard for you to wrap your head around the situation. It didn’t feel real. It felt like a dream. 

“Pumpkin, you know the only ring I got on me right now…. It’s the one from Mary.” Arthur’s voice was low as he spoke to you.

When you didn’t say anything, he hooked his index under your chin and tilted your head up so that you had no choice other than to look at him. 

“I ain’t proposin’ to you with that ring. The second I get the money and find the right one for you—,”

“Arthur, you know I don’t care about a silly little ring.” You cut him off, shaking your head softly. “I just…. I don’t know. There’s so much goin’ on right now. With-With Dutch and his plans for getting us somewhere where we won’t have to run from Pinkertons and O’Driscolls and Cornwall’s men…. Is now the right time for that?” 

Arthur watched you for a few silent moments. Then he let out a little breath and rubbed his scruffy chin. He took your hands in his. 

“The way I look at it, we ain’t gettin’ any younger. Those problems, they’ll always be there. We can wait if that’s what you wanna do, pumpkin. We can wait until it’s all over, until we get to Tahiti or Australia or wherever the hell Dutch is taking us. As long as I got you, I’m the luckiest man there is.”

You smiled, eyes leaving his to look down at where your hands met. 

“You’re such a sweetheart, Arthur Morgan.” You brushed your thumb across his knuckles. 

“Nah. I just know how to sweet talk you.” He leaned forward to kiss you softly. “So? What is it you wanna do?” 

“I wanna marry you.” You didn’t hesitate to answer. “What do you want?”

“I want that week away from these bastards here.”

He chuckled. 

“Arthur!”

“I’m kiddin’ you.” He leaned in to kiss your lips. “I wanna marry you too, pumpkin. More than you know. I think you’d make a perfect Mrs. Morgan.”

“Hmm. The best?” You began to climb out of his lap.

“Of course. Wouldn’t want any other.” His eyes followed you as you slipped on a pair of boots. “Where are you going?”

“To get us coffee.”

“You’ll be back, won’t you?”

“Of course. Haven’t gotten my ring yet.” 

The playful grin on your lips made his heart soar.

Taglist: @doggone-cowgirl @winterwolf @lauramb7 @caraqas @bluscryn @krenee1drful @zodiacaldust @nonodino @gabstaroc @cal-lifornication @thefirelordm @sargeantsea @sokkasdarling @thecollection @mayday1284 @kashasenpai @misskrql

If your name is in italics, it wouldn’t let me tag you :(

[sinner-as-saint]

Daddy’s Little Pet.

Steve Rogers x Reader

Run-through: You and Steve are the epitome of ‘opposites attract’. He is the American hero, a super soldier who is known for his bravery, and righteousness and for being the one leading the Avengers. You, on the other hand, are a well-known fashion designer in the city. Creator and owner of your own brand, and elite boutique. At first glance, it doesn’t seem like you and Steve would be compatible. But you surprisingly are. And behind closed doors, in secrecy – you two are each other’s solace, each other’s definition of home. He’s your strong, loving and caring man. And you, his lovely, little pet whom he adores more than life itself.

Themes: daddy kink, slight pet play (nicknames only), smut, fluff, age gap

a/n: if you’re not comfortable with any of the themes mentioned above, it’s really simple – don’t read this.

You sighed in delight once you slid into the backseat of your car.

Your driver began driving at once. You smiled at the thought of finally being able to relish in the comforts of your home after a long day. Today had been exceptionally tiring. First, you felt a little low, creatively. Then, you received a call from one of your boutique managers. One of your staff members called to let you know that one of your regular clients was acting up and being picky and causing a ruckus.

So you had to leave your office and all your unfinished projects and drive to your boutique where you handled the situation, thankfully.

You grimaced at the thought of the stuck up client you had to deal with today. Ugh, snobbish rich people… You were glad you were nothing like those who think that just because they have money, the world revolves around them.

You were extremely well-off yourself, but you kept yourself grounded instead of flaunting your fortune constantly. You agreed, you did indeed make much, much more money than others your age but you also worked your ass off for that. The fashion industry is a lot more hectic and competitive than it seems. And being the creator and owner of your own elite fashion brand was no joke, it was a lot of hard work and resilience.

Most people thought that you were simply living the dream life; fashion shows, elegant boutiques, and a large bank account. But they didn’t see the stress, the hard work, the tears and the pressure of having to constantly be creative and managing all your staff and your teams. Work took a toll on you often.

But that’s when you knew you could always rely on your loving boyfriend to make you feel better. Steve. The world knew him as the famous super soldier, the man out of time, leader of the Avengers, Captain America. But to you, he was the best partner you could ask for.

You felt giddy already, just thinking of being in his loving, strong arms later tonight. You checked your phone to see if there’s any messages from him. He texted you all day, and his last text said that he would be a little more late than usual.

You frowned, but got over it. His work was important for him, and everyone else. Besides, that would give you an hour or two to spend in the gym while you wait for him to come home it seems. And you really needed to let all that work stress out somehow. Normally you would prefer Steve getting it out of your system by fucking you into your mattress, but it seems that a nice work out session will have to do today.

 You got home, got changed then made your way to your well-furnished indoor gym. You were never an athletic person. You got the gym installed when Steve moved into your mansion. Then over time, you found yourself using it as well. And you hated to admit it, but it made you feel healthier.

An hour and a half later, you took your sweaty self into the shower and took a long, warm shower. You could sense yourself starting to feel a lot lighter than earlier. You were excited to just order diner and slip into one of your many onesies and watch a movie while you wait for Steve.

You giggled to yourself under the shower. That sounds like an amazing plan after a long day of feeling not so creative and dealing with rude clients.

And you did just that. You placed an order for some of yours and Steve’s favorites, then you went and skimmed through the countless, comfy onesie PJs in your closet. You chose the soft, brown, fluffy bear one with cute ears on the hood, and lots of little bear faces scattered all across it. Onesies were the comfiest thing in the world, and you would fight anyone who said any different. You slipped it on, closed the zipper and walked out of your grand closet.

You grabbed Sir Biscuit – your favorite teddy which you had since your childhood and grabbed your computer and plopped into your large, comfy bed. You put Harry Potter on. “Now we wait for my darling boyfriend, Biscuit.” You snuggled your teddy and watched your movie without a care in the world.

Steve would be here soon, and he’d take care of you. And you wouldn’t have to worry about a single thing. You were quite the control freak in your professional life, so it felt liberating to just not have to carry the burden of control while Steve was around. Plus, he was the love of your life. And there’s nothing you enjoyed more than being carefree in his arms.

Not even half an hour later, around 7.30 p.m. you heard the alarm beep; signaling that someone had entered your gated property. You smiled brightly as you waited impatiently for him. Minutes later, you heard the alarm again, signaling that someone was in through the front door.

And then you heard his voice. “Babe, I’m home.” He called out. And you jumped out of bed, ran down the hallway and down the stairs, crossed the living room and rushed into Steve’s open arms.

He was standing by the foyer, waiting for you to run into his arms like you did almost every day.

“Stevie!” you squealed. He laughed as you tried your hardest to hug him as tightly as you could. He wasn’t dressed in his tactical, navy suit today given he wasn’t out on a mission, but simply sat through briefing and planning for future missions all day.

The black leather jacket he wore smelt familiar and comforting. It smelt like him. You snuggled up to him, rubbing your face into his chest. He chuckled, his laughter rumbling in his chest right under your ear. “Hello kitten, you missed me?” he asked, giving you a kiss on top of your head.

You smiled and looked up at him, and with just one look into his ocean blue eyes, you forgot all the worries you had. “I did.” You whispered. His heart did its little happy dance as he took in your appearance. You looked so pretty he could cry.

He playfully gasped. “Wait a minute.” He held you at arms’ length and scanned you head to toe. “You’re not a kitten today, are you?” his words made you laugh and so did the fake shocked expression on his face. “You’re a fluffy, little bear!” he pulled you closer and attacked your face with a lots of loud, open mouth kisses, always the affectionate man he is. “Hi little bear!”

You giggled, playfully pushing him away. He walked the two of you backwards into the living room, then he stopped assaulting you with kisses and just held you in his arms. “I missed you so much.” You mumbled into his chest.

He felt bad because it was true and he missed you too. “I know,” he cooed. “I know I have been coming home late every day this week.” He held your chin and leaned in for a sweet kiss. “But I will make it up to you, okay? How about we have a little getaway this weekend, huh? Just me and my lovely girlfriend, yes?” He gave you a big smooch on the lips. “Would you like that?” he asked, and you got visibly excited.

Oh yes, you terribly needed a little vacay!

You nodded frantically, Steve chuckled and held your hand as you two walked back upstairs into your shared bedroom. “Now,” he sat you down on the edge of the bed. “Let me shower real quick, I’ll be back before you know it.”  

You nodded, pouting just a little that he was leaving you alone again. Then again, he needed a shower to relax as well, so you agreed without being too much of a brat. You watched your movie until Steve emerged from the bathroom again, with just dark grey sweatpants on.

You almost drooled a little when you watched him move around, putting his towel in the laundry basket and what not. His muscles flexed deliciously and the ratio of his broad shoulder to his lean waist made you tingly in specific places. You clenched your thighs together until his calming blue eyes met yours again.

You couldn’t help but pout and extended your arms out in front of you. He purposely just stood there and watched you for a moment. You were truly the light of his life. Sometimes, like right now, he was torn between wanting to be balls deep in you and fuck you until you forgot your own name or wanting to have you on his lap and make you giggle with his terrible jokes as you tell him about your day.

He gave in immediately. He walked over to you and slid beside you in bed, wrapping his muscular arms around your warm body.

You instantly melted once you were in his arms. And before he could say anything, he felt your warm mouth latching onto his skin. He thought it was just a kiss but then he felt you starting to suck on the skin at the side of his throat and nibbling on it. And as much as he enjoyed your touch, he had to pull away.

He looked down at you sternly, “Hey,” his voice a little more serious than earlier, “what did we say about biting and leaving marks on visible places?” he chided playfully, reminding you that he loved it when you left your marks all over him, just not in places where the rest of the team could see.

Your relationship was no secret, but he still preferred not to show up at work with love bites all over him.

You whined and hid your face into his bare chest. “Sorry, Stevie.” You whined. He smiled, stroking your hair and kissing the top of your head.

“It’s okay, my little pet.” He cradled your head, already playing to the mood you were in. “You bite on your teddy rather than me.” he patted the spot on the bed next to you but couldn’t feel your plush toy under the covers. He checked the other side and still couldn’t find it. “Oh no, little bear.” He sounded so concerned. “We lost your teddy.” He fake gasped.

You giggled and reached down under the covers and pulled it out. “It’s right here.” You said. He watched the teddy. One moment it was in your grasp, and the next you tossed it far away on the bed. Steve looked down at you, confused.

“You don’t want him, baby?” he asked. You shook your head no. “What do you want then?” he asked again. You still shook your head no. He tilted his head to the side and look at you.

You got out of the blankets and got on top of him. He smiled as you straddled his thighs and made yourself comfortable on his lap. You leaned in to give him a loud, open mouth kiss on his lips. You slid your body further down his legs and smiled innocently at him.

“What do you want, you little troublemaker?” he asked, knowing damn well what you wanted. He just liked hearing you say it.

You palmed him through his sweatpants. “I want you.” He was hard already, you could feel it. Steve looked enamored. The look in your eyes reminded him of the first night he met you; the most elegant, poised and gorgeous woman he had ever seen.

Oh babygirl… Steve smiled at you and leaned back, making himself comfortable in your bed. “You want daddy’s cock, huh?” he asked, and watched your face light up as you bent down and pressed an innocent kiss to his clothed erection then looked up at him and nodded excitedly.

He chuckled. “Go on, babygirl. Make daddy feel good.” He leaned against the headboard and watched you as you took your time and kissed every inch his clothed erection. Your hands lazily lowered the waistband of his sweats and his underwear to free his erected cock. Then again, you kissed your way up and down his erected cock. You circled your tongue around his tip and he groaned quietly. You giggled, knowing the effect you had on him. You wrapped your hand around his cock and placed your mouth on his tip. Steve grunted and held your head gently and slowly pushed himself deeper into your mouth.

You took him in inch by inch until he hit the back of your throat. “Relax your throat, baby.” He spoke softly as he pushed himself into your mouth entirely. He twitched against your tongue as you hollowed your cheeks and bobbed your head around him, and you tasted some of his pre cum trickling down your throat.

You took him out of your mouth and licked his cock from bottom to top while your hands toyed with his balls. He swore under his breath as you dragged your tongue over the slit on his tip very lazily. He looked down at you with a smirk on his face. “Don’t tease me, babygirl.” He cooed, stroking your hair and moving it out of your face.

You looked up at him and giggled, you took him back into your mouth and sucked on his cock until he began gently thrusting his hips up and pushing his cock further into your mouth. He loved the sight of your spit coating his cock, and your lips wrapped around him. The gasps and moans which escaped his lips made you squirm and added to the dampness which was forming in your underwear. His words had the same effects on you.

“Fuck… you’re such a good girl, aren’t you baby?” he bit his lip and threw his head back as you took all of him in your warm mouth. “That’s it kitten, keep going…fuck,” he was falling apart hard and fast.

He hissed and moaned loudly, shamelessly as he felt himself coming undone. You took him out of your mouth and circled your tongue around his tip rapidly until he came all over your mouth. He gasped and swore under his breath as he came. Unfortunately, you weren’t able to catch all of his cum in your mouth. Some it trickled down your chin, your neck and even got on your soft PJs.

Steve looked down at you and chuckled at how you were covered in his cum. “Look at you, you’re all messy, baby.” He stroked your hair and watched you stick your tongue out and lick him clean, gathering as much of his cum as you could. “You’ve got cum all over you, haven’t you?” he sat up straighter once you licked him clean and pulled his underwear and sweatpants up again. He tilted your head up so you look at him. “Seems like I need to change you now, huh?” he asked, knowing you would just lay there like a lazy person and let him to it because as your boyfriend, it’s his duty – your words, not his.

You bit your lip and nodded, smirking just a little. Oh yes!

 He had you lay down on your back, legs dangling at the edge of your bed as he carefully got you out of your soiled onesie and cleaned you with a wet cloth. Halfway through cleaning you, he left to go get your favorite body lotion. “You didn’t put lotion on after your shower today, did you?” he asked.

“Nope!” you answered, getting all excited because you loved it when he applied lotion on you, and you knew you’d also get a nice massage out of it. “I was waiting for you to do it for me.” You answered truthfully.

He chuckled, looking down at your bare body, then grabbed the lotion bottle and squirted some on his hand and smeared it all over the palms of his hand. “Can’t do anything without my help, can you?” he started at your shoulders and rubbed his hands all over your arms and chest. “Daddy has to do everything for you, doesn’t he?” he asked again, massaging down your sides and over your stomach.

You giggled and nodded. He smiled down at you and leaned down to give you a brief kiss right on your bellybutton. “It’s okay baby, I love to take care of you.” Steve meant what he said. He took his time and massaged your body, playfully teasing you and touching you in all the right places. Once satisfied, he had you turn around so he could give your back the same attention.

He kissed your butt while he was at it. And his large hands felt so good on your body that you were humming and moaning in no time. He could see you desperately, discretely move your hips against nothing, and he purposely stopped just when you began to get excited.

He heard you whine under your breath. You turned back around and faced him. He leaned down to kiss your lips and mumbled, “You smell so good, baby.” He kissed his way down your neck and all the way down your stomach and stopped right above your core. You whined again when you saw the mischievous look in his eyes. “Now tell me, which PJs do you want today?”

You took a moment to think about it, then answered, “The kitten one.” It was another favorite of yours. Steve nodded and went to go get it from your closet which almost resembled a store in itself. He shook his head, smiling at the amount of shoes and clothes and jewelry you had. He found the onesie and brought it back to where you were, waiting for him patiently.

Steve began putting the PJs on you, and once he was done he realized his mistake. “Uh, baby?” he called out, fixing the hood and the ears of the onesie. You looked at him and waited. “I made a mistake. I accidentally grabbed the puppy one.” He said and you looked down and giggled at the many paws prints on the onesie. He sighed and kissed your forehead. “But it’s okay, now you’re a little puppy!” he gave you another loud kiss on the cheek. “And you’re the cutest puppy I’ve ever seen!”

You laughed and sat up again, folding your legs under you. “It’s okay Stevie, old men make mistakes all the time.” You said, playfully. It was this on-going joke between the two of you, regarding Steve’s age.

He rolled his eyes at you, “Yeah you think?” he grabbed you and pulled you close again, tickling you until you laughed and thrashed around like a mad woman. He let you go only after you apologized, breathlessly.

“I’m sorry, Stevie! Please!” you spoke through giggles and he finally stopped.

“Come here, baby.” He plopped down on the bed and pulled you to his side. You immediately snuggled up to him and lifted one of your legs up to place it over his thighs. He wrapped his arms around you and gave you a kiss on the forehead.

You pushed your face into his chest and held on tightly to him. You had a smile on your face just thinking about how much happier you were with him in your life. You were a completely different woman before you met Steve. But now, you were just happier.

“Tell me about your day, babe.” he asked, after a while of just playing with your hair and breathing in your sweet scent. You smelt of strawberries and lily of the valley and it was Steve’s favorite scent in the whole world. He wondered at times, about how lost he would be if he didn’t find you when he did. You were the best thing in his life, in more than one ways, you definitely made his life worth living.

“Hmm,” you rubbed your face against his chest then looked up at him. “Same old, boring. I wasn’t feeling too creative today. Then a lady was being rude to my staff so I had to drive to the boutique and calm her down. People can be so snobbish sometimes, it’s crazy.” You paused and looked up at Steve, he looked really interested in the drama. “But then she bought a couple of my bags and an expensive evening gown so I made a lot of money.” You beamed at him.

He chuckled. Your days were always so much more interesting than his. “That’s good, you deserve it. You work so hard, I know.” he kissed the top of your head and secured his arms around you.

Then you asked him about his day. And he told you the same thing he always did. Meeting, mission plans, trying to get Bucky and Sam not to kill each other while arguing over every little thing. “We went over our plans for the next mission.” He talked about his day, “And then I missed my baby and I couldn’t wait to come home to her.” He spoke, leaning down to kiss your face again.

You giggled. “I’m right here.” You looked up and gave him a kiss on his neck and snuggled closer to him.

Steve tightened his grip around you. “I know you are, babe. You’re the best part of my day.” He whispered against the top of your head.

You two cuddled for a while, just relishing each other’s touch. Steve ran a soothing hand you’re your back and occasionally looked down at you, carefree in his arms. He would smile and kiss the top of your head each time you murmured or scooted closer to his body.

He spoke up after a while, “I’m hungry.” he waited for you to look up at him.

“I ordered food.” You let him know.

He smiled and caressed your cheek. “I know, baby. I saw you got my favorite dessert as well.” He looked down at you with a familiar look in his eyes. A playful look you knew all too well. “But daddy wants something sweeter.” He added.

You seemed a little confused, although the tone of his voice did hint at how he was definitely up to no good. “Like chocolate or candy?” you asked.

He chuckled. “No, sweeter than that.” He leaned down closer to your ear. “Know what it is?” he asked. You purposely shook your head side to side. He gently held your chin and whispered excitedly, “It’s you!”

You fake gasped, playfully. You laughed and got up and tried to run away from him. Steve chuckled as he chased after you. “Come here, you naughty little puppy!” he called out after you as you ran towards the closet, in hopes of hiding in there and locking the door, bur he caught you before you could.

You laughed and struggled your way out of his grasp once again. You ran to the other side of the room and almost made your way to the bathroom but he caught you again and tackled you down onto the nearby velvet couch.

“Caught you!” he tickled you again until you were breathless from laughing too hard. Then he stopped and leaned in to kiss you deeply. His touch was gently and passionate, he held you as close as possible and shoved his tongue past your lips. He hummed and moaned as he invaded your mouth. But he wanted more, so much more. “Can I taste you, baby?” he asked, pulling away and mumbling against your mouth.

You whined at the voice he used; deep and low. His words sent vibrations through your entire body. You nodded quickly and he smirked against your mouth as he slowly unzipped your onesie and kissed his way down your body as he went.

Steve settled in between your legs once he unzipped your onesie entirely. “Now, hold still for daddy. Okay?” he whispered, face dangerously close to your core. You bit your lip and nodded, excited and desperate already. You’ve been thinking about him and that mouth of his all day at work and now you just couldn’t wait.

He placed his hands on your thighs and spread your legs further apart and attached his lips to your core without a second thought; the lower half of his face completely submerged into your dripping core. You moaned out loud involuntarily as you felt his warm mouth on top of your dripping core. His tongue slipped past your folds and teased your entrance; occasionally flicking your sensitive bud mercilessly.

He moaned as he relished your taste. He’d been thinking about you all day, and now he finally had you and he wasn’t planning on stopping until you beg him to stop. Your taste drove him wild, so did your soft whimpers.

Your hands gripped his hair and tugged gently at his roots. Wet sounds erupted from where his mouth latched on to your core, and the sight was just as sinful. A man as powerful and strong as him, on his knees on the couch, his head in between your legs and his mouth touching your body in the most intimate way possible. Pure adoration and an unusual power washed over you.

You whimpered under his touch, feeling his beard rubbing against your soft skin; it burned a little, but you enjoyed each and every second of it and craved for more. You moaned out loud as your back arched off the couch for just a moment, your eyes closing and your head leaning back as you felt a wave of intense pleasure wash over you.

“Cum for me, kitten, come on.” he whispered and got back to assault your sensitive spot with his warm and wet tongue; relishing your taste. You didn’t have to be told twice, the pressure was building up nicely as well. So with a few more strokes of his tongue, you let go and gushed out all over his face. He didn’t stop even then, he kept at it while your orgasm washed over you; lapping up whatever you gave him. He couldn’t get enough of you.

You arched your back and whined as he kept going on and on even after you came all over his mouth. You mumbled, your voice strained and high pitched due to the sensitivity, “Stevie… I- I already came.” You tried to scoot away from his mouth because it felt unbearably good.

His grip tightened around your thighs, and he pulled you against his mouth again. “No no, don’t you move away from me. I’m not done yet.” He spoke and went back to teasing you with his tongue. And he stood by his words earlier, he indeed ate you out until you begged him that you couldn’t take it anymore. “Can’t take it, huh?” he rapidly kissed his way up your body again. “Would you like daddy’s cock instead?” he cooed, settling his hips in between yours.

You looked up at him with your lips parted, breathless and worn out but you still nodded in hunger. Oh you wanted him bad. He chuckled at your needy state. “You want daddy’s big cock inside you, don’t you baby?” he whispered against your cheek as he lowered his sweatpants and underwear just enough to free his cock. He was rock hard.

You nodded again, whimpering already. He lifted his hips to align his erected cock to your entrance. You instinctively spread your legs apart to give him more room. With a slow, steady push, he inserted his length into you. You shuddered as you felt all of him filling you up. You heard his ragged breaths as he seated himself completely inside you and waited, giving your body time to adjust to him.

“Is this what you wanted, kitten?” he asked, gripping your jaw and causing you to look up at him. You could talk given how full you were. Steve smirked, pulling out just a little and pushing back into you again. You closed your eyes and moaned, arching your back off the surface of the couch again. He smirked at he looked down at you. “You wanted daddy to stretch you out like this, didn’t you baby?”

Steve leaned in to kiss your open mouth, shamelessly shoving his tongue past your parted lips and stroking the inside of your mouth while he began moving in and out of you. He pulled away from your mouth and looked down at you with pure hunger and determination in his eyes.

He sped up just a little, rocking his hips against yours and his hand reached up to wrap around your neck gently. He stared into your eyes, speeding up into you again. “That feels good, baby?” he asked, and you nodded while you gripped the couch and his arm like your life depended on it.

He stretched you out deliciously, perfectly. Filling you up and reaching all the right places as he went. He moaned and growled right against your mouth, clenching his teeth or occasionally biting down on your lip as he pounded into you relentlessly. “You’ve been thinking about daddy’s cock all day, haven’t you?” he spoke as he sped up into you again. You could only nod senselessly, overwhelmed by how good he felt deep inside you.

He chuckled and tightened his grip around your throat just a little. “Yeah? You naughty little kitten.” He leaned down to kiss your lips as he lifted one of your legs and hooked it to his waist, pushing himself deeper inside you. “You wanted daddy so bad, didn’t you?” he whispered against your lips and he slowed down for just a moment to hear you moan wantonly before he sped up again, fucking you relentlessly. “You wanted daddy to show you that he fucking owns you, didn’t you babygirl?”

The higher he took you and the closer he felt his release coming, the filthier his mouth got. “You belong to me you, you hear me?” he gave you messy kisses. “Your little cunt is mine. Only mine.” he growled in your ear and goose bumps erupted all over your body. Steve quickened his pace and pounded into you harder than before; the sounds of your skin slapping one another resonated around the grand room.

He was all you could focus on. The sound of his voice. His body pressing down on yours. His cock inside you. You walls beginning to clench around him. His moans, his hot breath against your cheek, his messy kisses. Just him.

He took you higher…and higher… and higher until you felt a tear escape your eye. “Please… please…” you whined, begging pathetically and unable to arrange your words or your thoughts any better. “Please…”

He scoffed, and tightened his grip around your throat yet again to get your attention. Your eyes were droopy in lust. His were too, but he was much more in control of his body than you were. “Please what? You want to cum around daddy, is that it?” he completed your pleas. You nodded again, unable to talk as he pounded into you, so good that it made you want to scream. “Go ahead kitten, cum for me.” He whispered breathlessly.

Steve didn’t slow down as you felt your orgasm wash over you, he kept pounding into you as your eyes rolled back and you moaned out loud as you came. You whimpered at how he kept slamming into you even after you came, and your face burned as you felt the knot forming again right at your core.

He fucked you relentlessly; not even stopping for a second. He panted and groaned at how good you felt around him; wet and warm all for him. Your walls clenched around him violently and your body arched off the couch. You felt your second release approaching while you recovered from the first one. Your leg around his waist was numb, and your body moved along with his like a toy; yet, you wanted more of what he had to give. You would take whatever he gave you.  

You felt your mind clouding with lust and getting foggy again. His large frame hovering above you as he tightened his grip around your throat just a little more. “Cum for me again kitten.” He growled through clenched teeth, his lips dangerously close to yours as you whined and whimpered under him. Your body trembled as you came for the second time in a row, walls tightening around his length. You came again; gushing out around his cock while he still pounded relentlessly into you until he came as well.

You felt his thrust getting sloppy and irregular until he came to a stop and just growled as he came violently; moaning and swearing. His warm cum shot at your walls and some of it trickled out of you when he carefully removed his length from your entrance.

Steve watched you intently. Your hands moved on their own, while your eyes were still closed. You gently reached down to touch your sensitive and throbbing core, it was wet everywhere. Steve chuckled and moved your hand away; replacing it with his own.

He didn’t hesitate before shoving two fingers inside you again. You moaned at how sensitive you were but then you opened your eyes to look into his wild, ocean blue ones. “You want daddy’s cum inside you, don’t you baby?” he whispered, his mind a little hazy from how hard he just fucked you. You whined and bit your lower lip and just nodded.

“Yes, please…”

He chuckled. “You take whatever I give you, huh?” he whispered and used his free hand to release your lip from in between your teeth before he leaned down to kiss your open mouth again. His tongue invaded your mouth like he owned it while he fingered you. You almost came again as his fingers stroked your walls sinfully. “You want daddy to just finger his cum back into your dirty little cunt, yeah is that what you want?” he asked, knowing damn well what you wanted. But he just like seeing you struggle to talk after you’re all nice and fucked. “Don’t wanna waste daddy’s cum at all. You want all of it, don’t you baby?”

You nodded and mumbled something which he didn’t quite hear. He smirked. “You can’t even talk, kitten.” He kissed you again, slipping his finger in and out of you faster. “It’s okay, baby.” he gave you another messy kiss and mumbled, “Are you going to cum for me again, huh? Cum for me, come on,” he pushed his face into your neck as your walls clenched around him desperately again as you came a third time.

He chuckled as you moaned loudly, body shaking and thighs clenching around his hand.

“You’re always such a good girl.” He kissed the side of your face, hoping to aid in calming you down. You whimpered as he pulled his fingers out of you and stood up to look down at you. You were beautiful mess; covered in his cum and love bites, breathless and sweaty.

Steve helped you up and walked you over to the bathroom. He figured he should run both of you a well-deserved bath. He lowered you down into the warm water and joined you shortly after. Despite the soreness in between your legs and the pain on either side of your hips, you immediately climbed onto his lap as soon as he sat down.

He chuckled and let you cling to him. He wrapped his arms around you and you laid your head on his shoulder, straddling his thighs.

“Thank you.” you said after a while. He ran his hand down your back over and over again.

“What for, babe?” he asked and felt you pull away. You looked into his eyes and cupped his face in your hands.

“For taking such good care of me. For putting up with whatever I do, and loving me even when I’m clingy and annoying.” You said with a smile.

He shook his head softly. “You’re never clingy and annoying. Besides, I love taking care of you. It’s my favorite part of the day.” He leaned in to kiss your lips.

You smiled through the kiss and wrapped your arms around his neck. “I love you, Steve.” you mumbled against his mouth.

He smiled. “I love you too, babe. You’re my everything.”

You held on to Steve for a long while in the tub. Just hugging him and relishing his presence and his soft touch. Steve liked having you this close. It was his favorite thing after spending an entire day being away from you because of work.

He smiled and kissed the top of your head. Finally, after a long day just like yours, he was home. Home to the love of his life; you – the woman who owned his entire heart, soul and being. His favorite girl.