#the traits that those guides say you should tone down are the ones i like best | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sunflowervolvimp3 · 4 years

Text

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.”

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #vampire!harry #vampire!harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #vampire au #one direction fanfiction #one direction imagine #one direction fic #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #ysijwa #writing

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remsmoonlight · 3 years

Text

— title : west side polaroids

— word count : 2.4k words

— pairing : john wich x reader

— summary : the first day unbound by the table is marked by you both.

— warnings : none except minimal mentions of death and descriptions of blood

note: please please please go easy on me i have not written any john content in months but omg i adore the song west side by ariana .. issa dreamy vibe , but yeah i couldn’t decide the title so i merged them ..... anyways :)

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* requests are open ! *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Life that does not revolve around the endless cycle of death and immorality is still new to John, the colour of crimson may have well been his favourite colour with how much he’d found it coating nearly every inch of his skin on a frequent basis. Some nights he’d awake and was sure he could see the stains of blood dried into his nails, though the flood of a bedside lamp would soon flush that worry away. Never had he been the one to imagine a life outside of what he knows, though as he stares at his image in the lengthy mirror before him, that’s what he observes in this moment. A free man.

A whole thirty days had passed since that fateful night when he secured his freedom from his .. job, wanting to allow a sufficient recovery time. Any longer and he knew you well enough to know you’d be breaking his front door down. Luckily, many of the cuts and furious bruises had almost completely healed, while some more stubborn than others were covered with a little more difficulty than he’d prefer. Still, he hopes that your reaction isn’t too explosive. With great reluctance he’d shared enough details with you to understand him and why he is the way he is, and should he not make it back you wouldn’t be left in limbo waiting for him to return. Knowing how often you found yourself worrying over him. Since when did I deserve something so good? he asks himself now and every day that greets him.

He never wants you to be left with a ghost. Especially when you had dug so deeply to prevent him from being consumed by the repetition to death and destruction by his ability to maximise results from his body when required.

Contact had been scarce between you both, and you accepted it. Knowing just what was transpiring as you went through your daily activities, wondering what John could be up to. Staying honest to yourself, your mind had conjured up the most ghastly images, a mental sketchbook where the next page would only be worse than the previous. Though, the moment you heard his voice through your mobile, you felt all the tight tension that wracked your limbs alleviate to nothing more than a dull ache that you have since forgotten.

John is a good liar however when he shared the intricate details of the life he had led, his eyes shone a truth and a pain of growing tired of all the slaughter he’d had a hand dipped into many a time. You believed him and you still do. In spite of this it’s still a difficult task for your mind to wrap itself around but for John? You would.

“ there you are, stranger! “ you greet warmly as you open your arms to finally embrace him after so long.

Your eyes shut while you relish the physical contact that you have sorely missed, you release a heavy breath of air as the moment you have been counting down to is here and you can grasp it with your fingertips. Sensations unreliant on your eyes hone in on the comfort you now feel, the smooth material you can feel to the smell of the cologne worn by John ⏤ a gentle smile drifts softly onto your features in response to the warm shield of solace envelopes you whole.

“ it took longer than I thought. “ he says as he shakes his head, you feel the action from your position

“ I'd say.. I thought I’d never see you again. “

“ I wouldn’t let that happen. “ a low whisper travels from his lips, you can feel his warm breath on you as he leans down, the action causing you to shiver at the faintly sinister tone that had been so close to overwhelming them.

In your heart you feel the strength in his words, it’s not a statement but a promise with all the faith and trust poured into them. Never had you met someone as dedicated and resolute as the man, you’d have called him a psychic because whenever he says something it often comes true, born into existence from his drive.

“ that is something I believe. “ you reply, your voice dulling ever so slightly in octaves.

A mighty stone wall had once been John, any attempt to get to know him proved a punishing task. Though, when a crack had become apparent it became obvious that a gentle touch had been a foreign concept for him but when he’d accepted it as real? The taste of what life could transform into made him want more, to open the door he’d never once entertained of unlocking. John is incredibly grateful you’d never become frustrated and left as soon as you’d arrived in his life, refusing to want another life without your touch.

“ so, are we going to stand here all day or are we going to get in that car you adore so, so much? “

With the barest of groans escaping his throat, he reluctantly disentangles himself from your form, already missing the contact with you. Turning, you move with an energetic vigour buzzing in your toes ⏤ from your position you fail to realise John has himself glued to your form with an affectionate warmth pooling in his eyes. The corner of his eyes fondly crinkle ever so slightly at the view.

A forceful wind erupts in the car as it picks up, you can feel the pleasant freshness dance carelessly on your skin, tickling the strands of hair left loose. It feels like a dream you muse as you shift your gaze to John, really beginning to understand the butterflies that all these television shows and movies talk about as you take in the concentration forging itself into his features as his eyes never leave the road. You don’t believe in the idea of destiny, but you can’t help but note how it feels how the stars modified and aligned themselves for you.

Recently, the purchase of a polaroid camera had arrived on your doorstep and today would be the best opportunity to try it out!

“ they’ll leave me alone ⏤ “ he stops suddenly as he assures the unspoken question between you both. Can we live in peace? “ ⏤ us alone now. “

“ you’re sure? It sounds like a shady business, what if someone doesn’t take note? “ worry bleeds into your expression as your foot begins to tap nervously, with only a peek into another society it has left you concerned when John is involved.

“ one thing my world thrives on is rules. Codes. “ he assures you gently, aware of how the other side of the world lives out its gruesome fantasies in real life shocks you.

A heavy hand lays dormant on your leg, coarse fingertips only moving every so often to draw trails on your clothed skin, as if to discover a depth that lays hidden from view. Of course, you both know that John knows every inch of you as you know yourself, many nights spent burning the entirety of the other into your minds with only the moonlight acting as your guiding light.

“ well, I can say that’s good to hear. “ is said by you with a short bout of nervous laughter. “ you can be sure? “

“ you have nothing to worry about. “ he remarks with confidence, attempting to soothe any and all of your fears you have in regards to your situation you both now share.

“ okay, “ you say with a nod, trying to affirm yourself of there being no phantoms pursuing the man behind you from the shadows. “ I trust you, John. I’m just being silly. “

“ you’re not being silly, I understand. “

Silence overwhelms the confined space you share, you take in just the lack of pretence in this moment. Nothing felt between you is forced, an affection woven with a glistening thread so naturally that the bond had been shaped into your reality before either of you had even realised. All John knew was that the curious feeling would be strengthened would he follow his emotions, and that is exactly what he did. Gratitude leaves his heart feeling full at the choice, finally realising that he can settle into a life of normality. An adventure he has never once had but a glow radiates within him at being able to share it with you.

A salty fragrance slowly seeps into your sense of smell, the sounds of seagulls erupting in the distance as you realise just where John is driving you. The chance, living in a city, to go to the beach is scarce thanks to the distance, so you can feel a childish elation swell deep inside of you. Running on this emotion, you pull out the camera held safely in the confines of your bag. Turning it around and shifting your body so suddenly you poke your tongue out and a brief, blinding flash of light erupts before disappearing from existence as soon as it came.

“ oh, now this is a good one! “ you cheer as your lips curve so smoothly into a satisfied grin as you gaze upon the small print held between your fingers.

John says nothing, only knowing of his amusement through the abrupt laughter and warmth blazing so intensely in his eyes.

“ you’ll have to put those into an album or something. “

“ that’s actually a good idea, or a scrapbook? “ you ask with the idea brightening your entire expression. “ documenting this notable day! “

“ yeah, exactly. “ he agrees, a short laugh is shared with you in response. In awe at your naivety, once he’d been envious of the trait ⏤ because you’d never have seen the things he has, but he understands it now. Neither of you can help what you were born into, but he can have control over the person he becomes and that does not include harbouring resentment over something so trivial. The idea seems so foolish now, as it has become something he has grown to adore.

The two of you exit the vehicle, effortlessly your hands find each other through the lengthy space to the other's warmth in yours. John is unable to stop himself from admiring facile peace that clouds your features as you stare upon the limitless majesty of which the deep richness of the blue of the ocean expands way beyond what the eye can distinguish. There’s no worry nor emotional strain colouring itself into burdening your relaxed features.

Your fingers get to work photographing the scene before you, wanting not to document the beauty before you itself but rather the sentiment that dominates the moment with a heavy hand that you’d dare not maneuver away.

From behind you can feel arms encapsulate you against his chest as he parts his lips, as if to say something, mutter some romantic words but he stops immediately. His being wanting to fully submerge himself in a feeling of being enveloped by the serenity. Right now, it’s just you in each other’s company with nothing of the outside world being able to scratch and claw at your attention. He can finally allow himself to be lost in something good, someone who does not see him as a monster, no matter how many atrocities have occurred by his hands. God forbid any ghastly spirits should try to end the dream of this life, he would go to the ends of the Earth to shroud you from any harm from the shadiness he once delved into.

He leaves a flutter of sweet kisses on the crown of your head, you allow a nonchalant smile to illuminate your lips, a soft giggle at the action hovers between you both. John moves his grip to release your waist from his hold, a slow movement towards the bulky camera that lays safe in your grasp. He steps back with a gentleness that he’d never imagined could be contained within his form, and lifts the lens up to his awaiting gaze. You turn just as he lays pressure onto the button, a flash greeting you as you do ⏤ you’re caught off guard, his favourite version of you.

“ come on, John! “ you complain, fingers move to fuss with the loose ends of your hair played with by the tempestuous winds.

“ I couldn’t resist, I’m sorry. “ he apologises with an accompanying smirk, fondly eyeing the photograph of you being caught unaware.

“ it better look good. “ a warning falls from your lips, of course, it’s an empty one ⏤ you wouldn’t spit any venom his way over something so inconsequential.

“ you always look perfect to me. “

With a flood of tenderness and devotion filling your vision, hands inch higher and higher as they snake up the chest of John ⏤ he knows the movement well, a permanent muscle memory that brings him closer to your lips. The touch is so faint, almost feather like, this kiss lacking the pleading need and instinctive desire from his direction ⏤ instead, this one he takes comfort in your presence. He knows you both now have all the time to get lost in one another.

“ you think you can get around me easily? “ you question him swiftly, a good natured air of audacity sparkles in your gaze as you stare up to the tall man.

“ I know I can. “ John promises, already missing the lingering touch you leave behind like a tattoo on his mouth.

“ you sound so sure.. “ you remark, an amused tone coats your words heavily in its substance as your fingertips trace nonexistent patterns in the back of his neck.

John fights himself to prevent a groan of pleasure at the action from clawing its way free from him, already feeling himself melting into your form. He’s surprised you’re not one person.

“ Because I am. “ he states, a lone nod accompanies the action before he descends once more, itching to feel the silk of your lips on his once more on his.

Lifting the camera up at a slant, the crashing of the waves drowns out the click of the camera, he takes out the physical memory of this period of tranquility and adoration. You take it from him, your sight examining the image before you. If you’d had doubts before, you would no longer ⏤ a permanent reminder in picture form of the intimacy and care you share equally.

This is a day to remember.

“ I guess you’re correct. “

#john wick imagine #john wick x reader #john wick oneshot #john wick fluff

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potteresque-ire · 3 years

Text

More ask answer about Word of Honour (山河令, WoH) and the so-called “Dangai 101 phenomenon” under the cut ~ with all the M/M relationships shown on screen, does it mean improved acceptance / safety for the c-queer community?

Due to its length (sorry!), I’ve divided the answer into 3 parts: 1) Background 2) Excerpts from the op-eds 3) Thoughts This post is PART 3 💚. As usual, please consider the opinions expressed as your local friendly fandomer sharing what they’ve learned, and should, in no ways, be viewed as necessarily true. :)

(TW: homophobic, hateful speech quoted)

Here are the key points I’ve picked up from these op-eds:

* The state believes Danmei can turn young people queer. * The state also believes Dangai dramas can turn young men “feminine” to suit the taste of Dangai’s young, largely female audience. * The state views queerness in both sexes, and androgynous beauty in men as negative traits. * The state is wary of Danmei and Dangai’s popularity and wishes to contain them as subcultures. * The state is particularly annoyed by how the Dangai dramas have achieved their popularity with CP-focused promotions and marketing tactics, in which the actors are involved and blur the line between fictional and real-life suggestions of queerness.

What do I think of, concerning the acceptance and/or safety of … everything, with the above opinions given by the state media about Dangai?

* For c-queers, I don’t think things are different from before—these op-eds didn’t change the big picture for me. The op-eds taking traditional BL characterisation for Dangai / Danmei means the state’s intended focus of the genres is not its queerness; this is not unexpected, as the established review system is supposed to have removed the show’s queer elements, and to characterise those elements as queer would be a critique against the NRTA.

While unpleasant, the veiled, antagonistic view towards non-traditional gender expressions and homosexuality isn’t new: the state has long believed popular culture can turn its young male audience “feminine”; the NRTA directive that bans homosexual content from visual media already makes clear its stance that homosexuality is, while not criminal, something that is Not Good in its eyes.

A (very) good thing that can be said, I think, is that none of the op-eds explicitly disapprove of the queer elements, the things that got away from being censored—of which there were, arguably, many in WoH. While Article O2a noted such “playing edge ball” (note the articles use this term to avoid mentioning “queer”), the comment right after was neutral / positive (“provide their audience with room for imagination”). Article O3, meanwhile, acknowledged that Dangai can be imitated by introducing suggestive atmosphere between male characters in their plot layout, thereby admitting that suggestive atmosphere between male characters in their plot layout is a defining trait of Dangai—and it didn’t say anything bad about it; the criticism was only for non-Dangai playacting Dangai.

This signals, to me at least, that Dangai can continue to be the cover for queer relationships to reach its audience for now — which is, perhaps, the best case scenario for continued queer representation on TV, given the current sociopolitical climate.

* For Danmei / Dangai, I’d also venture to say the genres are safe. Upcoming Dangais may need to undergo stricter / further reviews (if the rumours surrounding Immortality 皓衣行 are to be believed), and whether they can still achieve explosive popularity after such reviews remains a question; the genres themselves, however, will likely survive.

Article O1 was a very positive, very enthusiastic review of WoH; its determined focus on the show’s aesthetics (as TU’s review) signals to me that the state approved of the genre’s take on aesthetics—which, again, also includes the aesthetics of a world cleansed of its real problems, which also aligns with the NRTA’s directive on TV / web dramas to focus on the positives of life in the country (Previously translated in this post: D12: … They [Pie note: the dramas] cannot place too strong an emphasis on social conflicts, must showcase the beautiful lives of the commoners.). Article O2b was very critical at places, but actually tried to sever Danmei / Dangai from its major complaint, argued that the attention-grabbing gimmicks path was taken * instead of * aspiring to positively, proactively guide and display Danmei culture, therefore positioning Danmei on the “good side”. While Danmei was named a (bad) influence for potentially turning youths queer (and predator, by the cartoon) in Article O2a, no mention was made of eliminating the genre both in the same Article or its editorial (Article O2b). The focus was placed, instead, on the subculture’s “containment”, and how it has been broken for “Rot Culture” to reach mainstream. The implied solution to Danmei’s “bad influence”, therefore, was to re-contain rather than eliminate.

[Logically, of course, this makes little sense. Blaming Danmei on turning youths queer is already confusing correlation and causation—youths may be drawn to Danmei because they are queer, rather than Danmei turning them queer. Re-containment, meanwhile, suggests that the state, which isn’t a fan of gays, is okay with Danmei turning kids gay… as long as there aren’t a lot of kids.

However, I’m hoping to tease out what the state may do, not whether the state is logically sound.]

Article O3 had the harshest wording on Danmei—“the canon and the Rot Culture behind it still hides large amounts of pornographic, violent content…”; “this vulgar custom of “playing edge ball” as a means to tempt, to lead the audience into indulging in fantasies [Pie note: sexual fantasies implied by the idiom 想入非非] have spread from visual media production…” . Still, no word on axing the genre, only containment.

* For CP culture, specifically, actor-character based CPs that are promoted with the dramas: while I don’t see it on the chopping board yet, these op-eds are, I believe, warnings for those in charge of the promotion and marketing of the upcoming Dangai dramas to tread carefully. I find the reach of these warnings difficult to predict still, because these warnings can be genuine—as in, the government truly believes the CP-focused promotion and marketing tactics are morally objectionable—or they can be more for show, in that the true reason behind the warnings is that CP-focused promotions, which also put a heavy focus on in-drama candies, make the NRTA / censorship board look like a joke and the government had to put up some objections to save face.

In all cases, companies will likely need to talk to the government to nail down its stance. Whether to heed the warnings afterwards, tone down or eliminate the CP-focused promotions will require a thorough risk-benefit analysis. After all, CP culture appears to sits at the heart of the money-making machinery of Dangai dramas. The expenditure of fans is mainly to support their favourite actors and see their interactions, and money is, ultimately, what Dangai 101 is about.

Finally, for the sake of completion ~ how likely did these op-eds reflect the actual opinions of the state? Here are the sources of the articles:

Article O1: 上觀新聞, which is under Liberation Daily 解放日報, the official daily newspaper of the Shanghai Committee of the Chinese Communist Party.

Article O2: 半月談 Banyue Tan, a state-controlled biweekly magazine published by the Xinhua News Agency, the official state-run press agency of China.

Article O3: 光明日報 Enlightenment Daily, a newspaper associated with Central Committee of the Communist Party of China (中共中央機關報).

None of them are of the calibre of People’s Daily (official newspaper of the Central Committee of the Chinese Communist Party). However, they’re all very well-respected state-sponsored sources. Banyue Tan does require an asterisk ~ while affiliated with the Xinhua News Agency, the massive influence of which has earned it its nickname “the world's biggest propaganda agency”, Banyue Tan‘s authority on this particular issue of Danmei/Dangai has been somewhat undermined by a … strange (?) trivia to end this super long piece: the magazine has also been caught in the controversy surrounding 227. Due to its pro-TU, pro-Gg stance, antis have insisted there are Gg fans within its writer’s ranks, who have used the state-sponsored publication for their private, support-Gg purposes. To this day, the argument is ongoing—with the criticism of Danmei in Article O2 sparking another round of “discussion” due to its previous approval of TU—and the lead anti is a well-known international politics professor and CCP (Chinese Communist Party) mouthpiece named Shen Yi (沈逸), whose claim to fame was the US government cancelling his visa and denying him entry due to suspected espionage …

[Banyue Tan was not the only state-sponsored publication caught in 227′s cross-fire. This is one of the reasons why some political watchers have suspected 227 to have a political component, that some form of political power struggle was happening in the post-227 chaos and disguised as the fan war.

While the truth may never be revealed, one thing is for certain ~ fan wars are about the worst things fans can do for their favourite idols, by lending space for such veiled conflicts to happen, by lending the names of their idols / their idols’ fans to the actually warring parties who may not wish to reveal who they are.]

[Okay okay, I will shut up now :) ].

PART 1 PART 2 PART 3 <-- YOU ARE HERE

#pie metas #yizhan #bjyx

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wesimpforxiao · 3 years

Text

Inception: Chapter 3

You were busy humming away and cleaning the dishes when Childe eyed your bed again. He couldn't shake the feeling that this was where you'd hide evidence if there was any to begin with. He glanced in your direction and shifted off of the couch, careful not to make the couch squeak from his movements.

No sooner did he crouch at your bedside that he could see the glint of something with a distinct shade of red. He pulled what looked to be a large laundry bag out from under the bed, his hand rummaging around to find one of the domestic Fatui masks that only covered the eyes.

From the looks of it, these are all the stolen masks, he scanned beneath the bed once more, but found nothing but dust bunnies. So Zhongli was right about you. What have you been up to, girlie? The sound of the facet turning off warned Childe that it would be seconds before you turn around and see what he was doing.

"You've been awfully quiet over there, Aj-" You spun on your heel and noticed him kneeling at your bed with widening eyes. "-Hey, what're you doing?!"

Childe doesn't do deception--well, besides lying to you and Teucer, that is. Then there was the time with Aether...Okay, maybe he does a bit of deception, but...He kept his ground and didn't answer.

Panicked, you ran over to him. "Whatever you're doing, put it back! You don't go snooping around for ladies' panties when they invite you over, do you?!" You came to a halt when you saw him holding one of your prizes, expecting him to do something, anything than what he did next.

Childe peered over with a sly grin and lifted the mask high in the air for you to see. "What's this, Reed? Don't tell me this is for some sort of roleplay...?"

"Eh?!" He watched you turn beet red in a heartbeat with amusement--and suspicion. "N-No! Not at all!"

The ball was in his court now, and he spiked it back. "What's wrong ojou-chan? I was only asking if you do it for performances like the opera. Don't tell me you were thinking something dirty-"

"Shut it! Shut up!" You reached for the mask, but the man got to his feet and towered over you so you couldn't grab it. "Give it back and stop going through my stuff! That's not the definition of 'make yourself at home,' you know!"

"So, what do you use these for?" A slight tilt of the head gestured to the bag of masks on the floor. "They're Fatui masks. Are you the one responsible for their disappearances after all?"

"Give me that-" You grabbed his forearm and heated the skin enough to make him lose his grip from surprise, but not enough to burn him. Satisfied with regaining your prize, you shoved it back into the bag with a huff and kicked the whole thing back under the bed, ignoring the pain in your toe from hitting it too hard. "Mind your own business."

"As much as I'd like to," Childe followed you back into the kitchen area while your mind was set on drying the dishes, "you've peaked my curiosity. What're they for?"

"If you weren't snooping, I would've eventually told you," you grabbed one of the plates and a towel that sat to your left. "But since you decided to peek I think its within my right not to tell you anything."

"Oh-ho?" Hot breath brushed past the top of your ear and his chest pressed against your back so you were practically cornered against the counter. "Then I guess it's within my right to believe whatever I want about you then? No matter how obscene or dirty?"

"Quit playing games with me, Ajax!" He could see how red your ears were, and your flustered state was more than apparent since heat was practically radiating off your back. It seems he's learned something new about you; your pyro vision amplifies your flustered reactions...this information should be useful in determining any lies you might come up with. "And back up, will you? I c-can't move--"

"Tell me then," he teased.

"Ugh, I don't remember you being this annoying." He heard you let out an agitated sigh before you slammed your towel down on the counter and replaced the dishes back to their normal spots in a cupboard. "Can you keep a secret?"

Delighted to hear your cooperation, Childe nodded and allowed you to move freely again. "I know a thing or two in keeping secrets."

"I suppose it couldn't hurt to tell you...but what I tell you stays between you and me. And you can't tell the Millelith--"

"I swear it."

"Okay, good. You already know how much I hate the Fatui," you took the liberty to throw yourself onto the couch and roll over so there was enough space for him to sit next to you. "I may or may not be getting some much-needed revenge on them for all the crap they've done."

"Oh? How so?"

"Let's just say I play some pranks on them." Childe scrunched his nose up as he discerned what exactly you meant by that. "Oh, don't bring up that missing Fatui stuff with me. I've only heard about it from you; my involvement with the Fatui usually ends in them getting bruises or occasionally a broke bone."

"You've said you don't like to fight, but you sound like quite the troublemaker."

"I only fight if absolutely necessary. Sooner or later the harbinger that tried to drown us all will turn up again, and when he does, he won't be excluded from my list."

"You have a list?" The awkward laugh that left him sounded more nervous than intended.

"Er...not really. Anyone that's Fatui is my target. There's not a single good person in that organization."

"Is that so?" Childe turned to your fireplace and thought to himself. For a brief moment the friendly façade he put on faltered to reveal lifeless eyes. But just as quickly as the mask cracked, it melded back together to form a smile. "You may be right about that, ojou-chan!"

.........................

It appears she truly has no involvement with the missing persons reports, Childe reviewed all the information he gathered on you as he left your apartment and entered the bustling nightlife of Liyue's streets. He had no intention of reprimanding you for your attacks against his men; you posed as little of a threat as a fly. Of course, that determination of your abilities didn't stop him from wanting to spar with you; you may have a chance to surprise him, especially if you were fated to discover his real identity...Was it bad that the idea of you finding out excited him? To face you head-on while you're in a fit of rage--that would be oh-so thrilling.

Oh! For a split second he glanced back at your distant apartment window. 'Fire isn't something I want to play with.' And she even neglected to summon a flame...The attacked don't even have a burn on them. It was true that those wielding the same element would have a certain resistance to injuries made by that element, but to not have a single blister on them? Either you were incredibly weak, or you've never used it on the agents.

To rely on your own physical strength in a world of elemental beings...you're a brave one aren't you, Reed? Perhaps after all these years apart there was some part of you like him--one that was fearless against foes, one that charges into battle rather than run from it. You were cautious--a trait he did not possess--and smart, too. Whatever role you play now is sure to be an interesting one regardless of the outcome.

As for that small part of you that's like him...well, he'll have to drag it out.

"Master Childe!" The harbinger visibly tensed and whipped his head in the direction of your apartment to ensure he was far away enough not to be seen by you. "Sir!"

"Shh!" A harsh glare shut the agent up, but realizing his actions, Childe played it off with a laugh. "Aha...apologies! Why don't we walk--" He guided the agent away from your window's view.

"Master Childe," the man spoke in a hushed tone that made it obvious the shushing had intimidated him, "we seem to be having trouble contacting another one of our agents..."

Childe's face fell. "It's late. Are you sure it's not possible they're attending a dinner party, or perhaps an opera?"

"No, no. We've been trying to get in touch with him all day, but he never answered his door. He never asked for leave, either--"

"--Give me the address."

The housing setup for the Fatui in the Liyue Division was quite similar to that of Mond's--that is, agents were located in a single hotel during their deployment. These living quarters overlooked most of the city and were located on the opposite side of town from your apartment. It was quite the walk, so you often ended up hiding in the funeral parlor while furious agents scoured the streets in search of the vigilante during the early morning hours. Perhaps an even greater advantage is that the hotel and the Northland Bank were about ten minutes apart from one another, giving you just enough time to escape the chaos before the agents could call for reinforcements.

Childe entered the missing agent's room alone. He had sent the messenger back to wherever he came from; working alone would be much less distracting. The room was dark and the only light source came from the open window to the right. He didn't miss a beat to light the nearest candle and explore the room more.

The place was neat--too neat for a bachelor agent in his twenties. Everything was in its rightful spot, from the books strewn about to the weapons displayed along the walls. Even the clothes were neatly folded in their drawers and the uniforms neatly hung in the closet. On a second look, this was an abnormality.

You see, agents are given three of each uniform component to ensure consistency in case something were to happen to the clothing in battle. To put it simply there were three coats, three pairs of gloves, three pairs of shirts and trousers alike, three pairs of boots, and three masks. Each one was resting in the closet.

So he abandons his post without informing his lead officer, leaves his uniforms...Childe returned to the dresser and yanked the drawers out once more. Everything that should be there, was. And the clothes hamper next to the dresser was empty. "He left with the clothes on his back?" No, it's too soon to draw conclusions. Still...this is how every missing agent would disappear. No dirty dishes, untouched clothes, and their uniforms neatly put away. It wouldn't raise any red flags if this hadn't happened before.

Childe scanned the room for the last time before he pinched the candle nub. Every agent that disappears does so without a trace or clue of where they could've went. Perhaps they're taken at night, after their shifts end or when they're enjoying Liyue's nightlife? Reed couldn't have done this. It's too elaborate even for her antics. This is the work of something big...but what?

As he walked back to his apartment, he was unable to come up with the answers.

.........

"What festival is this again?" Childe was glued to your side as the two of you strolled through the main street of the city. It was lit up with lanterns that cast a warm glow upon his red hair. Despite both of your busy schedules, your childhood friend still had the audacity to ask you to show him around the festivities since he had only recently moved his work to Liyue. You were a bit reluctant at first, but this would be a great opportunity to get closer to him since your previous meetings were short. And with the streets crowded with tourists and locals, it made Childe all the more difficult to be spotted by his subordinates.

"It's called the Lantern Rite," you answer with your gaze preoccupied by the fires lit beneath the stoves of the local restaurants. "It's meant to celebrate the lives and sacrifices of the adepti."

"I see. This is certainly different than Snezhnaya, isn't it?"

"Uh-huh."

Childe's eyes flicked down to you. Why were you so disinterested? Was he boring you? Or perhaps you weren't into festivities anymore? His nose crinkled as he thought, then his nostrils picked up on a delicious aroma. Seafood! "How about I buy us something to eat?"

"Hm? Like what?" Your question was answered once you followed his stare, and your heart dropped. The stall he was eyeing just happened to be next to some sort of stunt show. That's new, you grumbled inwardly as you watched visionless people spin fire without a smidge of hesitation in their movements. Since when were their performers during the Lantern Rite?

"How about something reminiscent of our homeland? I've been feeling a bit homesick these past few weeks." He stepped forward, but your feet were planted firmly on the ground. "Reed?"

"...I'll wait here. Go ahead."

The harbinger's shoulders slouched in disappointment. Maybe you weren't in the mood to hang out with him after all. Still, he wasn't the kind of guy to be dissuaded so easily; he picked himself back up and walked over to the vendor. While he waited to be served, Childe admired the street performers that danced in the middle of the walkway. They didn't have visions, yet they exuded themselves with such poise that most vision wielders lacked. Their elegance inspired him, and he had a difficult time refraining from joining in.

The look of pure awe didn't go unnoticed by you, where you now stood in the shadows as far from the performers as possible. He was definitely enjoying the show--a little more than you'd like. Your gaze returned to the poi and staffs that were lit ablaze and twirling through the air. And just like Childe's look of awe was noticed, your cynic stare was noticed by him as well when he was back with food.

You hadn't even realized he returned.

"Your crab roe tofu, ojou-chan," he held the tray out for you to take.

"...thanks..."

A second glance to the fire wielders, and Childe confirmed his suspicions. "Well this is certainly a surprise." His chuckle yanked you back to the present. "Ironic, too." You snatched the tray away without saying anything and stuffed tofu into your mouth. "What's a girl with pyrophobia doing with a pyro vision? That seems a bit cruel even for the God of War and Flame."

"I-I'm not afraid of it." Your skin flushed a faint pink at the words while you glared at him.

"You're not? Then please explain why your stove and furnace have never been touched. If you ask me, it's pretty obvious." Your silence caught him off guard. You always bantered back, but this time you couldn't even look in his direction.

It was difficult to blink the tears away as the memory of a burning house flashed through your mind--the thick smoke that coated your lungs, the sticky heat that threatened to burn you alive, the screams of your mother...And when Ajax disappeared the next day too, only for you to think the Fatui had got him too--Or the memory of his return, and when you tell him the news of your father he didn't even care.

Does he even remember his response?

You weren't hungry anymore. "I have a better way to spend the night. How about we spar?"

#wesimpforxiao #wesimpforxiao updates #genshin x reader #childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #genshin impact #childe genshin impact

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dal3ks · 4 years

Text

all nighter

pairing: peter parker x female reader

word count: 3.2k

warnings: angst, references to sex, cursing, teasing, oral(receiving), marking, smutttt, both characters are of age!

a/n: this is the sequel to my fic “the project”! i will link the first part below if you would like to read it! i hope you guys enjoy!

the project can be read here!

“okay,” your chemistry teacher clasped his hands together, “i know you all are extremely stressed about the final, but it won’t be too bad, i promise. the projects earlier in the semester should help cushion your grade. i can promise you all that it will not be a tough final exam. it is cumulative, but i do have study guides. m.j., would you like to help me pass around the study guides?”

m.j. smiled wryly, “of course.”

biting your lip, your fingers trembled slightly as a study guide was placed on your table. currently, your grade in chemistry was sitting at a solid B. granted, it was an honors course, so the grade was weighted, but nonetheless, you loathed your grade. you felt miserable about it, no matter how much your parents reassured you that it was perfectly okay to have a B.

you felt a slight flash of gratitude for your parents, as they were very understanding and supportive when it came to your academics. there were some kids in your class who would have gotten their ass chewed if they even had an A-.

nova, your best friend, was one of those kids. she had an A, and was still reaching for an A+, taking as many extra credit opportunities as she could. she was skimming over the study guide, flipping through the packet and highlighting points. in your head, you knew she didn’t need to study that much. to her, chemistry came easy.

“how are you feeling about the final?” nova turned to you, her eyes displaying her emotion. she was curious, pondering your answer.

“stressed,” you mumbled, averting your eyes away from her gaze.

she frowned, “what are you stressed about?”

“the final,” you mumbled, a wave of embarrassment flooding through you. you felt stupid compared to her.

nova’s eyes softened, “it won’t be too bad, i promise. you have my help, along with peter and ned. m.j. can help you study too.”

at the sound of peter’s name, you glanced over in his direction. he was sitting next to ned, flipping through the study guide as well. you couldn’t help but think about the night the two of you worked on the last project. your mind wandered to how he fucked you, the way his lips felt against your skin. if only your class knew of all of the dirty things that innocent boy said to you.

the current status of the relationship between you and peter was unknown. the last time the both of you hung out was the night you worked on the project. however, the two of you talked constantly. over text, over facetime calls, and at school. one morning before school, peter invited you over for some cuddling, but you had to decline because you were running late.

your phone vibrated on the desk, and you picked it up. it was a text from peter, his name lighting up on the screen. eagerly, you swiped left, reading the message.

peter: study session tonight? it can be at my apartment this time. a little birdy informed me that you may need some help.

“you told peter i needed help, didn’t you?” you glared at nova.

“c’mon,” nova smirked, “who would turn down help from peter parker? maybe he can be your tutor in more ways than just one.”

“shut uppppp,” you whined a little too loudly.

peter turned around, giving you a questioning stare. you just shrugged in response, heat filling your cheeks. he rolled his eyes playfully, then said something to ned.

you squirmed slightly in your seat, thinking about how good peter’s tongue felt against your pussy. god, you wanted him bad.

the thing was, no one knew about you and peter. not even nova. well, she knew you liked him, but she didn’t know all of the details. you loved that things were lowkey. if they weren’t, you’d get endless torturing from m.j., ned, and nova.

smiling, you typed a response, i’m down. since it’s a friday night, i could probably stay the night. i could just lie and say i was at nova’s. is your aunt in town? or does she have a date with that happy dude?

you set your phone down on your desk, awaiting the brunette’s response. a part of you was proud for being so bold. after all, you just wanted to spend some time with peter. you really liked him, and the feeling seemed to be mutual. another part of you wanted to ask him if there was the possibility of a relationship in the future. and if he wasn’t ready, you’d be patient.

from the sound of it, the boy had a lot on his plate. between school, his stark industry internship, and his aunt may, peter was stressed. a part of you was concerned about him as well. peter missed school in bouts of spontaneity. you’d see him one class, and then the next he would be gone. it was especially concerning when he was gone for days on end. you figured it was something to do with his internship, but you weren’t quite sure.

peter had a lot of secrets, and you wanted to know them all. the biggest secret you wanted to uncover was what his internship at stark industries entailed. why he disappeared so much, why he came back injured, etc. and also, why he never talked about his work. was it all really that confidential? you wondered why such a shy and sweet boy came back with black eyes and scratches all over his arms. it worried you. a lot more than you wanted to admit.

peter: may is out of town. i’m okay with you coming over. does right after school work or do you need some time to pack your stuff? actually.. how about around five? can’t wait to see you qt.

after reading his message, you couldn’t help but smile. he was so cute. so it was decided, you would see peter around five, where you would stay the night at his apartment. excitement rushed through your veins, giving you a slight adrenaline rush.

once school was over, you rushed home. although there was no real reason to rush, you were extremely excited to see peter later that evening. you gave a quick greeting to your parents, then ran upstairs to your room. closing the door, you reached into your closet for your overnight bag.

there were way too many outfit options. yet, you knew peter didn’t care too much about you appearance. he called you beautiful all the time, whether you were in sweats and no makeup, or jeans and just some mascara. peter liked your personality. he liked the traits that made up who you were.

you shoved a pair of sleep shorts into your bag, along with an oversized hoodie. the outfit you had on, leggings and a university of illinois crewneck, would have to do. the crewneck was actually peter’s. he reluctantly gave it to you one morning before class. the fabric no longer carried his scent, which made you sad.

however, you changed into a sexier bra and underwear. you slid into a red lace thong, matching it with a red bralette, which left nothing to the imagination. after getting dressed again, you sprayed on perfume, the same one you used the night peter came over. you brushed your hair, fixed your mascara, and made sure your legs weren’t too prickly. you knew peter didn’t care, though.

as you walked to peter’s apartment some blocks away, you put your earbuds in. since it was the beginning of december, the city was bustling. christmas lights, trees, and santa were plastered everywhere, yet it was beautiful. people passing by you had armloads of bags, which you knew were christmas presents. it started to snow as you walked, the flakes drifting to the pavement in slow motion.

soon, you approached peter’s apartment complex. you trudged up to the building, ringing the buzzer. the door opened automatically, and you messaged peter to let him know you were heading up. after climbing an endless amount of stairs, you were finally at his apartment.

your knock was soft, and the door swung open instantly. there stood peter, clad in a tight fitting black shirt, and grey joggers. your breath hitched in your throat as your eyes took in his fit body. you couldn’t help it, as he just looked so fucking good.

“like what you see?” peter’s voice interrupted your thoughts.

you blinked, registering he noticed your stare, “oh, fuck yeah. oh, i mean, um. yes.”

“i mean, i have no complaints about what i’m seeing either,” he flirted, shooting you a wink.

who was this boy, and where did he come from? how was he suddenly so confident? was this kid a werewolf? these were the questions running through your mind. yet, you liked this side of peter. it only made him a hundred times more attractive.

peter allowed you in, you biting your lip anxiously. it’s not like you were anxious to be with him, you just weren’t sure what to expect tonight. however, the apartment caught your eye.

it was a quaint, cozy space. it just gave off the vibe of coziness and happiness. there were framed pictures of peter covering the walls, along with a variety of awards and accomplishments. peter sat down on the couch in the den, turning on the t.v. you followed, setting your book bag down on the floor.

“i’m going to turn on the office for background noise,” peter stated, “if that’s okay with you.”

you nodded enthusiastically, “that’s okay with me! where do you wanna start? honestly, i have no preference. i need help with all of it.”

“wherever you wanna start,” he pulled out his laptop from his own book bag, setting it on the coffee table, “however, this is strictly studying, (y/n). no funny business.”

his tone was slightly commanding, and you couldn’t help but blush at his statement, “okay, that’s fine with me.”

peter grabbed your face gently, his thumb caressing your cheekbone, “there’s something i have been wanting to tell you for a while.”

“and that is?” you raised a brow.

“can i make you mine? i mean, not like in a property kind of way, but like, uh, i want you to be my girlfriend. i want you to be my girl. i want to start taking you out on dates, along with start showing you off. i know i have left you in the dark for a little while about my feelings, but i promise you that i really really like you,” his eyes met yours, warm with affection. his tone was hopeful, as if he was awaiting your response eagerly.

“i really really like you too,” you murmured, leaning in. peter kissed you, his lips soft. his other hand rested on the back of your neck, pulling you closer to him.

“(y/n),” he pulled away, “we have some studying to do.”

“i know, i know,” you groaned, opening your chemistry textbook.

“i have an idea,” peter announced, “how about i set up a reward system for you?”

“reward system?” you snorted, “i’m not a dog, peter parker.”

“i know,” he huffed, rolling his eyes, “i meant more like i reward you if you get the correct answer.”

“how are you going to reward me?” you scoffed. yet, you could feel your anticipation building. you knew exactly how this was going to work. you just wanted to hear the words come out of peter’s mouth.

“get an answer right and you’ll find out,” he smirked, shooting you a wink.

“let’s get started,” you sucked in a breath, biting your lip.

part of you was also a little nervous to be studying with peter. hell, the kid was so smart, he could solve almost every equation. it intimidated you slightly, but you knew peter would be gentle with you. nova, on the other hand, would call you “dumb” or “stupid.” besides, spending time with him was a bonus as well.

“anything specific you want to start with, princess?” the last word of peter’s question caught your attention, “i am happy to help with you anything you’re confused on.”

“i think we should start with balancing equations,” you replied, pointing to the section in the study guide.

peter grabbed your hand, placing it on his thigh, “okay, what do you need help on?”

“what are you doing?” you asked, your voice faltering slightly. your hand was dangerously close to the imprint on his joggers.

“you’ll find out,” he murmured, his eyes focused on the study guide, “which part don’t you understand about it?”

you swore you could feel your cheeks burning. the sexual tension between the two of you was too much. you wanted nothing more than peter to just rip off your clothes and fuck you right there on the couch. but you wondered what this game was. why he was holding back. you figured he was just as turned on as you were. his jaw was clenched as your hand was still on his upper thigh.

“just the beginning,” you answered. “okay,” peter nodded, scrawling down some notes on your paper, “i am going to write out a problem for you to practice with. don’t worry, i am here to explain anything you don’t understand or grasp. get it right, and you can touch me.”

“what if i don’t get it right?” you bit your lip.

“you don’t get to touch me,” he responded, his eyes meeting yours.

“fair enough,” your replied coolly.

taking your hand off of peter’s thigh, you glanced at the problem he created for you. you started it, realizing how much easier it was with his notes. maybe studying with him wasn’t so bad after all. you got to spend time with him, and get free tutoring.

peter watched as you solved the problem, his eyes following your movements. you asked a few questions, and he gave you encouragement. once you were finished, you showed him your final answer. he took the paper, reading over it.

“well,” he gave you a small smile, “you got it correct.”

his lips crashed into yours, and his tongue licked your bottom lip, begging for entrance. you let him in, and he began to kiss you hungrily.

“fuck chemistry,” peter shook his head, “i need to study you.”

“why didn’t you say so in the first place?” you teased him, giving him soft kisses under his jawline. you continued down his neck, sucking on his skin slightly.

“baby,” he groaned, “if aunt may sees that, you’re never coming over again.” he scooped you into your arms, taking you by surprise.

he carried you into his room, laying you down on the bed, “let me take care of you properly, princess.”

“please,” you begged, yearning for him to touch you. you didn’t realize how badly you wanted it till now.

“take off the hoodie for me then,” peter instructed. in the dim light, his eyes were dark with lust, “i can’t believe you came over in my hoodie thinking i wouldn’t do anything about it.”

you obeyed, slipping the hoodie off your body. once peter saw your bralette, his jaw clenched, “goddamn.”

“what?” you laid back down, anticipating his next move.

“this looks so fucking good on you,” you could tell he was speechless, “that’s what.”

peter kissed you, then began to place wet kisses down your next, and onto your collarbone. his fingers reached towards your back, where he undid the hooks on your bralette. carefully, he took it off, throwing it to the floor. he placed his mouth on your breast, sucking on the skin. a hand dipped into the waistband of your thong, his thumb circling slowly on your clit. as he did so, your moan echoed through the room.

peter knew exactly how to pleasure you, and you loved that about him. even if he was not very experienced, he knew how to make you wet. he knew how to make your moans echo through the room. he knew how to make you cum.

“you’re such a good girl,” he paused, “i love it when you’re loud for me. it’s so hot. i want to taste you.”

“do it then,” the words tumbled out of your mouth.

“as you wish, princess,” peter murmured.

his fingers hooked the fabric on your leggings, and he pulled them down your legs. as he took them off, he placed soft kisses on your thighs. once your leggings were off, he took in your half-naked figure, enjoying the sight of your lace thong.

“do you want this off?” he referred to your thongs.

“yes,” you nodded, “please.”

peter took your thong off, casting it to the floor as well. he parted your thighs, and said no words as he dived into your pussy. his tongue slowly dragged up to your clit, and your fingers laced themselves in his hair. he watched as you moaned his name, enjoying every second of it. his mouth found your clit, sucking slightly.

you could feel how close you were coming to your orgasm, but peter stopped, wiping his chin. you realized how wet you were, as your thighs were slick. the sheets beneath you were soaked slightly as well.

“baby,” peter’s voice was low, “i need you.”

you sat up, your hands reaching for the waistband of his joggers. peter threw off his shirt, watching as you dragged the pants down his thighs. his cock was hard, and you licked the tip, your tongue dragging across it. he moaned, a hand grabbing a fistful of your hair. slowly, you took his cock into your mouth, your hand at the base, as the other cupped his balls. you could tell that this was driving him crazy. you also needed him bad.

you paused, and without warning, peter flipped you onto your stomach, arching your back. he held your arms back, and took you from the back.

“holy fuck,” you groaned.

“you feel so good,” peter moaned as his cock slammed into you.

as he fucked you senseless, you could feel your orgasm coming. peter must have sensed it, as you felt his thumb on your clit, going in slow, circular motions, “are you going to cum all over my cock like a good girl?”

“i’m gonna-” you began, feeling the tension building up.

“come on princess,” peter instructed, “cum for me.”

you came, feeling pleasure overwhelm you. peter’s cock slid out of you, and you felt him cum on your back.

“stay here,” he instructed, “i’ll be right back baby.” he disappeared, coming back with a warm towel. he cleaned you up, helping you off his bed. once you were off, you changed into your pajamas as he changed the sheets. he changed himself, remaining shirtless as you climbed into the bed with you.

peter pulled you close to him, rubbing your back gently, “i hope you do know that i have full intentions of helping you study later.”

you giggled, “i figured.”

“i’m sorry i can’t help myself when the most beautiful woman in the world is in the same room with me,” he laid a gentle kiss on your cheek.

“i’m so glad i have you,” you smiled.

“me too,” peter sighed happily.

“i have one question though,” you began.

“and what’s that?” he inquired, rolling you over so that he could see you.

“what’s it like to be the friendly neighborhood spider-man?”

what peter forgot to hide was the bright red and blue suit out in the open, hanging next to his closet.

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker smut #tom holland #tom holland x reader #mcu #mcu imagine #spider-man x reader #spiderman x reader #spider-man #spiderman #spiderman homecoming

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korpuskat · 4 years

Text

Kinktober Day 16 - Fearplay - [Tomura Shigaraki/Reader]

[Ao3 Mirror] Rating: Explicit Word Count: 2,312 Summary: UA Student!Reader runs into Shigaraki at the mall instead of Izuku... too bad Reader’s developed a bit of a bad habit since they last met. Contains: noncon; DFAB Reader; fearplay, choking, death threats, dirty talk, voice =====

Shigaraki's cold hand closes around your throat- “Five fingers and you’ll crumble.” He warns you in that low, rasping voice that makes you shiver. He tuts, "Careful. You want to live don't you?"

You start to nod, which only makes his sadistic smile grow, before stuttering out a meek "Yes."

So you go along with it. He leads you away from the crowds, off towards a quieter part of the mall, all the while struggling to keep pace with his long legs, always aware that one wrong step, one misplaced footing and it'll all be over- it doesn't even have to be intentional. And you hate yourself because that one stupid little part of your mind latches onto it.

USJ had been weeks ago- a memory that had warped with time. The counselor had assured you it was a normal feeling, a common occurrence. Associating bad things with something better, something to give you control again. In all likelihood you'll never have to face that villain again. Oh, if only. And now, now you walk with him and he's talking, monologuing about something you can't quite keep up with considering how dark and serious his voice has gone. Your head spins; you don't remember him sounding like this, but he's so close and that scent of old clothes and death clings to him just as it had before-

"Can't even pay attention." He scoffs, fingers tightening over your throat as you tremble, struggle to breathe- "I knew you wannabe heroes were stupid but that's just pathetic, are you trying to get yourself killed?"

He's too close to your ear, the threats too similar, and even if your hand had never felt so cold, it's all too real, too much like what you'd thought of in the privacy of your own head. Need burns in your belly, the raw associations of it all wash over you and you're pressing your thighs together, seeking out that meager friction before you can think twice. "Too stupid to even hold a conversation when you're being threatened! You'd never even make it to graduation! Maybe I should just dust you now, find one of your little friends instead and-"

A noise rises in your throat.

Shigaraki goes still, his sentence left hanging. Your hands fidget over your thighs, picking at the hem of your shirt as you fight to keep your focus on him this time. But he doesn't continue. A ragged breath- and his other hand touches your leg, index finger lifted away.

You snap to face him. He's close, too close- his scarred face and ruined skin and bright, wide, blood red eyes stare down at you and you think maybe it'd be better if he had that horrible hand to obscure the flat, emotionless expanse of his face. He demands, "What are you doing?"

Shaking your head, you force out a quick, "Nothing." You hadn't- you weren't planning anything, nothing to fight back, nothing that should warrant this level of suspicion. Maybe trauma had fried your brain, but you weren't stupid enough to try anything with his hand around your throat and- the thought makes your legs press together again.

Shigaraki's hand bites in harder to your thigh, leaves four indents in your skin- and his eyes burn. Goosebumps erupt over your skin, prickle under his palm on the back of your neck, that primal fear that makes every cell scream out with the need to get away from him. He's going to kill you. You don't even know what unspoken rule you've broken- you didn't fight, didn't yell, cooperated as much as you could considering what your subconscious has been bombarding you with.

"Are you..." There's something new in his voice. The menacing edge has dulled, replaced by something a little too close to uncertainty for you to feel comfortable. He licks his lips, shiny wet tip of his tongue darting over the cracked, chapped skin of his lips- and to your absolute horror, a dusting of pink appears over his cheeks. You've seen him as this disengaged monster twice now- but blushing? What are you supposed to do with that?

"Get up." He stands so abruptly, you nearly do die by his hand. Shigaraki walks with purpose, almost dragging you as you half-jog just to keep pace.

The realization that he's taking you even further away from the crowds makes your blood run cold. "Where are we going?"

"Shut up."

You do. Your lips remain tightly sealed even as he pushes open a door marked employees only and pulls you into the service halls behind the shops. The trembling starts up again as he guides you further and further into the arteries of the mall. You should be happy: if he was going to kill you, he would've already. But that only makes a ball of dread curl tighter in your belly. If he wasn't taking you somewhere to kill you discretely, what was he-

White-painted cinder blocks rush up to meet you. Your palms catch the brunt of the blow, scrape across the latex-covered cement as his hand shifts, presses hard at the base of your neck. He's right up on you now, his long, lithe body slotted against yours. Breath ghosts over your ear- and all five of his fingers drum over your skin one by one. Perfect coordination to keep you alive, the looming threat of death has you shivering and Shigaraki huffs. "Are you getting off on this?"

Shame rises hard and fast in you, exhaling a sharp "No!"

"You are." He says, but his tone lands somewhere between disgust and amazement. His voice drops low, more observational, more for himself than you. "You like when I talk. You keep shivering."

In ultimate betrayal your body proves him right, a tremor rocking your shoulder beneath his hand- "Please, stop..."

"Not even denying it." In a flash he swaps hands, his dominant right replaced with his left and a quick reminder: "Don't fight."

You wouldn't even think of it- until that right hand is reaching around you and pulling at the button of your pants. You wiggle away from his hand on instinct- which drives your hips back against his. Finding him half-hard and easily grinding against your ass has your brain short circuit, "Wait, wait- Shigaraki, I-"

"Oh, no." He laughs against your ear and your eyes are nearly rolling back. The button to your jeans pops open and he's shoving the fabric down around your thighs. "You've piqued my interest now! A useless NPC has a whole secret side quest just for me? I can't just let you go."

You twist away from him again- and his grasp on you tightens, his whole body going stiff for a moment. His chin jerks- and all at once you're aware of a soft, fluttering feeling around your hips and the cool, conditioned air of the mall against your overly warm pussy.

You should look- should know if you're slowly dying- but Shigaraki exhales darkly and answers the question for you. "That's what happens if you struggle." He'd disintegrated your underwear, that's all. "Now be still." You shiver- and nod. The hand at your throat loosens- while the other slides over your ass, down between your legs.

"You are wet." He says- and those cool fingertips squish between your sopping lower lips. Shigaraki leans in particularly close, close enough for his chapped lips to scrape against the shell of your ear. "Is it just my voice..." You bite your lower lips so hard you taste copper and still can't stop the whimper that rises in your throat. His mouth curves upwards, "Or is it the fact I could obliterate you?"

If he somehow missed your gasp, there was no way he missed your pussy clenching, desperately trying to suck his fingers inside. "Fuck." He obliges your body's whim and eases two fingers inside- and to your absolute shame, you drop your forehead against the cement wall and just let him. Shigaraki snickers, "Masochism isn't a good trait for a hero."

“I’m not.” It’s so pitiful even you don’t believe it. “You’re a-ah,”

“Is it anyone or just me?” His fingers plunge deeper, long thin digits delving in until his knuckles lodge against your labia. “Say it’s me.”

The slick slide of his fingers leaves you breathless, pressing your forehead against the wall in hopes the cinder blocks will part and swallow you whole. You know the answer, have never thought of anyone else’s haunting red eyes in your dark little escapes- and bite your lip to keep from letting the it’s you escape.

As suddenly as it began, you’re left empty. Shigaraki sucks in a breath through his teeth and mutters, “it’s like an eroge.” You’re not naïve enough to think that’s it- and it isn’t. Shigaraki pulls you back by the hand on your neck- presses up close to you again so he can wrap his arm around you and show you. His pale hand comes in close to your face- and Shigaraki laughs that horrible glee-filled noise, “You’re the innocent protagonist and I’m the boss you just can’t beat!”

Clothing shuffles- and something presses between your legs. You stiffen, thoughts narrowing down to what he's going to do, what he's doing- what you've thought about too many times and-

Shigaraki leans in close to your ear, "It's alright if you enjoy it." He snickers, rubs the head of his cock along your slit, gives little teasing thrusts between your thighs that rut against your clit. "You don't have a choice; I'll kill you if you fight."

His threat has you shivering, dropping your head to the wall again- and that's all the preamble you get. There's no use in begging. He lines himself up- and slides into your waiting heat. Your nails scrape over white paint- and Shigaraki is already panting, locking his jaw. He drapes himself over you as much as he can, drops his other hand to your hip.

"I remember you." He hisses as he withdraws, pulls your slickness with him until it's gushing down over your clit. "I touched you, that's why you- mmm- why you like this." He drums the fingers over your pulse again- and the adrenaline surges in your veins, every sense sharpening in the flash of fear. You're so acutely aware of his cock inside you, stroking your walls without any care for you. "Knowing how close you were to dying- how close you are now. One finger away from crumbling away, hah- doesn't even have to be intentional, could just fuck you too hard-" His hips snap forward- and stars dance in your eyes as his cockhead bounces off your cervix.

And you're clenching around him, holding your breath- "Never thought you'd be a little slut, get your own side quest just so I could fuck you- hhng-" Eight fingers tighten their grip, dig in until purple blossoms around them. "Maybe I'll still kill you after."

"I-" Your legs shake, tears budding at the corners of your eyes- and a heat builds behind your navel, your clit tingling with each forceful stroke of his cock. "Please, Shigaraki-"

The hand at your throat constricts- and bends you back until you're arched against him. "Beg." despite the childish glee in his voice, it's a command, leaves no question in his seriousness. "Beg for me to touch you."

It's backwards, completely wrong- the thing you should despise most in the world, should be avoiding- and you're squeezing your eyes closed, gasping out, "Touch me, please, I- I want you to touch me."

"So obedient!" He laughs- and the hand at your hip slides in, squeezes his middle fingers around your clit while the rest float freely. He doesn't let up his hold on your throat, though- leaves you gasping as he fucks you, rubs your clit with an unpracticed rhythm, too hard and rough, not quite where you need him- "You do want to die, don't you?" His middle finger hovers too close over your skin, threatens to make contact and it'll all be over and that's it and-

You clench around him, hips jerking- and whatever noise you would make is caught in his chokehold. Your muscles spasm around him- and all you can do is lean back on him, stare unseeingly at the ceiling as his cock keeps on fucking you as your head spins and empties and throbs with hypoxia-

and Shigaraki is cursing under his breath, right against your ear, words completely devoid of meaning except for the low rumbling of his voice that keeps on dragging your pleasure out. Any kindness in his hips has fled, leaving you with thrusts so hard they pin you up against the wall again, sandwiched between his bony body and the hard wall- until his teeth latch onto your ear and his cock is twitching inside you.

As soon as he's done panting, he withdraws- leaves you to sink to your knees and weakly tug your pants back up, but not before watching his cum slide back out of your puffy, abused hole. You're still lightheaded, pulse pounding in your ears- and Shigaraki is stepping back, tucking his softening dick away with careful hands. You look up to him- and his expression is back to being flat, unreadable. He should kill you, you know that- there's no reason to leave you alive when he's already isolated you.

"I'll tell them," Your mouth moves, but the words don't sound right in your cotton-stuffed ears. "You'll... you'll get caught eventually."

Shigaraki grins, "Tell them what? That you're a masochistic little slut who begged to cum on a villain's cock? Go on. I don't care."

He doesn't wait to see the tears fall from your cheeks, just flips his black hood up over his head and walks back the same way you came.

=====

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eleanorfenyxwrites · 3 years

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After Each Midnight Begins A New Day

Extra #10b (chapter 3 of extra #10)

[Masterpost] [AO3]

Wei Ying and Lan Zhan have both officially arrived in their childhoods after their time travel array, now they finally get to see each other again <3

To the untrained eye, Lan Zhan knows he looks as stoic as ever. There’s nothing at all in his face or his utterly correct posture to reveal that he feels ready to fly apart from the rush of adrenaline coursing through him and the painful knife’s edge of uncertainty that leaves his fists shaking where they’re curled into his sleeves. He has no idea if he’s going to get what he wants or not and that’s a strange combination of exhilarating and frustrating.

There is, thankfully, enough to focus on besides his own roiling emotions to make them somewhat easier to ignore, at least for the moment. It’s Madam Lan’s first attempts at venturing out into the Sect for business that includes other Sects, and he is acutely aware of this. Her re-entrance into the Lan Sect has gone disastrously so far even after making her case to the elders that she has served her penance and provided two heirs for the Sect. But neither she nor Lan Zhan are discouraged. After all - few people understand the unbending rigidity of the current generation of the Gusu Lan better than the man who had been whipped nearly to death by the elders for the sake of ‘righteousness’ and the woman who had once died in captivity enforced by many of those same elders - and for painfully similar reasons.

True acceptance within the Sect is going to be a long time coming, but Lan Zhan is patient and utterly determined down to his bones to see it through. There are few things he can’t accomplish when both of these traits are put to use.

“Zhan-er,” Madam Lan says softly at his side now and he looks up to meet her eyes, full of warmth and fondness that still melts his heart, as he’s sure will be the case for the rest of his life. “Don’t be nervous. He’ll come.” If Lan Zhan were the blushing type, he might have at that. Living with his mother over the last year or so - ostensibly to be raised by her while in actuality to hide the truth of his condition and make plans to improve the future - has been better than he could have ever imagined. It has also, however, resulted in another person (besides Wei Ying) who’s actually perfectly capable of reading him in ways that make him feel unexpectedly exposed, and while of course he trusts his mother to be kind and understanding in her knowing of him, it’s still a strange feeling. He’s getting used to it though - he’s overjoyed to have the chance to get used to it.

He nods once and reaches up to take her hand as movement down the path from the gate becomes visible.

“Lan-furen.”

Lan Qiren’s voice is cold behind them and Lan Zhan doesn’t even bother turning to look at him. He only has eyes for the Jiang delegation making their way up the stairs, his eyes straining to find a hint of the only person from Yunmeng he cares about seeing. Lan Qiren’s surprisingly petty disapproval of Madam Lan is a familiar irritation by now, one not nearly as deserving of his attention as the possibility of being reunited with his husband.

“Grandmaster,” Madam Lan replies, utterly serene as if she can’t even hear the edge of anger in Lan Qiren’s tone. “You didn’t bring Huan-er with you.”

“He has lessons. It is not appropriate to bring young children to formal greetings.”

“Oh dear,” she replies so dryly Lan Zhan very nearly finds the will to look away from the Jiang Sect still making their way up the stairs to look at her and share in the joke instead. Almost. “I was under the impression that Zhan-er’s manners are so lovely already, he should get a chance to practice with others outside of the Sect. He’s been working so hard, it only seemed fair.”

If Lan Qiren has a reply to that, propriety demands he keep it to himself as the Jiang Sect representatives have finally drawn near enough to make casual conversation too difficult to keep private.

Lan Zhan does not crane his neck nor does he start trying to push his way through the gathered cultivators, but to be entirely honest that has more to do with his mother’s hand still wrapped around his than any thoughts of exhibiting proper behavior. For a handful of anxious moments he can’t help but take note of the fact that Jiang Fengmian is, oddly, not at the front of the delegation. The reason becomes clear when the cultivators part to reveal their Sect Leader trying and just barely succeeding to contain a wriggling toddler with as much dignity as one can muster when wrestling with – and losing against - an extremely determined child.

His heart feels ready to leap out of his chest and straight into his husband’s tiny hands, currently curled into fists in the front of Jiang Fengmian’s robes as he pulls and tugs at them, crying something about not wanting to be apart from him. He desperately hopes that it’s for show. If he has somehow lost his husband through this experiment of theirs of course he will love this Wei Ying as desperately as he ever has, but he won’t be able to keep himself from mourning for the version of him that he lost. Again.

“A-Ying, you have to let go,” Jiang Fengmian is pleading quietly as everyone goes still and the silence that descends quickly turns awkward for everyone who is not Jiang Fengmian and Wei Ying. Or Lan Zhan, for that matter - he couldn’t care less if they all just stare at each other in silence for the entire afternoon, though it would make for a remarkably unproductive first day of a discussion conference. That is, thankfully, not his responsibility anymore.

“Oh dear,” Madam Lan tuts again, but this time it’s much softer than just moments ago. “Jiang-zongzhu,” she calls and offers a salute, though she doesn’t release Lan Zhan’s hand to do it so it ends up a bit lopsided. “Might myself and my son be of some assistance?”

“Your -“ Jiang Fengmian’s puzzled look only grows as he glances down at him, no doubt wondering just who he and Madam Lan are and why they’re at the gates along with Lan Qiren to escort them beyond the wards. “Oh. Thank you. Perhaps. A-Ying?”

Lan Zhan watches with his hands clenched once again into tight fists and his knees tensed as if to run as Wei Ying lifts his head reluctantly from Jiang Fengmian’s shoulder to look down at him, his cheeks wet with tears and his eyes red-rimmed.

“Uncle Jiang,” he whines, sounding like he’s on the verge of beginning to cry again, but Jiang Fengmian can clearly see that as well and he hurries to try to soothe him.

“It won’t be for long, A-Ying, and you can have a new friend, just like A-Cheng and A-Li. Alright?”

Wei Ying sniffles and scrubs his face on his sleeve before he peeks tentatively down at Lan Zhan again standing there practically vibrating with the desire to drag Wei Ying into a hug and never let go. His mother’s hand around his is a gentle restraint but after a moment she lets go and puts a hand on his back as if to ‘coax’ him forward, though naturally he needs no convincing. Lan Zhan steps forward and he only manages to maintain a measured pace by force of habit, and because his knees are shaking so much he’s afraid he would trip if he were to move any faster.

When he reaches the pair he looks up and, after a moment, he holds a hand up as well as he searches desperately for a sign that Wei Ying is just putting on an act for the sake of their ruse. If he is, Lan Zhan can find no fault in it and an interesting mix of dread and deep-rooted affection tangle messily together in his chest. He can do some things alone to fix what went wrong the first time, but he’s afraid that what only he can accomplish won’t be enough to give Wei Ying - and everyone else - the gentler, more carefree life they had intended.

Wei Ying scrubs at his face again and hides in Jiang Fengmian’s shoulder for a moment before he starts wriggling again, this time with the clear intention of clambering down out of his arms. Lan Zhan lets his hand drop again and takes a step back to give Jiang Fengmian room to set Wei Ying down and he somehow looks even smaller like this, standing there hunched inwards and scrubbing at his face even as he reaches out to take Lan Zhan’s hand in his and hold it in a death grip.

Whatever the rest of the adults say over their heads is lost on Lan Zhan as he patiently guides Wei Ying to Madam Lan’s side, his heart hammering in his ears loudly enough to drown everything else out. Whether this boy is ‘his’ Wei Ying or not is utterly irrelevant in this moment. Wei Ying is Wei Ying, and Lan Zhan is utterly devoted to him in any circumstances, in any life they may find themselves in. And right here, right now, he has the chance to love him wholeheartedly from the start, and so he will.

“Let’s go home,” Madam Lan ushers gently, herding the two of them in front of her with careful hands on their backs. They leave the cultivators behind quickly as they take the path that branches off to circle around the main areas of Cloud Recesses and head directly for the residences.

They’re walking along a relatively secluded part of the path and Wei Ying’s sniffles have slowed when Lan Zhan glances at Wei Ying in concern as his hand somehow tightens in his grip even further. All the breath is punched right out of his lungs when he spots that achingly familiar mischievous smirk on Wei Ying’s lips and then, as if that wasn’t enough evidence, Wei Ying winks.

“Wei Ying!” Lan Zhan hisses and the three of them stop dead in their tracks, Wei Ying’s eyes going wide as he darts a wary glance towards Madam Lan still behind them.

“Lan Zhan?”

“Oh wonderful,” Madam Lan says, her smile so wide it warms her voice as well as her features. “That was quite a show, Wei Wuxian, I would expect nothing less after what Zhan-er has told me.”

“...What!?”

“Wei Ying.” Wei Ying’s eyes are still wide and beginning to look a little panicked as he turns his gaze sharply on Lan Zhan again. Lan Zhan glances around to make sure they’re otherwise alone before he steps forward to wrap his arms tightly around Wei Ying’s waist.

And just like that he’s got a Wei Ying-shaped burr clinging to him with every trembling limb, which Lan Zhan is certainly more than okay with.

“Mother knows,” he says as succinctly as he can. “It is alright, Wei Ying.”

“O-oh, okay,” he wavers. Lan Zhan holds him tighter and lets the rabbiting of Wei Ying’s heart calm his own.

“Missed Wei Ying,” he says quietly into Wei Ying’s shoulder and his husband laughs wetly.

Madam Lan delicately clears her throat and cautions, “I don’t want to break this up but we are still on the path, Zhan-er.”

“It’s okay Lan-furen,” Wei Ying is quick to reassure. Lan Zhan releases him with enormous reluctance when he tries to pull away enough to at least put his feet back on the ground. “I’m sorry, I just -“

“You do not need to apologize.” Lan Zhan has the absolute privilege of watching Wei Ying - so small, so cute - blink owlishly up at Madam Lan as he reacts to her affectionate soothing. She takes advantage of his stunned silence to continue. “You two have done the impossible, and I imagine it was as difficult for you to be apart from Zhan-er as it has been for him. There is nothing at all for you to apologize for.”

Lan Zhan is alarmed but not exactly surprised to see Wei Ying’s wide eyes go shiny with unshed tears as he looks up at Madam Lan, his chin wobbling dangerously. Lan Zhan is, after all, well aware both of how deeply Wei Ying’s emotions run under his cheerful veneer as well as how difficult it is to keep such strong feelings in check in these young bodies not yet equipped for it.

“I know that you are technically a grown man and you are capable of a great many things I can’t really imagine, but may I carry you back to the Jingshi?” Madam Lan says next when it’s clear that Wei Ying isn’t going to be able to reply. In the fraction of a second it takes Lan Zhan to blink Wei Ying practically flings himself across the space between them and Madam Lan hurries to scoop him up and put him on her hip, where he immediately burrows into her shoulder like he had been doing with Jiang Fengmian.

Lan Zhan settles in at her side as they begin walking again, one hand stretched up to curl around Wei Ying’s ankle as a silent reassurance for both of them that they’re together again, that this time fate has, against all odds, been merciful.

----

If his companions were anyone else, Wei Ying would have never allowed himself to break down like this. But it’s Lan Zhan, and actually he’s pretty sure that even were Madam Lan not his mother-in-law, even had he not gotten some sort of understanding of her from the few soft recollections he had managed to coax out of Lan Zhan over the years, he still might have been this helpless in the face of the soul-deep kindness she wears openly like an extra layer of robes, warm in the chill of Cloud Recesses.

His relationship with Madam Yu is infinitely better than what it had been in his first childhood, but considering what that had been, that isn’t exactly a glowing endorsement. She doesn’t hate him at least. She is polite to him on occasions that are about half as frequent as her few gentle moments with her own children, but her corrections to his behavior and theirs are always similar. So far she also seems to be uninterested in comparing him to Jiang Cheng, which is truly all he could have thought to ask for, and he’s infinitely grateful for these changes.

But this strange sort of tentative truce with Madam Yu can’t hold the flicker of a candle to the understanding and kindness Madam Lan has already extended to him - he thinks it’s only natural that he would gravitate towards such a presence, even were he not related to her by marriage. For as much as Lan Zhan so clearly loved (and loves) her, his halting moments of extolling her virtues had not prepared Wei Ying for the truth of her. And, much the same as a year ago when he had first allowed Madam Yu to pick him up and hold him - he is still very small, though certainly not as tired as he had been then, and it feels just as wonderful now as it had then to be picked up and held by a mother-figure. No one will ever be able to replace Cangse Sanren and he will long for his mother for the rest of eternity, but he can soothe some of the ache like this.

They reach the Jingshi and Wei Ying doesn’t protest as he’s set down on his feet again, mostly because it leaves him free to turn his full attention to Lan Zhan, standing there in his little robes and his ribbon, appropriately sized for a toddler. He feels giddiness slip in where he had been feeling raw in response to Madam Lan’s kindness and he allows it to take over, to stretch his lips into an impish grin as he darts forward to smash Lan Zhan’s face between his hands.

“Lan Zhan!!” he can’t help but shout, an almost manic joy curling through his chest. He wants to hug Lan Zhan, he wants to run circles around him, he wants to squish his cheeks and gobble him up like a steamed bun. Lan Zhan accepts the full force of his unfettered excitement with his usual fond exasperation, standing still to let Wei Ying walk circles around him to poke him and pinch him and exclaim, “Lan Zhan you’re so cute!! Look at your little hands! And your cheeks!! You’re so small!”

That earns him Lan Zhan’s version of an eye-roll, which means Lan Zhan squints at him with his eyes that are still slightly too big for his tiny features, overwhelming and arrestingly adorable even as he narrows them and says, “Wei Ying is smaller.”

“Aiyah, I know isn’t it ridiculous? At least we already know we’re both going to grow up to be nice and tall. Oh! Lan Zhan!! Let me check your core. Do you feel okay? Any side effects from the array? Did it hurt? Were you scared? Has it been hard to get used to being so tiny? Does anybody suspect anything?”

Lan Zhan doesn’t even bother to try to answer Wei Ying’s rapid-fire questions, he just lifts his hands to pull his sleeve out of the way of his wrist so Wei Ying can press his fingertips to his pulse. The overwhelming strength of his core nearly knocks Wei Ying flat on his ass - not only has he maintained his previous level of cultivation, he’s somehow significantly stronger, and Wei Ying laughs aloud to feel the thundering pulse of it echoing along his own meridians before he withdraws his hand again.

“Lan Zhan you show-off,” he teases as he cackles. “You’ll be an immortal by 15 at this rate!”

“Not by 15,” Lan Zhan sniffs with a bit of disdain, but Wei Ying of course notices that he doesn’t deny that he will at some point stop needing to measure his age as he will simply…continue existing.

“We’ll see - do you do anything at all but meditate?? It feels like you’ve added years to it already.”

“Meditation is an acceptable activity when the Sect expects me to be taking my lessons from Mother.”

“Oooo so smart, Lan Zhan, I should have come up with a way to get out of mine. They’re so boring but I get to take them with A-Cheng so it’s okay.”

Lan Zhan, seemingly reassured that Wei Ying is done poking and prodding at him, chooses that moment to step forward and fold him into another hug and Wei Ying instantly melts into it with a sigh, his arms tight around Lan Zhan’s waist.

“I missed you so much, Lan Zhan,” he whispers softly, such a far cry from his happy yelling of a few moments ago. “I hate being apart.”

“Mn. We will not be so again.”

It’s pretty enough to hear but Wei Ying knows that they’ll have to part again eventually - when this discussion conference is over, for instance, and he’ll be expected to return to Yunmeng with Uncle Jiang. He doesn’t see a need to spoil their reunion with such technicalities, though. Instead he just tucks himself into Lan Zhan and lets himself be held for so long they only pull apart when his stomach growls.

“You need to eat,” Lan Zhan says instantly and Wei Ying laughs, a happy giggle as Lan Zhan pulls him by the hand over to a table and sits him down, a very determined look on his serious little face. And Wei Ying knowsthat they’re adults, they’re grown, they’re fathers - but Lan Zhan is so adorable like this! He can’t resist reaching out to pinch his cheek like he used to do to A-Yuan, which Lan Zhan thankfully allows with very minimal glaring.

“Oh dear,” Madam Lan suddenly laughs and Wei Ying jerks his hand back as he remembers they have an audience, and that said audience is his mother-in-law. “Zhan-er, I didn’t know anyone was allowed to pinch your cheeks. May I?”

“No need,” he harrumphs and retreats, cheeks and ears bright red, and Wei Ying laughs until he falls over onto his back, too relieved and happy to be back with his husband in their home to think about containing himself.

“Lan-furen -” he begins once he has finally composed himself a little, but she immediately waves him off.

“There’s no need for that here. From what I hear you’ve been family for quite some time, and this is just as much your home as it is mine. I believe such official titles are unnecessary here.”

Wei Ying blinks at that, unsure of what exactly he’s supposed to say to that. Thankfully Lan Zhan chooses that moment to return to the table with congee (Lan food, Wei Ying thinks with a mental sigh).

“You are my husband,” Lan Zhan begins with the smallest hint of a smile twitching in his cheeks as he says it. “She is your mother-in-law. Her name is..” Lan Zhan trails off rather uncharacteristically and Wei Ying instantly widens his eyes, eyebrows ticking up with open concern as he makes a questioning noise in the back of his throat. “Her name is Wen Yun. You should call her Yun-gu.”

Wen.

WEN?!

“Wen Yun?!” he yelps once his higher brain functions have marginally returned. “Wen?” he asks again, turning his shocked stare on Madam Lan, who looks as serene as she had before this earth-shattering revelation.

“Zhan-er has told me I have you to thank for providing protection for some members of my family,” she says softly and Wei Ying is unsurprised to find that he’s choking on tears again – he cries a lot these days both for show and simply because it’s difficult not to when his emotions run so high. “Your kindness and your sense of justice will not be forgotten, though I sincerely hope they will not be needed again for this purpose.”

And just like that Wei Ying is sobbing. With the Jiangs and now Lan Zhan returned to him, it seems it’s finally time for him to have the space to grieve for the Wens all over again. He’s done it before, of course - too many times to count. But it hits him anew that this time he hopefully won’t need to, he can save them too this time like he couldn’t before, and his mind suddenly floods with memories he’s been fighting hard for years to keep at bay for his own sanity’s sake.

Wen Qing brushing her slender fingers over the ropes and talismans holding her brother in one piece while Wei Ying had called for his wandering soul over and over. Wen Ning and his gentle face splattered in mud and gore in stark flashes of lighting, his lifeless visage suspended in glistening drops of rain each time the sky lit up. A-Yuan clinging to his legs too many times to count, calling him ‘Xian-gege’ and holding his little arms up to be held. Uncle Four and his wine and his hands so accustomed to farming after a lifetime of coaxing a living from the earth. Granny Wen’s gentle fussing over any- and everyone, her kindness and love for the broken remains of their family. The small cluster of aunties mending everybody’s rough, workworn clothes the best they could with needles he had carved for them out of bones he found while cleansing the planting fields.

“Shh Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan murmurs softly in his ear and Wei Ying becomes aware that he’s not alone, his husband’s tiny arms are wrapped around him and his forehead pressed to his temple. “They are alive, it’s alright. You will see them all again.”

It takes a while longer for the worst of his surge of grief to work its way through him but he manages it eventually. It helps that Lan Zhan – who by now knows well the shape of his grief - refuses to let go of him the entire time, his arms tight around him to hold all the broken pieces of him together until he can do it for himself again. Madam Lan for her part, simply watches and waits with the sort of calm patience Wei Ying has only ever seen in Lan Zhan and Lan Xichen. At least now he knows precisely where it came from.

“I’m s-”

“Do not apologize to me - I can see it in your eyes, ” she says when he can finally muster up the strength to speak. He snaps his mouth shut with a little click and leans heavily into Lan Zhan’s chest, suddenly tired. He has to say, that’s his least favorite part about being a kid again so far - he’s full of energy, full of energy, full of energy, and then all the sudden he crashes with almost no warning. His stomach is still growling though and so he frees one arm to reach out and dutifully start eating the congee Lan Zhan had brought him, his other hand curled tightly into Lan Zhan’s sleeve to keep him right there while he eats.

“We have to save them,” he says quietly when he’s about halfway through his little meal. “I don’t care what it takes. I failed them once, I can’t again.”

“We will,” Lan Zhan soothes. “We will make it so they do not need saving at all, they will flourish.”

Wei Ying finds that he really has nothing to say to that so he simply nods and snuggles closer to Lan Zhan as he finishes eating. He can’t keep himself from yawning widely almost as soon as the last spoonful is gone and Lan Zhan, being Lan Zhan, immediately bullies him up and over towards his bed despite Wei Ying’s laughing protests. In hardly any time at all he finds himself wrapped up in a little blanket burrito too tightly to move.

“Hey,” he protests weakly, already well aware that when Lan Zhan is in a mood like this there’s no swaying him.

“Rest,” he says in a tone that brooks absolutely no argument.

“You can’t really expect me to be able to sleep when I finally found you again,” Wei Ying retorts, though his argument would probably be more impressive were he not blinking long and slow and fighting not to yawn again. Thankfully Lan Zhan just blinks at him for a long moment before he clambers up to join him, laying down on his side facing him to press their foreheads together, the metal cloud in the center of his ribbon warm with his body heat.

“Rest,” he says again, his voice gentle and sweet. Wei Ying can’t help but smile at that, Lan Zhan’s cute little child’s voice, and he loses the fight against his eyelids (and the adrenaline crash) as Lan Zhan reaches up to stroke his hair back from his temple.

He’s not quite sure how long he sleeps for, but when something disturbs his rest it’s still light outside at least, and Lan Zhan is still laying with him with his eyes shut, though whether it’s in sleep or in deep meditation is impossible to tell.

“The boys are sleeping,” Madam Lan says softly. “A-Ying was tired when he calmed down and Zhan-er needed a nap as well, come back for him later.”

“Lan-furen I apologize for the intrusion,” a low voice replies and Wei Ying wakes up a little further as he recognizes it as Jiang Fengmian. “A-Ying has been very afraid of being apart from me since he learned of the discussion conference, I only want to make sure that he’s doing alright.”

“Zhan-er helped distract him from his distress,” Madam Lan replies smoothly and Wei Ying has to duck his head to hide his face in the blankets so he can giggle too quietly for anyone but Lan Zhan to possibly hear. “They’re quite taken with each other, thank you for bringing him with you. I understand that it is not typically done.”

“Thank you for offering to take him for the day. I didn’t think that word had reached ahead that we would have A-Ying with us, it was a…last-minute decision.”

Wei Ying has to hide another giggle as Jiang Fengmian so delicately dances around the truth, which is that the morning of his departure two days prior Wei Ying had clung onto his robes like a burr and wailed and wailed until he and Madam Yu had agreed that his separation anxiety was too strong for him to stay in Lotus Pier while Jiang Fengmian left. It wasn’t entirely a lie, anyway – he still struggled with having any of his family out of his sight for too long. He can’t help but fear that each time will be the last, though he’s getting better with it. He just…hammed it up a bit, just enough to be brought along.

“Oh I didn’t know to expect him,” Madam Lan deflects. “I wanted Zhan-er to practice greeting people he hasn’t met before, we were simply lucky that we were there and that they seem to approve of each other.”

“May I see him?”

“How long does he usually sleep when he naps?”

“A few hours.”

“Ah he should wake soon then. Alright,” Madam Lan allows and Wei Ying closes his eyes again to watch surreptitiously through his lashes as she lets Jiang Fengmian into the Jingshi. It’s…extremely strange to see the man in the space that Wei Ying very much still thinks of as his home despite having lived in Lotus Pier for the last year since the array. Perhaps ‘jarring’ is a better word for this collision of his past and present and…future?

He no longer knows how to think about time. It doesn’t move in an easy, linear fashion for him anymore. His past has become his present and yet he also longs for the things that he and Lan Zhan had left behind when they did this, the things that no longer exist how he knows them. He misses their son and their rabbits and everything that they had been sharing with each other since he woke in Mo Xuanyu’s body. He is a child of Lotus Pier, he runs and laughs and swims and plays with his siblings as any child should. He is the Yiling Laozu, he still remembers the screams of the dead and dying. He has nightmares full of blood and corpses, some of them friends, most of them strangers. He can usually ignore this strange doubling of his life, but here in Cloud Recesses with Jiang Fengmian, the face of Lotus Pier, in the midst of it, it’s…he doesn’t know how to handle it.

Whether it’s because he heard his mother talking, or he’s responding to the sudden tension in Wei Ying’s entire body, or perhaps simply because of lucky timing, Lan Zhan’s eyes flutter open just in time for Wei Ying’s breathing to grow a little too erratic as his heart pounds in his chest.

Lan Zhan nuzzles closer and sneaks a bare ghost of a kiss to his lips, soft as butterfly wings and nothing but sweet, chaste reassurance. As far as Wei Ying is concerned, it shows just as much love and care as every other kiss they’ve shared over the years and it works to remind him that at least he’s not facing this alone. Lan Zhan must be subjected to the same sort of confusion as well, living in their home with his once-long-dead, now-very-alive mother and reconciling the past he remembers with the present they had left behind to become their future once again. Or is it still their future when it won’t happen again?

Wei Ying has spent hours thinking himself in circles worrying over the same questions, his natural inquisitiveness unable to leave the problem alone even though he recognizes that answers to such things are impossible. As far as he’s aware, after all, this has never been done before. He and Lan Zhan only have each other to rely on in this, and while he doesn’t need anybody else it is sometimes disconcerting to realize that for perhaps the first time in either of their lives they are truly alone together against the world.

At least in this one way, he amends, because as Jiang Fengmian approaches the bed and reaches out carefully over Lan Zhan to run a hand through his hair Wei Ying is reminded that though his family will never know or understand what he has faced, they’re still his family. They’re still here. He and Lan Zhan can have their families back at least, even if their loved ones will never know or understand what has happened to them before.

He stirs as if waking and blinks one eye open to squint up at Jiang Fengmian with a little moue, bottom lip sticking out and a frown pinching between his brows.

“A-Ying, it is time to go to our own rooms.”

“No,” he pouts and wriggles one of his arms far enough out of his blanket cocoon to curl his fingers tightly in Lan Zhan’s robes. “Staying with Zhanzhan.”

Lan Zhan’s eyes narrow at him and Wei Ying just barely manages not to crack up at his obvious disapproval of the nickname.

“A-Ying –“

“Zhanzhan is my husband!” he declares and that earns him a wide-eyed glare from Lan Zhan that finally does break his pout into a wide grin. “I want to stay!”

“Oh dear,” Madam Lan tuts from behind her hand and Wei Ying is positivethat it’s to hide a smile. “I did say they were quite taken with each other. Children say such silly things every once in a while, Jiang-zongzhu, I am not offended.”

“A-Ying you are too young to marry. Lan-er-gongzi is not your husband.”

“My husband!” Wei Ying protests and he lets go of Lan Zhan’s robes to instead take his hand, and because Lan Zhan can’t deny him anything he wants he tangles their fingers together, turns onto his back, and sits up and look up at Jiang Fengmian with his solemn little face. Wei Ying watches him blink a few times and then give a decisive nod, slow and ponderous.

“Married to A-Ying.”

It takes everything in his little body not to burst out laughing at the utterly nonplussed look on Jiang Fengmian’s face – in fact he’s trembling with the effort of keeping himself mildly under control, though his grin has certainly crossed over into ‘manic’. He looks at Madam Lan halfway across the room only for her to wink at him and he loses his battle of wills. With all the renewed energy from his nap he manages to squirm out of the blanket Lan Zhan had wrapped him in to throw his arms around his husband and hug him tightly, squishing their cheeks together and looking up at Jiang Fengmian with laughter dancing in his eyes.

“Married to Zhanzhan!”

Jiang Fengmian sighs and closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose and rubbing at his eyes. Wei Ying has absolutely made himself known as a mischievous little sprite of a child over the last year so he’s sure that Jiang Fengmian isn’t surprised, but he’s also quite sure that he’s currently thinking of the propriety and stuffiness of the Lan and wondering just how he’s going to get out of this one. Wei Ying, of course, has no intention of letting this get swept under the rug like a standard childhood affection might.

“Lan-furen,” he begins, sounding pained as he turns around to face her, and Wei Ying takes the opportunity to sneak a quick, silent peck of a kiss to Lan Zhan’s chubby cheek as thanks for humoring him. “I apologize for imposing further but may I leave A-Ying here while I fetch Lan Qiren?”

“May I ask why you would like to involve my brother-in-law?”

“If you are…amenable, it is..not outside of our practices to arrange a betrothal.”

“Really? So young?” she asks and this time she sounds genuinely surprised. Wei Ying is less so as he is, of course, aware of Jiang Yanli’s betrothal to Jin Zixuan since their infancies, but that had been arranged by the close relationship of Yu Ziyuan with her sworn sister, not the choices of the children in question. The idea that a betrothal could be proposed for him and Lan Zhan based first and foremost on their affection for each other isa bit of a surprise, but he’s not going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“If you are opposed of course we need not pursue it, it’s childish fantasy on their part. But I don’t see a reason why we shouldn’t secure a strong allyship between our Sects. If the children are already fond of each other it may one day bloom into a good match.”

Oh Uncle Jiang you have no idea, Wei Ying thinks to himself with poorly-disguised glee.

“Married to Zhanzhan!!” he shouts, practically vibrating with the joy of the idea of being able to make that true literally as soon as physically possible. Of course he knows that that probably means they’ll have to wait until they’re teenagers at least, but that’s worlds better than how long he had made Lan Zhan wait the first time.

“No yelling,” Lan Zhan reminds him softly with a squeeze of his fingers and Wei Ying allows the correction with a nod as he lays his head down on Lan Zhan’s shoulder.

Whether Lan Qiren agrees to a betrothal now or later doesn’t matter. Whether Jiang Fengmian is willing to humor him now with the expectation that he’ll forget about Lan Zhan when they’re no longer in the same place together is irrelevant. What matters is that he has his husband back, and while he knows that he’ll have to leave him behind briefly to return to Lotus Pier, now that he knows they have an ally in Madam Lan he’s sure that he’ll be able to sneak Lan Zhan some letters, and receive some in return. And they’ll grow up together, and they’ll help everyone they can, and Wei Ying is going to get a lifetime to love him with everything he has.

#the untamed fanfic #wangxian #Wei Wuxian #Lan Wangji #Madam Lan #Jiang Fengmian #I know that this is a pretty big time jump from the last two to this one - a whole year!#But I cannot stress this enough that if I get bogged down in actually writing all the details of both of their lives #this will become an impossible project to manage and it would get abandoned probably #So I think I said this in the first extra but I'll say it again - this is much less narrative than AEM because it has to be #Just gonna be hitting the highlights basically

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cocobwrites · 4 years

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Pub Food and Southern Delights

Summary: Henry was many things. Deceitful being just another trait, and it is one that you cannot tolerate.

Pairing: Dark Henry Cavill x Black reader

A/N: This is my first attempt at something dark. I’m not going to lie. My intentions for this are pretty heavy. Please, let me know what you think!

Warnings: Character Death, Murder/Suicide. Dubcon (later chapters) and I’m sure some other things. 18+

Chop. Chop. Chop. Your hands mechanically diced the red onions. The strong scent of the root caused your eyes to water and the sight of the oak cutting board to blur. You paused taking a step away to the sink, and wetting a cold paper towel to press against your eyes.

You were stowed away in an unnecessarily large kitchen dicing vegetables for the evening’s dinner. State of the art stainless steel appliances, concrete counters, and ash wood cabinets surrounded you. The combination should have given off a warm and inviting atmosphere, but the gleam and too new look of the appliances left if too sterile and cold. Much like the relationship you found yourself in. Pretty to look at, but lacking in real substance.

You leaned against the sink, the cold press of the metal pushing into your lower back and heaved a sigh. Tears that were initially caused by the onion were blending with tears caused by utter defeat.

How had you been so blind? How could you have let it get to this point?

On and on your mind went around how you allowed yourself to end up in the situation. In the beginning Henry was amazing, an absolute Godsend. He’d been the perfect mixture of gentleman and brute with just the right amount of freak you needed to keep you satisfied.

Henry had swept you off your feet easily. All sweet charm and dazzling smiles. You’d been a goner the first time he’d pushed that pitch-black hair back winked at you.

He was able to provide for you in ways you that you had only read about in romance novels. A powerful CEO, he was as rich as he was handsome, and he loved to lavish you with those riches.

Focus. You mentally chided yourself and pushed away from the sink to return to your task.

Henry maintained a love of pub food. Bangers and mash being one of his favorites. You needed tonight to go off without a hitch, hence you bringing out the big guns by way of one of his favorite meals. The onions started sizzling along with the bangers in the skillet. Your mind drifted reliving instances over the past year and a half that lead you here, particularly the events of three days ago.

You could still feel the nervous hope budding in your chest, barely there, but enough to keep you moving. The voice of the GPS announced that you had reached your destination a full five minutes before, yet you remained in your car trying to muster the courage to walk inside.

You had moved to open the door several times, but you could not keep your hand steady enough to grip the latch. It was a miracle you made it there at all. The glass and metal doors of the police station were less than 200 feet from you. Given your location it was not a terribly busy place. Which was exactly what you needed. You had driven an hour to get here. Hoping and praying that it was far enough away that you could get the help you needed to escape.

After a few more minutes of mustering up courage and shaking off the feeling of eyes following you, you finally pulled the handle on the door. It opened farther than it should have considering you had only popped the latch and put no real weight into opening it.

It only took a moment for your mind to register the long fingers curving around the frame, knuckles white in their grip. The rest of him filled your view. First his black loafers shined to perfection, pressed charcoal grey trousers came next as your eyes traveled up the length of him, before his black wool coat came into view, your head whipped up the rest of the way. You barely registered the suit jacket and navy button down exposed beneath his open coat.

Fearful brown eyes clashed with icy blue that were cold with fury.

‘No! No! No! No!’ You mentally chanted, and felt the distinct stinging at the back of your eyes. You scanned the parking lot wondering if you could make a run for it. It was of no use. A sleek black town car was parked behind yours.

Henry must have registered your debate on fleeing and all but growled “Just get in the car.” Your eyes returned to his, and you could not stop the tears from flowing. You were so close, so remarkably close, and it was ripped away from you. Within seconds your shoulders were shaking, and you were sucking in air trying to keep from howling with the loss of your chance at freedom.

You heard Henry release a sigh, and then he said in a softened tone “Come get in the car, darling. We can talk about this at home.”

That car was the last place you wanted to be. That car would take you right back to the lie you were desperately trying to detangle yourself from. Henry leaned into the car, and unfastened your seatbelt before drawing you from the driver seat. Steven, one of the members of his security detail, caught your eye for a moment his gaze was sympathetic, and he gave a barely perceptible nod to Henry before taking your spot in the driver seat. He was complicit, they all were. They knew and would do nothing to help you.

Henry’s hand was on your back, scalding where it touched you. You wanted to worm away from it, but it stayed gentle guiding you to the black sedan. The blacked-out windows of the backside passenger door reflected the sad sight you were. Your eyes were puffy, and your make-up streaked with tear tracks. More urging from Henry had you sliding into the backseat.

It was the quiet snapping of the peas in your hands that called your mind back to the present. The smell of the bangers and onion was mixing with the aroma of the biscuits baking in the oven. This was your normal M.O., blending your cultures, and likes together. He loved those biscuits. It was a recipe taught to you by your grandmother. Shown to you with patience in the happy warmth of her kitchen and dulcet tones of her voice. You missed that time. Missed that place. You longed to be home, back in the states surrounded by the safety and protection of your family.

That wasn’t a possibility. You knew that without a shadow of a doubt now.

The food at this point was all but done. You left it warming in the oven while you set the table for two. The six chimes of the grandfather clock from the foyer let you know that Henry would be home in the next fifteen minutes.

You looked down at the porcelain plates, their elegant waving pattern with gold trim. They screamed affluence, privilege, and old money. You wanted to hurl them to the ground, pull the ivory white tablecloth to the ground and send the flatware skidding across the floor.

You must have stood there fantasizing for a long while, because you heard Henry calling your name, and announcing his arrival. He strode into the dining room, and the air immediately charged with tension.

The doorway realistically was wide enough to accommodate two people side by side, but Henry always took up more room than he should. The weightiness of his presence filled the space between you in a suffocating manner.

Four days ago, you would have easily returned the smile that he offered. You could feel the wrongness in your own. The muscles in your face ticked up uneasily when they attempted to remember how to move.

He winced but the smile easily returned to his. Liar. “You look beautiful.” He said and closed the space between you. He was close enough that you could feel the heat from his body warming your face and the smell of his cologne filled your nostrils. Even with the knowledge you had now of who he truly was, you still craved him. Craved this.

You sighed and could not help but lean into him. You felt the familiar pressure of his mouth against the top of your head, and you let your arms wrap around him, squeezing gently. You would allow yourself this small pleasure. His arms wrapped around you in the same way yours had him.

You felt his voice rumble in his chest when the words hit your ears. “We’ll get through this. Now that you know, it will be so much easier between us.” He paused and you could see he debated on if he should say the next words. “Everything I do.” He paused again. “Have done, was to protect you, keep you safe.”

It was the same thing he had said that night you found that all your text messages and emails were being shadowed onto his phone. Seeing that had solidified something you feared was happening throughout the course of your relationship. The nail in the coffin had been him showing up at the police station. That day the wool had been completely and irrevocably stripped from your eyes. The tracker on your car made it clear that his money was put towards more than helping your complete your master’s degree. What scared you the most was the realization of how isolated you were. Time zones away from your family, a long drive from your friends, and without a job you were dependent on Henry. He knew it. He wanted it that way.

“I understand.” You said looking up to meet his eyes, and you did understand. He believed what he said which is why you had to finish this tonight. You patted his chest and said, “Why don’t you get washed up for dinner and I’ll finish setting the table.” He flashed that brilliant smile again and pecked you on the lips.

You were going to miss that smile. Henry was very free with it tonight. It had been coming easier since he no longer had to hide the duality of his nature. Yours on the other hand had all but vanished. “It looks delicious.” Henry said and helped push your chair in before sitting himself down. “Are those your grandmother’s biscuits?”

You nodded and motioned to his plate. “Dig in.” And dig in he did. You wondered how many bites it would take before he started to notice something was off.

In three short bites Henry looked up at you and asked, “Did you do something different with the gravy?”

You answered pleasantly “I did. Do you like it?” Your tone held something that should have sounded like a smile but was too icy. “I took something from the garden that I thought might add a little something extra.”

He hadn’t stopped eating while you spoke. He was maybe five or six bites in before a light sheen broke out across his forehead. You watched him and took small bites of your own food. At first it was the shake of his head.

“Is it spicier than normal?” He asked and you looked up to see his cheeks were tinged pink.

“No.” You answered with a subtle shake of your own head. “Shouldn’t be.” Followed by a bite from your own plate.

His only answer after that had been a hum of acceptance. Not a solid two minutes later he started coughing, and you started talking.

“I just want you to know that I understand. I understand that you would never let me go.” Henry’s eyes snapped to your face while he pulled at the tie around his neck desperately searching for reprieve of the coughing fit, he was experiencing.

With a heavy sigh you continued “I just hope you can understand that I could never accept that.” Your head shook no, and your grip tightened on your fork. “This isn’t normal, Henry. It’s not normal to alienate the woman you love from the world and keep her locked away.” Your eyes never moved from his red face. Your eyes saddened hearing him gasp for air and seeing the veins in his neck and forehead protrude as he fought to catch his breath. “This was my only way to be free.” You finished on a whisper, quieting as Henry quieted opposite you at the table.

The plate of food in front of you blurred. The meal really was delicious, you didn’t want anything less for what you anticipated to be your last. You were amazed at your own resolve to carry through with the plan. You set calmly and ate large forkfuls of the bangers making sure to scoop up enough gravy.

You soon followed suit with Henry. Your skin felt flush, your breathing becoming labored followed by the strong urge to cough.

#henry cavill x black reader #dark henry cavill x black!reader #henry cavill x reader #au henry cavill #ceo! henry cavill #cocowrites

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sandwichrin · 4 years

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Treasure Scenario (Mashiho)

A/n: Hello hi everyone! Here’s Mashiho’s scenario! I think this scenario is one of the longest that I’ve wrote so far too ^^. I’m sorry for the delay in my JunkyuxReader fic too T^T Hope this is enough to make it up for you guys <3 Enjoy! 🧡

Scenario: You were watching a movie with your boyfriend, Mashiho, when you started to cry.

Word count: 1.5k words

“Mashi hurry! We’re going to be late to the movies!” You urged your boyfriend, Mashiho who was still casually grabbing his bag on the sofa.

Mashiho chuckled, seeing you all pumped up and excited to leave immediately when in truth, the movie would start in another 40 minutes. “Wait a minute jagi, we need to make sure everything is brought okay?” he said with a smile on his face.

You pouted. “I knowww but I also know that if I ever forget anything, I’d have you to count on,” you said.

Mashiho was finally heading towards you and the front door. You were about to walk out the front door when he pulled you into his arms, hugging you from your back.

“W-what is it Mashi?” You stuttered, surprised by his action.

Mashi leaned his head on your shoulder, his breath tickling your ears. You could hear him grinning in your ear with this. “Turn around, y/n,” he said.

Feeling confused, you listened to your boyfriend and turned around to face him. Your eyes met his, and you felt yourself blushing from his stare.

Mashiho smiled softly at you and held one of your hands in his.

“Mashi babe, as much as I love you and your romantic gestures, we really don’t have time for this.”

A grin formed on Mashiho’s gentle expression. “I’m not wasting our time. You are, jagi,”

“Huh? What?”

“Open your bag y/n,” he said, his grin still visible on his face.

You narrowed your eyes at your boyfriend and pulled your hand out of his hold, wanting to open your bag and see what was in it.

Gasp! You heard yourself gasped. “My phone! It’s not here! I gotta go get it—”

Before you could dash off inside, again, Mashiho grabbed your waist to stop you. You could hear his cute laugh emitting behind you now.

Your head turned to look at him again. “What? Omg why, what did I do now?” you asked in a whiny tone.

“I told you to check your belongings, didn’t I?” Shaking his head, still smiling, Mashiho pulled out your phone from his back pocket and handed it to you. “This was on the sofa.”

Pouting, you snatched the phone from your boyfriend’s hand and kept it inside your bag hastily. You hurriedly pulled him out of the front door of his dorm and locked the door behind the both of you.

“I get it, I’ll be more careful next time jagi! Now let’s leave for the movies!” You said as the both of you ran to catch a cab before you guys are late to the movies.

You both are now in the cinema, watching this sappy romantic comedy movie, in which you both laughed a lot while watching (but of course, these kinds of movies often start off happily), and even though Mashiho wasn’t exactly a huge fan of these movies, you were able to persuade him to watch it with you.

Once in a while your eyes would steal a glance at your boyfriend who was sitting on your right, making sure that he was enjoying the movie as much as you do.

Mashiho laughed at a couple of scenes and this made you feel really glad that he was having a good time genuinely and not just watching the movie for your sake.

You felt happy, hands intertwining with his, hearing his cheerful laugh beside you. You kinda wished that the moment wouldn’t end for you both today. Unfortunately for your part though, you were too busy checking on Mashiho that you didn’t realise you have been missing out on a couple of scenes.

By the time you were fully tuned in on the movie, it was already a scene that hits you right in the feels. It was a fighting scene between the main couple in the movie and both the actor and actress were crying like crazy.

This particular scene reminded you of your fight with your ex-boyfriend years ago, the one you dated before you met Mashiho. You had always been a submissive girlfriend, letting your ex have full control on how you should behave, how you should dress, when or where you were allowed to express your feelings—all those things eventually made you his living doll. It was only after you dated him for 2 years you realised that these were all toxic traits coming from him. It took all of your strength to end everything with your ex and cut him off from your life; also, half a year worth of tears of course.

“DON’T YOU DARE SAY THAT. NO ONE WOULD LOVE YOU AS MUCH AS I DO. WITHOUT ME, YOU’RE JUST A WORTHLESS BEING.”

Your eyes widened. Mashiho felt your grip on him tightened. You felt your breath hitched in your throat. Those words….those words were the exact lines your ex used to say whenever you both fought.

It feels crazy how those words could shake you like this. The actress was crying and screaming in the screen, and without realising, tears were flowing down your cheeks too.

“y/n? y/n are you okay? Jagi?” you heard Mashiho’s voice pulling you back to reality. Your hand wiped the tears on your cheeks. You took a deep breath before turning to your boyfriend beside you.

“Yeah?” you said, weakly.

“Hey…you seem…I was worried…” in which he genuinely did look worried. You could see slight creases on Mashiho’s forehead. He was holding your hands in his tightly, planting kisses every now and then on your hands.

You shook your head. “It’s nothing. I just, had some flashbacks that was all.”

Mashiho leaned in towards you and rested his forehead against yours. “You wanna get out of here, jagi?” he asked in a whisper.

You nodded and he immediately grabbed both your bag and his, guiding the both of you out of the dark cinema hall.

You were both now outside on the streets, walking past shops as the Sun shine brightly above the both of you. Mashiho’s hands are still holding yours tightly, not letting go of you for even a brief second whilst you both walk straight ahead without saying anything.

Feeling that it was too quiet, you opened your mouth to say something to your boyfriend, “Mashi, I—”

Mashiho interrupted you by stopping in his tracks and immediately pulling you into a hug.

“M-mashi, we’re in the middle of the streets,” you tried to pull away from him, but this only made his arms around your waist grew tighter.

Mashi pulled your head to rest against his shoulder, his other hand gently stroking your back. “Sshh, it’s okay jagi, it’s okay. I love you, I love you so much y/n.”

You felt your lips tremble. Unintentionally, tears began to flow down your cheeks again. Your hands grip his back tightly, trying hard not to let your whole body shake as you started sobbing.

“Sshhh there, there. I love you so much. Everything’s okay now. I won’t leave you, y/n.” he said softly in your ears, trying to calm you down.

You nodded your head against him. After a whole good 5 minutes of intense crying, you slowly began to control your breathing. Mashiho’s hand was still stroking the back of your head.

You pulled your head away from him and looked up into his bright eyes, lined with concern this time. Wiping your tears with the back of your own hand, you tried to give him a smile; a weak one at that.

Mashiho’s expression softened. A gentle smile formed on his handsome face. “You feeling better now, jagi?”

You gave him a light nod. “I’m sorry…I was just…my ex back then…” you couldn’t really put into words about what happened before you met Mashiho. You’ve always thought you had moved on but the particular scene in the movie really hit you hard.

Mashiho placed a hand onto your head again, this time patting it several times before saying, “It’s okay jagi, I understand.”

Your eyes looked into his again, searching, hoping that you didn’t offend him in any way for mentioning about your ex.

His gentle smile was plastered on his face. He leaned in and kissed you on your forehead. “Come on, let’s get some food and we can just get cosied and eat while we watch videos at home. Sound good for you jagi?”

You felt your heart swell at Mashiho’s genuine gentle treatment and care towards you. You smiled wider this time and nodded happily at his suggestion.

Mashiho took hold of your hand and intertwines it with his, leading you both towards the shop he wanted to bring you to. “And while we eat, you can tell me everything about that jerk you dated back then. He’s got nerve making my girl cry like that, and until today too, he literally wrecked your heart up didn’t he, jagi?” he mumbled, sounding slightly furious.

You nodded quietly, in which you knew he wasn’t even looking at you since he was busy guiding the both of you.

Suddenly, Mashiho stopped in his tracks, making you almost bump into his back. He turned around swiftly and looked at your confused face. His usual bright smile was there again, “You know what y/n, you’re the most wonderful person I have ever met. I love you so much!” he leaned in to kiss your cheek before pulling you with him to get food at the shop nearby.

#ygtreasure #ygtbtreasure #ygtb imagines #ygtreasurescenarios #treasure scenario #TREASURE IMAGINE #treasure #takata mashiho #mashiho #mashiho fluff #treasure mashiho

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wing-dingy · 4 years

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Hey there! So I said I was half tempted to post some mk fanfics, so i did *nervous jazz hands*

Basically just some subscorp, fluff with very little plot, basically Hanzo has a restless night and decides to drop by the Lin Kuei temple for some comfort in his lover, Kuai Liang. Also includes Hanzo feeding Kuai, because Kuai is such a workaholoic that when he has time to eat he forgets to. I’m a sucker for lovers taking care of each other 🥺😭 like literally the file name for this fic was “oops all fluff” lmao

Oh, and a few puns because back when I rped as Kuai, I had this whole thing going on where he makes more puns than he should be allowed to and i got too attached to it as a hc lol

well hope y’all enjoy cuz all i want is some gotdamn happy subscorp

Kuai Liang took a deep sigh as he laid back in the snow. Far past midnight, many of the students fast asleep, but not the Grandmaster himself. No, instead he was laying in the snow, bare of any clothes save for his briefs. His clothes were neatly folded in a pile by him as he laid, now closing his eyes. The thoughts were vanishing, nothing but emptiness in his mind. It was a new form of meditation he had picked up, becoming one with the snow. It was always when the ice began to coat his body as he let go of himself and his grip on the world that he knew he had succeeded in his meditation session.

Sometime into his meditation, he heard in the distance the sounds of snow crunching. Someone was approaching. He opened his eyes and sat up to prepare himself for a potential visitor. But when he looked around, he saw nobody, only the footsteps. Perhaps just a student wondering, looking for something to do to tire themselves out. He laid back down, then closed his eyes after a few thoughtful blinks. And there they were again, the footsteps, snow crunching and packing under the weight of somebody approaching near. Next he heard the slow scraping of metal, and that was when he rolled over and stood up to face his visitor.

“Your hearing hasn’t failed you quite yet,” Hanzo teased as he sheathed his katana. He was without his armor, just casual clothes as it was late, but he still carried his weapons on him, just in case. “But still, that was too close.”

Kuai smiled sweetly as he faced Hanzo. “Hearing is one of the most important senses. These ears will never fail me. But I felt my timing was amusingly dramatic no?” The cryomancer stepped forward to Hanzo, arms open. Of course Hanzo opened his arms and they united in a tight hug, cold and warmth meeting, fulfilling the temperatures each other craved. “It is wonderful to see you again, Hanzo. But why are you here? It is quite late.”

“I was having another restless night, I wanted to see you...” Hanzo let go of Kuai just slightly, just enough to see his face while still holding him. “Why were you laying in the snow? Is your cryomancy not enough to keep you cool?”

“I was meditating.” Kuai answered. "You are free to try it with me, if you're interested."

Hanzo looked down at the snow, then back up at Kuai. "I worry I may melt the snow."

"You are quite hot, you make even me melt." Kuai winked at him, causing Hanzo to blush lightly.

"Is that another pun of yours?"

Kuai had an awful cheeky smile. "Perhaps.” The cryomancer let go of Hanzo to retrieve his clothes he left on the ground and began to at least put on the pants. Sweat pants, just to emphasize it was the Grandmaster’s leisurely hours.

“You can still meditate if you please,” Hanzo offered.

“And what would the fun be in having to pretend you’re not here with me? I would much rather spend time with you.” Kuai took a hold of Hanzo’s hand, once again the cold meeting hot, and out in the snow it caused a subtle steam from their strong hands holding each other. Then Kuai gently pulled Hanzo guiding him towards the doors. “Come inside with me, I will prepare you some tea.”

“Perhaps I can make you some food, too.”

“You needn’t, Hanzo. Not if it is making you go out of your way.”

“I want to feed you, my snowflake. I know you forget to eat sometimes when you get so caught up between work and your own personal time.”

“A fair point.”

“When was the last time you had eaten?” Although it sounded like Hanzo was scolding Kuai, he really wasn’t. He wasn’t mad at all with Kuai, it was just his worry for Kuai’s well being coming out in how he naturally expresses it.

“Lunch time, about… 6 hours ago.”

“Do you not feel hungry?”

“I suppose I do now that you mention it. I suppose I can’t ever say no to your cooking, I do enjoy it.”

“Good,” Hanzo huffed.

Inside the temple was much warmer, something the Grandmaster always made sure of every night for his students. While he was a cryomancer himself, and he understood some of his students were also cryomancers, there were plenty that were not. The nightfall’s cold would be far too bothersome if they tried to endure it in their sleep, and a warrior without proper rest is a vulnerable one. It was even warm enough for Hanzo to notice, giving him a cozy vibe, which he didn’t mind at all given he tends to like it warmer… Except for when holding Kuai.

Kuai took Hanzo around to the temple’s large kitchen, and let go of his hand just to begin preparing to boil the water for their tea. In the meanwhile, Hanzo looked around at the options of foods to work with for him and his lover. Something meaty, of course, since there were tons of meat stored and ready for cooking. Much of the Lin Kuei’s diet consisted of meat, it was easiest to obtain, as animals were more abundant than anything agricultural. What they did have besides meat was always received by the Special Forces to help them maintain at least some semblance of a balanced diet. Very nice of them.

“What do you plan on making, Hanzo?” Kuai asked.

“I am thinking of kushiyaki. It should be quick enough to prepare,” Hanzo answered as he began to pull some meat, labeled ‘game’, out of the fridge.

Kuai loved hearing Hanzo’s Japanese. He could literally just be listing various foods in their Japanese names and Kuai would be head over heels for his lover’s mother tongue. “What is kushiyaki, dear?”

“Kushiyaki is like the yakitori, except that it can include non-poultry meats on it. Usually it is only meat on it, but I suppose some vegetables would benefit us.” It probably didn’t count as kushiyaki then, rather than a regular grilled kebab.

“Would you like some help preparing the meat?” Kuai asked, already drawing a knife from a drawer. “I can hardly cook, but I am quite skilled in cutting.”

Hanzo nodded. “I would appreciate that.”

And together they chopped the meat into cubes and rectangles. They cut off enough for five skewers, part of Hanzo’s plan. Of course, this was unnoticed by Kuai Liang until Hanzo had already flavoured and spiced them and began to put them on the skewers. “Hanzo, we may have to make another one to even the amount.”

“No, my love. I am only going to have one, maybe two. I want you to eat the rest so you are eating enough.”

“Hanzo,” Kuai muttered as he felt the love and care from his love. “Are you sure?”

“I am.” Hanzo set down some bell peppers and carrots on the counter in front of Kuai’s cutting board. “Now please, help me chop the vegetables. You seem to have quite an abundance of peppers.”

Kuai took a few peppers, and with a new knife began to cut them. “General Blade warned us the harvest would be plentiful that shipment.”

“You do know if you ever need produce, I can supply you with some, right? My temple has a garden with plenty of vegetables.”

“Indeed, but I do not want to take from your supply for ours.”

“Our clans are allies, Kuai. We must help each other.”

“I cannot disagree with that, but I do want you to take care of your clan.”

“Just as I take care of you?” Hanzo teased as he leaned in to kiss Kuai’s cheek, then continued on to set up the grilling process of their food.

“I have no idea what you are talking about.” Despite how deadpan his tone was, he was very clearly joking. “But of yourself, what made you so restless tonight?”

Hanzo closed his eyes for a moment and sighed deeply. “Nightmares, I suppose.”

Kuai frowned with deep sorrow for Hanzo. “I am sorry to hear that.” He knew that they both suffered deeply from trauma, from all the fighting, protecting Earthrealm, their past feud, their own hardships through life and death as revenant and wraith, and their losses through time. They really had gone through it all, and then some. Nightmares were just a side effect of the trauma, one they both suffered from, sometimes together. “Did you need to talk about it?”

Hanzo thought about talking about it, but shook his head. “Not this time, thank you.”

“Very well then.” Kuai gave Hanzo a tight hug from behind and sighed. “Regardless, I am always happy to be here to help you, and I am glad you have come over here for comfort. I will always welcome you here, my love.”

“Thank you, my snowflake…” Hanzo did straighten himself from his vulnerable position, and instead began to help Kuai put the meat and vegetables onto the skewers so they could grill them.

“I almost dare to ask if you can cook those yourself, but alas you had already set up the grill.”

“You seem to have an affinity for my hellfires cooking your food.”

Kuai smiled. “It leaves a taste of love.”

“You are a sap.” But of course, it was one of the traits Hanzo loved about Kuai.

As their food cooked, the tea had successfully boiled. Kuai began to place the chamomile tea bags in, to turn it into tea. That was when a horrible pun came to mind. “Hanzo, how do you make holy water?”

“I would not know.”

“You boil the hell out of it.” That cheeky smirk again that showed the self-proclaimed pun-master was proud of another crack of a joke. Of course, it was always adorable, the way Kuai actually thought these puns were humorous.

Typically Hanzo didn’t like puns, they were cheesy and cheap, but Kuai was the only person allowed to make puns. He shook his head with a small touch of a smile. “You are adorable, Kuai.”

“I take pride in being the only one allowed to make puns around you.”

“Good. Though I still would not have thought of you to be the one to make such jokes.”

“Cage may have had a slight influence.” Kuai Liang gently touched along Hanzo’s forearm with his cold finger tips. “It’s easy to make puns when you’re as cool as I am.”

Hanzo huffed a small snicker. “You are certainly cooler than Johnny Cage, I will give you that. ”

“How generous of you, Hanzo.”

“I can say plenty more nice things about you, my dear snowflake.”

“And I, about you.” While the chamomile tea was finishing boiling into the water, Kuai grabbed a lemon from the fridge to chop it in half. A strong squeeze poured lemon juice right out of the lemon and into the tea kettle where it boiled into the tea, then back into the fridge it went when it was no longer of use. Next was the honey, which he had to retrieve from a jar within the pantry. As he set the jar down, he looked over at Hanzo. “You know,” Already Hnazo knew a pun was about to come, it was that damn set up. “I’m not sure if honey is needed in this, since you’re already ‘sweet’ enough.”

Okay, that pun may have got Hanzo blushing lightly again. “Yes… Well… Not as sweet as you.” Oh Hanzo, bashful at sweet praises, just as he had been with his wife a very long time ago. He tried to carry on, returning to the task at hand. He took the skewers off the grill and set them down onto a plate. With the tea finishing just in time, Kuai poured them both a cup, and the settled at one of the kitchen’s islands to consume.

Together they ate and drank their teas, discussing their lives and what they had been up to. Kuai had plenty of new stories about his dragons, and the ghosts he’d been noticing at the temple. Hanzo spoke of his students, the gardens’ new blooms, and a new training regiment he had started. But what they both had in common was missing each other. Kuai could fly over on his dragon any time, Hanzo could hellport any time, but alas it was about their scheduling. They missed each other deeply, they missed each other’s quips, touches, shared pain and healing and comfort, each other’s languages of love. All of it. They were both Grandmasters of their own clans just wanting to forget about the world to be with each other.

Which eventually led Hanzo and Kuai in front of the door of the Grandmaster's bedroom. Initially it had just been to walk him there, and Hanzo had planned on leaving to return to his own temple, but Kuai pulled Hanzo in as he entered his room. "You should stay the night here, Hanzo. I think the both of us could use a night together."

"I should return to my temple, I do not want to be leaving my students without word of where I am."

"My dear, they know of our love, and they know you have slept here before. They will take the hint in the morning when you return."

"I suppose. I just worry if something is going to happen while I am gone."

Now Kuai realized what Hanzo's nightmares were about, what caused his restlessness. He was having nightmares of losing his clan once again. He was having those traumatic memories of losing them before. Kuai Liang sighed. "I will not force you to stay here or there. But I promise you, they will be okay. I understand your fears, as a Grandmaster myself. When I leave, I get worried my clan will be attacked and slain. We worry because we care, and we care for them as deeply as we should be. But alongside care, we must provide them with trust. We must be able to trust that they can fight for themselves and protect each other, should they be attacked. I know your students will be safe, because they have been taught by the greatest warrior I have ever fought in my whole life. Nobody compares to you, Hanzo.” Hanzo reflected on Kuai’s words. Funny, he felt the same way, that Kuai was his toughest opponent, so surely the Lin Kuei must be great, too. “And as well, Hanzo, I’m unsure if you noticed but one of my students is at your temple for the night. We’re not the only ones visiting each other. Should anything go wrong, I’m more than certain she’d come home to alert us.”

“I was unaware of your student staying at my temple. That does help to know, I suppose... But you are correct in your words, I need to give them trust that they can protect themselves.” Hanzo looked at Kuai’s large bed, noticing one more blanket on the bed than before, and a rather thick one, too. A significant difference that warmed his heart. It meant Kuai was seeking warmth in his sleep, attempting to reach the same warmth of the pyromancer. “It seems I should sleep with you tonight anyway,” He noted as he lifted the blanket.

“I find myself sleeping better with a bit of warmth, it reminds me of you,” Kuai confessed as he sat down on his own bed.

“I find myself needing at least a fan on when I sleep,” Hanzo also confessed. “The cold grounds me when I start to get too nervous.”

“We truly do complete each other.”

Hanzo began to start taking off his own clothes, as well as leaving behind his weapons all onto a neat pile on the floor close to the bed, so Hanzo may retrieve them in the morning. Then he got in bed with Kuai, and as he got comfortable Kuai was already holding him, admiring the natural warmth of Hanzo rather than the blanket.

“Do you feel well enough to sleep again, Hanzo?” Kauai asked.

Hanzo nodded. “I think I do.”

“Good, I’m glad.” Kauai closed his eyes with a sigh, and started to feel himself drift to sleep. “Sleep well, Hanzo. Wake me up if you need anything, I won’t mind.”

“And I hope you sleep well, too.” Hanzo hesitantly closed his own eyes. And together, in each other’s arms, in each other’s elements, they both fell asleep together.

#mortal kombat #subscorp #kuai liang #scorpion #sub zero #aaaaa my first time posting fanfic here 😳😬#posting fanfics to try to work up my courage tho lets fucking gooo #also i dont apologize for any hcs or portrayals except yes i do dont kill me

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elionwriter · 3 years

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GOOD OMENS FANFICTION: A World for Three

PROLOGUE

In a quaint, little bookshop in Soho and a fancy apartment of Mayfair an angel and a demon were living their lives very much the same way they always had. It was a life made of precious and antique books; of plants growing lushly under the pressure of constant death threats; of strolls in the park and dinners at the Ritz. I should correct my previous statement, though, and say that the two were living their lives exactly the way they always should have: together.

While most of their habits and daily activities remained the same, doing all those things together without having to hide or lie to their respective workplaces made them feel altogether new and fulfilling. Aziraphale and Crowley had united to stop the Apocalypse, they had trusted each other and played with fire and had, against all odds, won.

After thousands of years, Aziraphale could now lift his gaze from the book he was reading, comfortably sat in his chair and expect to find Crowley there, on the old, battered couch snoozing peacefully. Crowley could finally extend shyly his open palm across the table as the angel ate his meal and feel the other gently taking it with his free hand. It was, in short, the perfect life for two people on their own side.

Things however weren’t the same everywhere. As a matter of fact, both in Heaven and Hell things had too suddenly changed and far too radically. At the darkest hour of a cloudy and desolate night another demon and another angel met to discuss.

On an empty bench in St.James park a thunder suddenly stroke and from it appeared the Archangel Gabriel. A fly, which was laying around, turned its head and flew up towards the newly arrived. A bunch of flies laying all around all followed at once and came together forming a cloud. The flies seemed to look reproachfully at the angel but his overstretched and fake smile didn’t falter. The flies moved to the archangel’s side on the bench and gave shape to the prince of hell Beelzebub. - ...zzz you are late!- She buzzed with annoyance.

- Very sorry for that, an emergency came up.- Gabriel said slinging a purple scarf around his neck. - Apparently there was a sudden incursion of demons trying to cause havoc in one of our offices.- He continued giving the other a side glance. He pulled out a plastic, food container filled with grimy, disgusting goo and passed it to her. - I believe these agents or whatever remains of them are yours.-

Beelzebub took the container and tossed it away, purposefully missing the trashcan by a few inches. - Not my zzz fault! Those idiots were zzz buzzzzing on their own account. Keeping those rejects from Heaven and demented sinners at bay has become more a pain in the azzz than it ever was.- Gabriel nodded sternly - You have no idea what is going on upstairs. Diligent angels, steady workers which have never done so much as lift their heads off their papers are now...taking coffee breaks!- He shuddered in horror.

- Huh, our coffee machine is alwayzzz flooded with people. Zzz Too bad it drips cold gunk instead of actual coffee...I didn’t even zzz know you had a coffee machine.- - We don’t. They suspend their work to talk, chat, whisper, gossip. They gather on the sofas and mumble in groups constantly looking over their shoulder, hiding behind the palm branches and decorative plants! That’s the first and wost sign of insubordination.- Beelzebub smirked - That’zzzz how it started the first time zzzz... ooooohhh, I remember it well. Demons aren’t so subtle: you can hear them squabbling a mile away -

- I think I know what they’re talking about.- Gabriel started - How can a demon survive a bath in Holy Water?- - How can zzz an angel step into a pier of Hell Fire and zzz come out unscathed?- continued Beelzebub. - We may have panicked at first but now, thinking about it clearly, I’m pretty sure they cheated, somehow. They helped each other out and escaped our grasp, somehow.- Gabriel said pulling at his collar as he floundered both with his reasoning and his gestures.

Beelzebub got up, stretching her legs. - That izzzzn’t the point! Zzzz Even if they have weaseled their way out of their punishments, we don’t have a clue how they zzz did it or even lezzz ‘why’. Why did an angel and a zzz demon work together? Why risk their necks for each other and this planet? They both had much more to gain by staying in rank, doing azzz told. We’re different typezzz of creaturezzz, oppozzzite. Our kinds do not mesh! -

Gabriel and Beelzebub looked at each other with poorly concealed disgust at the prospect of ‘fraternizing’. - That’s what we’re here to discuss exactly! People are beginning to wonder: is it really impossible to come together? Are we really that different? If Aziraphale and Crowley could, can someone else do the same: Change in the way it appears they did? If God allowed it, were they really wrong at foiling the Great Plan?-

Gabriel said in a final tone, standing up as well, making the ground slightly tremble under his feet. Beelzebub’s flies scrambled around, buzzing with frustrated confusion before aligning her figure again. - Zzzz That’s more than we can afford! We need to shush the commentzzz, kill the theories and the uproar at once zzz!- Gabriel nodded - Reestablish the status quo!- - Zzz but how zzz?-

The two remained in silence for a moment, Gabriel pacing up and down, Beelzebub standing still on the spot burning the grass around her feet. Then, Gabriel spoke up - Things need to be explained in a way that all can understand. A way we see fit.- Beelzebub closed her eyes for a moment and opened them again saying - One of the two needs to change side. Either Crowley ascends or Aziraphale falls.- Gabriel’s smile turned instantly upside down and he moved towards her - How exactly did you reach this conclusion?! How is it in any way a solution? -

Beelzebub grabbed his arrogant mug and pulled him down to her level with anger. With her free hand she sent a wave on the nearby waters of the duck pond and a simplified set of images illustrated her plan. - They have both showed traits that make them more similar to the opposite faction than their own. If one of them bridges the gap it won’t be so strange that they could get in touch with their enemy and it would explain their failed execution: their spirit wasn’t in the right place!-

Gabriel sneaked out of Beelzebub’s grasp and massaging his face considered her words - Yeeees, I can see it now. Poor, unfortunate Crowley: a demon who’s never truly given up his angelic nature and found his way back to the glory of Heaven where he belongs thanks to the guiding force of Aziraphale which saw the light in him and converted him back. Oh goody, There hasn’t been an ascent since the days of Moses and Abel. This way our agent is shown to have done his true duty all along and Heavens scores a victory! I like it!-

- Ooooor, Zzzz Aziraphale wazzz ready to fall and our agent Crowley gave him the final push by tempting him into the greatest act of defiance of all zzz: going against God’zzz plan! The first fall since the Angelic war. - -Yes, well, we’ll consider which version to go with, eventually, but the important thing is that we can agree on how to take action. I believe we have the perfect agent for this mission!- - We’ll contact our own immediately zzz.- said Beelzebub.

Gabriel was already rubbing his hands in anticipation when a bothersome thought crossed his mind - ...You don’t actually intend to take those two back, do you?- - Off course not zzz! They are dangerouzzz and subverzzzive, especially together. We might not know how they escaped their sentence but they do. Let’zzz make them take care of each other. By the time we’re through with them zzz, it’ll be Crowley himself to kill off that chubby, impertinent angel.- - ooor Aziraphale to eliminate that sappy, depressed demon.- -Whatever!- - I’m glad that we agree.- Said Gabriel offering a hand to shake but Beelzebub seemed to have no intention of shaking back.

When Gabriel took sight of how dirty and disgusting her hands were he immediately pulled his own back. - Zzzz What about that ‘other’ matter? Have you seen into it or zzz have you truly come here to try my patience and destroy my sense of smell zzz with that garbage you’ve got on you? UH, what is it?- Beelzebub asked wrinkling her nose. -It’s cologne: ‘Old Spice’.- The angel answered proudly. - It’zzz disgusting!- - Anyway, I did my homework and I think we have the perfect subject. Adam Young proved to be a poor Antichrist but I feel our new, little friend will fare better.-

[Ch. 1: A World for Two]

https://elionwriter.tumblr.com/post/656426753918664704/good-omens-a-world-for-three-chapter-1

#good omens #good omens 2 #fanfic #fanfiction #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #anthony j crowley #a. z. fell #adam young #good omens beelzebub #archangel gabriel #david tennant #michael sheen

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snowe-zolynn-rogers · 4 years

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Pairings: None, all platonic.

Word Count: 1,129 Words

Summary: Deceit’s room disappears after his rejection from both the light and dark sides. Roman finds a blind, weak snake in the Imagination after months of Deceit being missing.

Warnings: Sympathetic Deceit, Mentions Of Violence, Blood, Injury, Angst, Starvation, Abandonment, let me know if I should add more.

Note: Anything like ‘this’ is an thoughts. Anything like ‘this’ is ASL. Bold like this is a lie.

Based on this prompt.

Why Me?: Chapter 1- Deceit

Deceit had no idea how long he had been wandering. At some point, not long ago, he remembered coming upon a village, surely somewhere in the Imagination still. They had kept him for two days and stoned him in the accusation of witchcraft because of his scales.

They’d also cut his eyes, making bloody ‘tears’ run down his face in a way that made him think it looked like Virgil’s old makeup, how he used to make it look like he’d cried to make it run. He was only wearing a black pair of jeans, sneakers and a yellow sweater. He would be in his full attire if only he had a room.

The rejection of both sides had destroyed his room, therefore he wasn’t needed. It set him to wander the Imagination, which was turning to winter. He had debated many times jumping into the Unconscious only to bring himself to tears thinking about how Thomas would lose someone who protected him.

And, with what those villagers did, he was fearful of what Roman would do if he found the scaled side. So he determined he had to keep moving. He was stumbling still, eyes useless. He wouldn’t even know if he had wandered into the Unconscious now with these blind eyes.

Everything was blurred and misty with time being thrown to the wind and the day/night cycle his body had maintained was long thrown to the wind. He was weak and helpless and vulnerable and he hated it but he couldn’t change it.

He still felt sick from throwing up the day before when the village’s preacher had given his eyes their bloody severance. He didn’t quite notice where he was going. How could he? He wasn’t able to see and he’d barely ever left his room before it disappeared.

“Oh hey, Scales of Justice. Where are you going?” Came a familiar voice in a calming tone, he recognized it, but it had been so long since he’d heard it that he couldn’t pinpoint who that was.

“Are you okay?” The voice came again, this time gentle hands taking his own. The voice was so familiar but he just couldn’t put a finger on it yet. “Deceit?”

His head snapped up. Roman? This was Creativity. He needed to get away! He immediately let go of Roman’s hands, about to run away when gentle but firm hands caught him again by the wrists.

“Dee, are you okay? Do you need...“ Roman asked gently but, over his heartbeat slamming in his ears, the deceitful side was too scared to really hear what he was saying.

He hissed, a sudden, violent instinct that told him to fend himself away from this person no matter who they were. He felt tears falling over and his body shaking but Roman didn’t let go. He held firmly and pulled him in against his body to keep him close.

“No. Dee, no. Why would you do that?“ Roman sounded...wait, not scary? Not hateful or angry or even just annoyed but...protective? He suddenly felt his face against something soft, Roman’s shirt maybe? Deceit’s hands were between them, against the creative trait’s chest.

Maybe trusting this one side was okay? His panic melted away with Roman combing gentle fingers through his thin, brittle hair and his easily bruising skin. Without a room, also came no food as imagination food wasn’t edible to sides lest they felt like dying of ingesting what would be, to them, foam and acid. His hair had grown brittle months ago and his body skinnier and skinnier the less he could take care of it.

“Come on, buddy. It’s getting cold.“ Roman reminded him, gently bundling him in what felt like a thick blanket around his shoulders. His bones did, indeed, feel cold, freezing to the center. His skin, more like pallid paper, was probably blue from extreme malnourishment. His face still felt frostbitten, a feeling he’d frown accustomed to with the weight loss.

He let Roman’s gentle hand hold around his waist and tense for a second before beginning to pull him closer, leading him somewhere. The Mind Palace? His castle? A makeshift room? He didn’t know.

“Have you been eating?“ Roman asked. He knew his voice was burned to its wits end from the last two days of screaming in pain but he still needed to respond.

“No.“ His voice was definitely distinctly worn out. Even with the one word, his voice was struggling to be audible. But, thankfully, Roman was a good listener.

“You were pretty close to the Unconscious, are you alright? Your eyes aren’t focussing.“ The prince was careful guiding him around even without knowledge of his new blindness. It made tears spring to his eyes and pain the still fresh cuts in them.

“’M blind.“ He admitted to the prince and Roman gasped audibly and gentle fingers held his lower cheek to, seemingly, gaze into his eyes.

“By Zeus, those are already healed wrong. Why haven’t you got to your room, Dee?“ The prince sounded worried.

“My room is gone.“ He told him outrightly. Another gasp.

“I’ll get it back for you then. Until I can do that, you’ll stay at my castle so you don’t have to worry about ever being lost alone.“ He felt more tears and ducked his head down. He shouldn’t cry over this. He was a side, he was stronger than crying over something so simple as Roman offering him help.

“It’s okay, Dee, we’ll get you some food and I’ll make sure you’re nice and warm and safe.“ And then he really did start crying, buried into Roman’s neck and hiccupping. He hated being weak but Roman just hugged him close and didn’t complain.

When Deceit managed to stop crying, Roman picked him up and carried him to his castle. Deceit fell asleep somewhere along the way there but he woke up to a soft bed under him and what he hoped was Roman against his front. He grasped at the other person’s clothes, trying to find Roman’s logo patch. If he found that, he could tell who it was.

“You’re awake.“ Roman’s hand cupped his face. Dee nodded and snuggled closer to the other side and Roman ran his thumb over the scales under his hand. ”Do you feel okay?”

“Better, a little bit.“ He admitted softly.

“That’s good. Are there any foods you like specifically?“

“No dairy, allergic.“ The snakelike side admitted.

“So how about you take a shower if you want and I’ll get you some soup.“ Roman suggested. Dee nodded and let Roman guide him to the bathroom and show him with touch how to use the shower before leaving the snake to his own devices with clean clothes on the counter across from the shower.

Taglist: @yeet-ceit @pxrpleprincey @askthesnake @analogical-trash @themelodeeartz @lostonehero @jessyspectre @drarryswingman @lgbtforeverything @zenmasterx @kindadecentmess @detective-ninety-5 @smallbean3 @wildsucculentass

#sanders sides #sympathetic deceit #blind deceit #deceit sanders #roman sanders #platonic roceit #platonic princeit #snoweywrites #tw violence mention #tw blood #tw injury #tw angst #dark sides mention

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mattzerella-sticks · 4 years

Text

Acutely (coda to 15x13 ‘Destiny’s Child’, Dean/Cas, 2.5k)

ao3 link

Jack said he's sorry, after getting his soul back.

Jack said he's sorry, and he's looking at Dean. They're all looking at Dean.

Jack said he's sorry, and Dean can't take it. It's too much. Like a frog thrown into a boiling pot he hops out, jumping out from the room towards safety. Doing his best not to succumb to the pain.

He can't hide forever, let the wounds fester. It's too much to deal with on his own, though. Can someone help him through it?

It’s no secret, where he hides. Where he ran away to after Jack broke down in an apology. Overwhelmed by the sorrow in the younger boy’s voice; his remorse for actions Dean hadn’t mentioned in so long. Dean barely made it before his knees buckled, collapsing on his bed instead of the floor. Face pressed against the pillow Dean counted his breaths while ignoring the heavy lump sitting in his throat.

He loses track after seventy-five, mumbling ‘one… two… three… four… five…’ over and over until he felt like his feet were farther from the edge than they had been. As he lifts his head, Dean takes stock of himself. Grimaces at how sweat dampens both his shirts, dark fabric clinging annoyingly underneath oppressive denim. And as the knot unwound in his stomach, Dean realizes he hadn’t eaten yet. Hunger gnaws at his awareness, begging for attention. Thinking about food, though, guides his paths towards the kitchen and – ultimately – Jack, again.

There’s not much of an appetite left after that.

Instead he blindly throws off his outer layer, then his undershirt. Bends, clawing at his laces and when they unravel, he yanks them and his socks off, too. Discards his jeans by flinging them into some far corner. Red boxer-briefs are all that remain, for the moment. In the next second Dean reaches for a set of pajamas. Picks the set at the top of the pile. Cowboys riding bucking broncos on the pants while lasso script spells out ‘Save a Horse’ on the shirt. As he pulls it overhead, he hears something shift nearby. Turning, Dean finds Cas watching him from the hallway.

“Crap,” he hisses, tugging the shirt down. Cheeks burning under Cas’s intense gaze, “Ever hear of knocking?” Instincts say he should cover himself, but midway through wrapping arms around his midsection Dean realizes what a ridiculous notion that is. Actions aborted Dean’s fingers twitch before they retake his shirt’s hem. Twisting it as the awkward silence continues. “Cas?”

This breaks Cas from whatever trance he fell under. Cas steps into his room, “Sorry, Dean, you left your door open.”

“Right…” If his hands weren’t busy strangling fabric one would be rubbing a hole into the back of his neck. “I – uh, must’ve forgotten.” Dean finally fights back the static drowning his mind, releasing his shirt hem. “What uh… what’re you doing here?”

“I came to check on you.”

Sweet, but totally despicable. Cas’s earnest tone easily overpowers his crumbling defenses, making the flush across his skin deepen. Lips pursed, Dean dips his eyes so he won’t fall prey to the deadliest of his angel’s weapons. Angel blades have nothing on those baby blues. “Thanks,” he coughs, shrugging, “but I wasn’t the one having a full breakdown five feet from the cookie cereal…” He sits down once more, at the foot of his bed, squeezing his knees. “How is Jack, by the way?”

“He’s calmed, somewhat,” Cas tells him, slowly pacing Dean’s room. Picks up Dean’s stray button-down, loosely folding it while he talks. “Sam had a brilliant idea of taking him for a drive.”

“A drive? Is that allowed?”

“Well, Billie didn’t appear and tell us no….” He sets the shirt on Dean’s dresser, claiming the nearby chair for his own. “They left awhile ago. Not sure when they’ll be back.”

“Awhile, huh?” Dean snorts, arching a stern brow. “And you’re only visiting me now?”

Cas stiffens, “Yes. You see – um…” Stuttering, Cas stalls for time as he thinks up an answer.

Tension leaks out of Dean’s shoulders watching him, seeing his angel go through human motions. Dragging a hand through his hair and pulling at his tie, both alight a familiar warmth in his heart. He snuffs that flame a second later, knowing how dangerous it would be if he let it keep. “Kidding,” Dean sighs, smiling, “I’m glad you waited. Probably wouldn’t have been this… chatty?”

“Of course…” Cas says, nodding, “I figured you’d need some time alone… to – to sort through things.”

He’s being generous. Dean used all his strength to not remember the pain stricken across Jack’s face. The wound is still so fresh, Jack ripping off the scabs with a frenzy caused by his soul’s return. Mary’s death hurting like it happened yesterday. “Maybe you should’ve given me five or ten more minutes, then,” he chuckles, tapping at his temple, “still a mess up here.”

“Hmm…”

“Hmm what?”

“Oh, nothing –“

“Bullshit, Cas,” Dean leans forward, a more devilish expression on his face, “C’mon. Tell me what’s going on in your mind.”

“Nothing you probably don’t already know,” Cas says, “I’m… trying to wrap my head around this whole day. Jack getting his soul back… it’s remarkable. But also, troubling. How could that even be possible and – and will it last?”

“Don’t think about it too much, man,” he says, “what happened with Jack it’s… it’s a gift. Probably one of the few we’ve ever gotten that’s come with no strings attached. A win.”

“Have we ever gotten a win like that?”

�� It’d be so simple. Unfortunately, Dean chomps off the head of his one-word confession. Swallows the three-letters alongside all his other feelings. By the time the corpse of it decomposes in his stomach, Dean realizes it’s been too long since he last spoke. Cas waiting, staring at him. An awkward chuckle bubbles forth, his breath reeking of ashen sincerity. “Bout time we got one, then, don’t you think?”

He concedes, mouth thinning in a cunning smile. “I suppose we are… but enough about what I think.” Dean’s lips pinch tight. “I think we’ve delayed the inevitable conversation. Don’t you?”

“No,” he says, “we can delay it some more. Like… what was up with those bootleg versions of us?” Dean scoffs, “I bet that other me doesn’t even know what pie tastes like… too busy cramming caviar down his throat.”

“You might enjoy caviar. I hear it’s very popular?”

“Caviar’s only popular because it’s expensive,” Dean tells him, “and all those rich dudes spent too much money on it to hate it, so they lie and convince others it’s good and it’s an awful, self-servicing cycle.”

“I didn’t know you had such strong opinions on caviar?”

“I’ve got strong opinions on just about everything…” Dean makes the mistake of glancing up, catching sight of Cas’s judgmental bend of his brow. “But you don’t wanna hear any of those…”

“Not right now, no…” Cas stands, drifting towards his door. “I guess you were right, you do need more time by yourself. Perhaps in the morning –“

“Shit, Cas, I’m sorry,” he says, rising, grabbing his elbow. The touch sears even through the jackets and shirt; Dean’s grasp on it firms, savoring it. “Y’know how… how tough this has got to be for me, right?” His throat cracks on the last word, eyes glistening. He feels the tears brimming behind them, pooling, waiting for release.

Cas sighs, dropping any pretense of exiting. “I do,” he says, hand hovering over Dean’s briefly. Considering if he should. A short argument, as it gently embraces his hand; the one chaining Cas to him. “That’s why I want you to speak. Free yourself of the burden… let me help carry it with you.”

“You don’t have to, Cas,” Dean says, “You’ve got your own things, worries t’deal with –“

“That won’t stop me.”

Stubborn. A double-edged sword that makes up the arsenal of Cas’s traits, all weapons Dean would gladly throw himself on.

Cas quiets, then, waiting for Dean and his response. Words were unneeded. Dean can decipher all he thinks by looking into his angel’s eyes. Captivating, whether in the harsh fluorescents of his bedroom or the soft moonlight of an abandoned church. They always make his head dizzy, thoughts unspooling like Dean drank half a bottle of whiskey or smoked three joints. The more he stays the course, the worse it gets. He nearly forgot hellhounds were baring down on them, Sam their last defense against the creatures, because Cas’s eyes hold a magic that quells any fear or worry gnawing at Dean’s senses.

“Dean?”

“It hurt being around him,” Dean whispers his admittance, inching closer. Chests almost pressed together. Noses dangerously close. His toes practically climbing atop Cas’s dress shoe. “I hate that that’s true but… it is. Because as glad as I was to see the kid still kicking it… I’m just reminded of her.” Cas’s thumb rubs a comforting circle into his knuckles, Dean dropping his gaze there. “Reminded of what he did. How he just didn’t… didn’t get it, y’know. Couldn’t tell that it was bad. He – there was still this… this disconnect. And after he came back I could tell he’d look at me and try to find the words t’apologize but they were never there. And without them, we’d never move past it. He’d still be hurting, and so would I… Which sucks because – because I know you think of him as your son, but y’know… I think of him as mine, too –“

“I like to think of him as ours, Dean.”

“Yes, well…” he clears his throat, tongue wetting his lips as he recovers. Dean chooses tactical evasion, ignoring Cas’s comment and moving on. “He’s like… my second chance. He is a second chance. A second coming, really – sorta like Jesus –“ He pauses, gaze darting towards Cas’s face. “That doesn’t matter. I just… I wanted to make things right with Jack, but he didn’t know how – and I sure didn’t know how. So we were circling each other, doing nothing. I could feel things festering. The happiness that came after Jack’s return began fading; instead of relief there’d be dread whenever he walked into a room. Got it into my head that things’d never get any better, and there was no way of fixing this rift between us.”

“But with his soul, he finally understands,” Cas says, “he’s apologized. That’s what you wanted?”

“It is. I… yeah,” Dean shudders, neck suddenly weak. It bends, Dean’s chin saved from touching his neck by Cas’s forehead supporting his. There noses are beside one another, lips a breath apart. “I know it’s for the best but… seeing him cry, all I wanted to do was hug him. Let him know it’d be all right. Except I ran I… I couldn’t say anything. He was hurting and that – that made me hurt even worse. And then I felt glad he could feel hurt… it sorta spiraled from there.”

Cas hums, Dean’s mouth vibrating with the note. “You were overwhelmed,” Cas says, “there’s no reason for you to be ashamed.”

“Yes, there is.” Dean scowls, “I’m middle-aged, can gank a monster twice my size without blinking, but the second a situation gets too touchy-feely I stomp on the gas and speed through all the red lights.” While Dean talked about Jack, a highlight reel of all his shortcomings playing on a giant screen in his mind. Times where Dean’s emotions short-circuited. Fried his circuits, caused him more pain than necessary. Many of those scenes feature a recurring character, shaped like a man in a trench coat. It flickers out, leaving Dean with a blank slate. That fades, too, and Cas’s face is there.

“It’s not fear, Dean. Not at all,” he says. Protest swells, but with a sharp look from Cas it wanes. “Trust me, as someone who knows you… knows your soul, you – you are not afraid of feelings. Not at all.” He smiles, Dean leaning back for the full effect. Blessed by heavenly light. “On the contrary,” Cas continues, “You embrace your emotions. Unfortunately… sometimes you feel too much and that – that can be particularly difficult to manage. I remember when I was human, sometimes the smallest of ripples in my heart caused me great pains. Something modest like being cold or hungry… or in pain, were too much for me to express. Your capacity for feelings, your intelligence and understanding it’s… fantastic. But there are limits. We all have them. You feel too much sometimes that you cannot express yourself or even deal with them.”

Dean’s tears prick at the corners of his eyes, dangling. Still unshed. “It does feel like that,” he says, “Sometimes it’s… like there’s a highway, and it’s rush hour. Traffic on – on all sides. No one’s moving, and I’m behind the wheel and I want to go but I can’t and I… I get so angry that I can’t.” He lets go of Cas, slipping from his loose grip. “S’what I’m feeling right now.”

Cas accepts Dean’s need for distance, hands retreating into his pockets. “And what I’m here, to tell you, is this. You might be behind the wheel, but you’re hardly alone in that car. Sam’s there. Jack’s there. And I am most certainly there.”

Dean nods, wiping a hand down his face. “Thank you, Cas. I… needed this.”

“I’m glad to be of service, then.” Cas’s tone fell, a discordant pluck of the harp that triggered Dean’s worry. Before he could ask about it, his angel floats away. “I should let you get your rest. Today was exhausting…”

Halfway out the door, Dean stops him. “Cas, wait!”

“Yes?”

Standing there, framed by his doorway, waiting for Dean to continue with shining eyes, Dean thinks his angel never looked more gorgeous. And he wants to tell him. Despite how the words stick in his throat, the sweat dripping from his forehead, and how his feelings might be received, he wants to tell him. He wants to tell him everything. Finally.

That flame from earlier, snuffed out, relights. Burns hotter than Baby’s engine gunning down the highway. Ballooning, spreading through his veins and disorienting him. The room spins, his vision blurs, but Cas stays clear and firm. It’s right there, on the tip of his tongue –

“Yes, Dean?”

He’s cold. Doused by an untimely thought that quells any of his passionate desires, leaving him charred, ashen, and helpless.

Dean notices the frown lines around his mouth. The way his eyes drooped in a way they’ve never done. Shadows stretch across his body, slithering, hiding most of his expression from Dean. But he senses a tiredness there that, on Cas, seems foreign.

The moment passes. It wouldn’t feel right, anyway.

“Just…” his face hurts from the tight grin he forces, “I go both ways.” Blushing, he amends his statement. “I mean, I don’t have to give you all my baggage – I can… I can also help you carry some of yours, if you’d like?”

Cas tilts his head, light revealing a gentle smile. “I’d like that. Night, Dean.”

“Night Cas…”

A closing door never felt more ominous.

Dean stares at it, chewing on his lip. Chest aching, heart beating against it with the force of a storm wreaking havoc. He walks towards the switch, flipping it off. Bathing the room in shadows. Making it easier. “Cas,” he says aloud, looking ahead into the endless darkness. “I love you. After this is all over, and we don’t have any more fights heading our way… I’d like for you to stay. With me. And we can have the life we both deserve. I just… I want you to know what I’m fighting for. It’s not the world. It’s you. It’s us.”

He slips under the covers. Talking to empty air didn’t make the feelings disappear, or easier in dealing with. But it’s a start.

Maybe he’ll do better in the morning.

#destiel #destiel fanfic #destiel coda #dean winchester #castiel #supernatural #spn #spn15 #15x13 destiny's child #better late than never lol

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halothenthehorns · 3 years

Text

TLTNL- DEPARTMENT OF MYSTERIES

Lily's dark red hair could have actually been set ablaze and she wouldn't have noticed as she held Remus' gaze, her hand held out expectantly. Careful of each move he made, he passed it to her like a loaded gun, all eyes now on her as she started in as clear a voice as she could manage. She cared about Sirius like her own adopted, annoying as piss little brother, but only for the past three years or so. She had not a clue how to help any of them with a grief ten times her own, but damn it all, she was going to read her part and hope the universe would just do one kind thing for her and let this be the chapter with an answer already, they weren't going to last much longer without finding out what happened to him!

Harry got clumsily onto his horse, hampered by the beast still trying to lick his robes.

"Snack for the road," Sirius agreed.

"You really are lucky these things have been dealing with Hagrid all their life, otherwise that would be going an entirely different way," Remus muttered, but since they were all right next to each other they heard anyways and simply chose to ignore him.

He tried to get comfortable on the boney back, finding little notches behind the wing joints he could secure his feet in.

"You've even got practice from Buckbeak," James agreed, hardly believing his own words, that this was his son's life.

Around him, Neville was clinging to the Thestrals neck threatening to strangle the beast though it seemed not to mind, Luna was sitting sidesaddle as if she did this every day,

"Maybe she does," Sirius shrugged, now picturing her house with a herd of unicorns on the property, it fit her anyways.

while the other three were watching them with open mouths.

"I can imagine," Lily agreed. Even with Harry's descriptive depictions of them, all she could see in her mind was three of them apparently sitting on top of nothing, and sympathizing more with the other three.

He impatiently asked what they were waiting for, and Ron pointed out they could hardly get on something they couldn't see.

Luna slipped off with ease and guided them each to one, helping them feel secure before she got back astride her own.

Ron kept running his hand along the silky mane, stating how mad this was, if only he could see it this would be slightly less mad!

Harry told him he'd better hope they stayed invisible.

Lily spluttered as she looked around desperately to him, but Harry couldn't find it in him to apologize for the bleak words, as he still wasn't sure if they remained true.

Then he told his Thestral to head to the Ministry of Magic, visitors entrance in London.

There was only a moment's hesitation, before he was launched into the air to a bright red sunset.

Harry couldn't feel that errant fascination. He could picture it, sitting around trying to pick their brains apart wondering the how's and why's a Thestral was able to do this, a magical ability or some inner bred trait...but he could not find the words to start anything of the sort.

On they soared, the air tearing through them at high velocity as the castle quickly faded in the background, the Thestrals taking them across wide mountains and soon even across tiny villages.

Ron was still shouting for all to here how bizarre this was, and Harry imagined it would be worse for those who were seemingly going along with this without support.

"Oi, Prongs, what about an invisible broom?" Sirius launched at him what was clearly an old thing between them, Sirius loved offering him new broom designs even if they only did appear on paper for now.

James still had to take a slow, careful breath to make sure he wouldn't start panicking again if he unclenched his throat before agreeing, "I can't believe we never thought of that. As often as we lived under the Cloak."

Night fell, the world around them turning into nothing but a sea of lights whenever they passed over a town now, and Harry cared nothing for it, still more concentrated on his scar and any foreign feelings. He still had nothing to go on, no jubilation or triumph, not even the burn he'd felt when Mr. Weasley had been attacked.

Lily's eyes burned, her throat like its own heavy weight trying to force her not to say those words. She just didn't want to believe this was happening...

Time flew by as fast as the beasts, who barely flapped their wings as fast as they traveled.

Sirius clenched his fists, it was getting harder all the time to hold onto his acceptance of this happening to him. Last time Harry had gone through a sensation like this he'd been speeding towards Order headquarters, to safety, now he was pelting into danger all for him, it wasn't right he'd never seemed to have done anything for Harry's life except cause him more trouble.

Harry's inner mind still arguing back and forth if he had time...but Sirius was still fighting, he could feel it; but if Sirius cracked...he'd know!

Lily could only read Harry's internal fight in a whisper, her voice would go no stronger, he just had to be right, Sirius would be okay...

This went on until the new sensation of the Thestral leaning down, and Harry slid forward almost onto its neck at such a fast descent.

Sirius muttered anxiously, as if he'd been hoping Harry would never get to this point. The others ignored him. Despite the fear clinging to them for Harry finally arriving, this had been what they'd been wanting, hoping for, Harry was going to save him just like he had so many others.

He thought he heard a shriek behind him and twisted around dangerously,

Lily's eyes nearly fell out of her head she jumped so hard, kept reading fast as she could, she knew Harry wasn't collapsing on himself just by her forceful tone, the promise of an immediate answer.

but could see no sign of a falling body . . . presumably they had all received a shock from the change of direction, just as he had.

Harry had still shook anew as he all too easily pictured it, that really could have been one of his friends and what would he have done? Stopped trying to get Sirius and go help them? The question was unbearable with no answer.

The lights below were flooding his vision now, coming in quickly until buildings were discernable, and then the Thestral gave a surprisingly light landing right next to the old vandalised telephone box.

James was having to fight off the urge to start screaming in frustration all over again. Of the last time Harry had been here, and how this was somehow unbelievably worse, far more precious than school expulsion.

Ron stumbled off of his at once, staggering around as if drunk while muttering never again, only to collide with yet another Thestral he couldn't see and stating never, ever again!*

Sirius' whole body was still shaking, and he wanted to pretend just for a moment it was all for Ron's unintentional humor right there at the poor lads expense.

Hermione and Ginny got off with just a bit more dignity, while the other three dismounted and looked at Harry expectantly, Luna asking what next as if this were a day trip.

"I really do like this one," Sirius politely informed Harry. "You clearly need her around more, never met a more level headed person."

Harry gave him an even look, considering no one had seemed to appreciate Hermione trying to keep her head while he was losing his, but the difference was fair, Luna was going along while keeping herself in check where as to them it felt as if Hermione was only hurting them more than helping them until it came down to it.

He gave his Thestral a quick, grateful pat,

Remus felt somewhere in him the gratitude as well, never failing to notice Harry's care for creatures that many wouldn't have given a passing glance to in this situation.

and went over to the telephone box, all of them cramming inside, and Ron having to bend his arm awkwardly to reach it while Harry told him the numbers to activate it.

"How on Earth did you remember that almost a year later?" Sirius demanded.

"It was a rather memorable day," Lily reminded when Harry's jaw was trembling too hard to figure his own response.

The welcoming voice greeted them and again asked who they were and to state their business.

Harry prattled off who all was in here quickly,

"Would have been an awkward moment if you'd suddenly realized you didn't know someone's last name," Sirius pointed out.

"Padfoot I swear-" James scowled at him for the near constant interruptions now when he just wanted to hear of him walking back out of this place.

Sirius just smirked, he wasn't going to stop and Prongs wasn't going to make him, his talking was the most reassurance he could offer them he was fine.

Remus sadly chose to indulge him as well, saying, "I'm just impressed Harry didn't try to say it was only him. It wouldn't have worked, the magic would register them all, but it's interesting he's not even thought of cheating the system even now."

"Truly Lily's Fawn," Sirius chuckled, never having more appreciated the blend of his best mate and the wife in this kid, and all the more fascinated he'd grown as such without having them around.

and said they were trying to save someone unless the Ministry wanted to do it first!

"Don't encourage them," Lily shivered, as that's all they needed, to get Sirius out of one danger only for him to be executed on the spot by some Ministry fool.

The voice thanked them and let six pins slide out of the slot again, Harry saw the top most one said his name and Rescue Mission.

Sirius managed an awkward kind of laugh they had a badge for that, though he was sure it was much simpler and the voice only reprinted the 'business.'

He was again warned to have his wand checked in the Atrium, and the moment Harry impatiently agreed the lift was moving.

Down below, the great hall was empty, not a soul in sight, even the grates had gone dark.

Lily's innards gave another squeeze, the pain as if fresh all over again. The visitors entrance should have been closed after visiting hours, the security guard should have at once noted their entrance. Impossibly, this was feeling more dangerous by the word.

Harry was once again wished a pleasant evening by the woman's voice,

"So do I," Sirius muttered, unable to think of the consequences if they weren't.

and the door opened to the great sight of the fountain.

"I have been wondering what Hermione would think of that thing," Sirius mock cheered.

James wrapped his arm tight around Sirius, to pull him in even closer, and try to muffle him for just a moment.

Harry disregarded it and ran right past, also going straight to the lifts without being stopped because the guards seat from before was vacant.

Whatever composure Sirius had once held finally slipped away, his breath came out in a hiss that may well have been his last. "Hermione was right."

"Sirius?" James demanded in concern.

"This is a set up," Lily was almost too horrified to whisper the words. "There should always be someone there!"

"Why?!" Remus rasped, his voice far more hoarse than after any full moon as this set in.

"I don't know," Sirius murmured, eyes locked on Harry's. It was a miracle if his pup could even hear them; he was stiff, pale, and looked in far more pain than they'd yet seen him which was really saying something. It terrified them all, that Harry had been set up and Sirius was the key in this happening, and they had just as many answers to this as they did if Sirius was going to be okay!

It made them all realize at once though, this was why Sirius hadn't yet been cast off as no use for whatever Voldemort wanted him to get, because Sirius wasn't supposed to be the one getting it. Somehow, he needed Harry for this, and Voldemort was just playing with a new toy in the meantime until Harry got there. The moment he arrived though...kill the spare, echoed in the back of all their minds so loud Voldemort could have been standing in the room hissing it for their ears.

Harry felt sure there should have been, and it felt ominous as he pushed the down button, the lift arriving causing far more noise than he remembered, the din would surely raise every alarm in the building.

'Normally it would have,' Remus found the urge somewhere in him to agree, but it helped nothing to still his thready heart beats. If even there was someone at the Ministry, it would only be another spare now...every single person with Harry somehow felt in even more danger than before this trap had been sprung.

Yet when they made it to the Department of Mysteries, the doors opened, still no one was there. Finally, after all those months, he was in person walking to the plain black door.

Harry's grip was turning bruising on his own head, he looked likely to rip his own ear off in moments. The deep feeling gnawing at him all year, warning of this place had finally come full front in understanding. He pleaded with his mind to take it back, he wouldn't make this mistake again, but as always, his pleas went ignored.

The others followed without question, Luna's mouth opened slightly gazing around.

Sirius found an odd noise pushing against his vocal cords, like a laugh did want to come through at Luna's reaction to all this.

He stopped just in front of the door, saying maybe they should have a look out-

"I get what you're trying to do," James shivered, his eyes still hardly following along in here less than ever even as he kept the minimal focus on what was being said, yet always feeling each word with the intensity of the answer he needed. "I wouldn't find it a good idea though Harry, being separated at a time like this when you have no clue if Voldemort's alone in there..." His voice failed, his own words weren't enough to convey whom he suddenly feared could be in there, simply watching all this happen. Harry had been bad enough, a genuine stab in his heart, but if he was in there...

All refused this idea, and Harry said no more about it as he pushed the door open, and stepped over the threshold.

'Shouldn't that have been locked?' Harry's mind pushed that thought so violently into his consciousness he curled into himself all over again, just wishing all this pain away. His dreams, for almost a year now, had always shown him nothing but this until much later, when something had changed and it was all too twisted together for him to understand the difference now...

Lily was struggling to grasp how Harry had done it. She was a fine tuned mess just imagining all this, she'd have been running forward and screaming for him, but then she supposed, that's how she felt right now just hearing about this. In fights with Death Eaters, against Voldemort himself, there had been no true feeling until much after the fact, and she fought for that now, some level of clear headedness Harry held in his time that seemed to be evading him in here having to relive this with them.

They were standing in a large, dark room, only lit with blue torches, the ceiling and floor indiscernible from each other so that they may have been standing in an endless dark water.

Some nerve ending not yet connected in his mind gave a hard thump at the reminder, far too lost in the background of memories yet collected to even be registered at a time like this.

Harry told the last person to close the door behind them, and instantly regretted it.

"Why?" Remus demanded.

"To not be caught from behind," Harry said slowly, though it was getting harder by the moment to stay in the moment of answering even the simplest questions of what had been running through his mind at the time.

In his dream, Harry had always walked purposefully across this room to the door immediately opposite the entrance and walked on.

"Because it's such a comfort Voldemort knew this place well enough he knew exactly where to go, even when he couldn't get in," Sirius said bitterly.

Now though, there were doors on all sides of him, even straight across it was impossible to tell which should he have picked. Then they began to move.

With a great rumbling, the wall spun in such a blur it left blue lights imprinted into their eyes, Hermione grabbed hold of Harry in fear as if the floor would start up as well.

Some absent part of James' mind honestly wondered at a time like this if Ron would get jealous of that too. Sirius must be rubbing off on him.

As suddenly as it had started, it all stopped, and everything became stationary once again.

"How the bloody hell did you end up in a maze again?" Remus demanded before he'd even thought of his own words; while Harry finally lost his fight and cried out in pain. His dry heaves promised any moment he was going to start vomiting all over again.

"I'm sorry!" Remus gasped, he couldn't believe he'd just said that! "I'm so sorry Harry, I-"

Harry didn't hear anymore, couldn't see anything but the dark black of the endless room and a graveyard.

"Moony, you idiot," Sirius primly informed him while Harry buried his face into Sirius' shoulder.

"I-"

"Shh," James shushed him, watching his son and thinking back to the other night, Harry calling out for Sirius with such insistence. It was all too clear why now, and Remus apologizing for his mouth getting away from him was not at all going to be held against him by them.

Past Harry's own heaving mind, it took him quite some time to hear anything else, and the first thing he heard was Sirius muttering something. This was hurting like nothing before, if ever he'd had one memory he wouldn't gain back it would have been whatever was waiting at the end of this particular journey, but finally he gained some stability back in him when he leaned back and looked his godfather in the face.

Scared didn't cover it, but somehow Remus' words also left him reeling from a different kind of pain, yet a reminder all the same of what he'd lived through. He'd been so sure he was going to die that night in the graveyard and he'd been wrong then, maybe he had this all wrong and it wasn't Sirius' life in danger but his own? If he came close to death again, that could certainly be what had him so far stretched for this day. Yes, that must be it, if he somehow traded himself for Sirius and something almost happened to him, he without a doubt could handle that. He turned back to his mother and finally found in him the steadiness he'd possed when going to rescue Sirius, now that he was much more easily able to ignore the fright from his past trying to tell him what was happening.

Remus still looked miserable he'd scared Harry so bad, but at the same time they all felt more hopeful than ever for the outcome that had to be true. Harry wasn't going to let what happened to Cedric happen again, that look of determination on his face promised that, right?

Harry said in frustration he had even less of a clue which door now, but Ginny pointed out they didn't even know how to get back now; which was all too true. Every door was as unremarkable as the last, their exit blending in with the door they still had no clue which to go through in the dozen around them.

"How the bloody hell do people actually work in this place?" Harry muttered belligerently. He may be sitting at a better place, but it hardly improved his mood past grating frustration he was still in there rather than running out with his godfather and friends.

"I have no clue," Lily said honestly, though she now had every intentions of asking someone, just in case.

Harry said they'd worry about that later.

Hermione warned Harry not to start shouting for Sirius. Harry hadn't needed that advice, all his instincts were warning him to remain quiet.

James made a huffy little noise, still wanting someone nearer to blame and landing on Hermione again, why had Harry wanted her to come along again if he'd said himself he didn't need her advice.

Ron asked where they were supposed to start, and Harry began to say he didn't- but then swallowed the rest.

"Probably best not to go admitting right now I had no clue what I was doing," Harry said morosely, though no one had needed that pause explained.

Instead he explained the dream, the room they were searching for, and so they could only try whatever was next. He marched forward to a door, and it opened with ease.

"All six of you should have tried a door at once," Remus ruffled his brow as he tried to work this out. "You said there's a dozen doors, give half of them a push, and then do the others."

"I'm wondering if they even could," Sirius disagreed. "I'll bet you can't open more than one at once."

"Plus, his friends were right, they really shouldn't be separated, even like that," James shivered yet again, though he'd never quite stopped. "Probably best to all focus on one at a time."

Inside was a small rectangular room much resembling a classroom, it even had desks,

"This place gets creepier every minute," Sirius shifted restlessly, not wanting to know what kind of classes were held in there.

but instead of a desk, there was a tank at the back of the room, floating in an eerie green liquid, that housed brains.

"What?" Remus barked in disgust.

Lily's squidged up face made it clear she had not misread that as she continued.

They inched closer, but their eyes did not deceive them, several of them were floating like grotesque cauliflowers.

James could think of nothing to say to that but, "Why?"

"For you I'm sure, clearly the first one wasn't doing you any good," Sirius offered.

James shook his head in disbelief at his idiotic friend even as that did manage to make him smile just for a moment again, though a reply escaped him, far too busy trying to get Lily to go on.

Harry muttered they should get out of here, this wasn't the right place, but Ron asked if they should try one of these doors?

Harry looked around and saw he was right, even along this room were yet more doors. How big was this place?

Lily wondered if she was the only one who remembered Snape, how positive she was he'd understood Harry and had sent word of what had happened. That meant the Order should have been there by now, honestly beaten Harry here as they'd have a much faster way of it. Was this already taken care of, Sirius was fine, and now they were searching for the kids? She certainly hoped so, though her fingers cramping along the pages only tensed more with hurt this couldn't just be done with, the suspense was going to kill her faster than anything now.

Harry insisted they should stick with his dream, and he'd gone from that first room into a glittering one. This wasn't it, so they should try again.

Before this door was closed though,

"How do you close a door without a handle?" Sirius muttered.

"Close it as you leave you ding-dong," Remus huffed back, though he wasn't surprised that was a concept that escaped him.

Hermione used the spell Flagrate on it, crossing a red x on the door with her own magical fire.

Once the door was closed, the spinning began again, except now the new color was added to the mix, and was still present when the doors stopped again, showing the door they'd just tried on their left.

"That's brilliant," James didn't have a touch of grudge in his voice as he complimented this, telling his mind to stop taking this out on Hermione when she was still the only one coming up with recurring plans for this.

Harry moved onto the next door.

In this was a large stone pit, the whole room nothing but steps descending down to a raised dais with its own set of stairs leading up to an aged arch with a long dark veil fluttering as if someone had just touched it.

The fear for Sirius' life was still running rampant through Lily, but some intrigue for this place was coloring just a bit of her tone so she finally didn't feel like she was reading about an Inferi. That brain room, now this, the Department of Mysteries really lived up to its name.

She dared not glance up at Harry again when he'd finally marshaled himself into control being in here, and everyone else was still keeping one protective eye on Sirius and the other on her for some kind of change that wasn't the kids poking around. Haste still left them all twitchy with no real movement to be had in here.

So they all missed the dread flinging back into Harry, whatever sense of security he'd once had failing him again as memory of this room was replaced...

Harry jumped curiously down the steps, asking who was in here?

"What the hell is that?" Sirius muttered, his lower lip sticking out slightly as he concentrated on this alone rather than where he was possibly one door off.

"It, sounds like a lethifold," Remus began a bit curiously, explaining for Harry's benefit even as he hadn't quite noticed yet he wasn't really paying much attention to the chatter around him. "Also known as a living shroud, it honestly looks like a shadow moving, it creeps up on people in their sleep and envelopes them, they pass right through it and are never seen again, I suppose they're eaten alive. Only known defence for it is actually a Patronus, which is why they're classified so dangerous, though they don't cause the same effects as a dementor. They're mainly found in the tropics though, I suppose they could be studying this one-"

"Must you relate everything back to beasts," James muttered with a small shake to his head, wishing he had more energy to pick on Moony for this. His father used to speak of the Department of Mysteries just like Arthur did, and whatever information was passed around only spoke of how ancient the place was, possibly the whole Ministry had been built around this one area. James honestly didn't think this was something so passable as that, and he had a nagging feeling this well could be the actual center of the whole place, and he didn't at all like the sound of it.

Harry went all the way up, right to the arch, and called out to Sirius.

Sirius gave a heavy sigh as he gave Harry's shoulder a comforting squeeze, noting how hard he was trembling again and still hoping he'd appear at Harry's side any moment now so they could all get out of there.

He had the strangest feeling that there was someone standing right behind the veil on the other side of the archway.

"I somehow doubt Voldemort has me hiding behind that puny thing with him," Sirius rolled his eyes as obvious as it was possible to do to keep Harry's attention now.

Harry dragged his eyes to his godfather's face, there was a truth and a lie somewhere in there, and it was impossible to know which was what.

Hermione hissed at him there was no one in here, they should keep going, but Harry was entranced now, finding the fluttering curtain such a curious sight he wanted to go up to it and push it aside, go through the arch himself.

"Oh great, this thing is even creepier than the last thing they came across!" Remus grumbled.

"Harry doesn't go through it," Sirius shrugged with confidence for that.

"Hermione gets him away," James agreed, trying to push Lily onto that part already.

Harry was still watching Sirius, his vision shaking so bad he could have fallen into a seizure any moment and not known the difference.

This close, he was sure he could hear whispering.

"Sirius isn't there Harry," James said through gritted teeth, he couldn't understand why Harry hadn't left yet when he realized this.

Lily grasped his hand with one of hers, looking first to him before telling Harry, "it's alright love, you'll get there."

Suddenly the image of The Mirror of Erised came back to Harry clearer than ever, and he had no will to understand why.**

Hermione was being insistent now, actually trying to pull Harry from the room, but he asked the others couldn't they hear that?

Luna agreed she could, there were people in there.

Lily felt her skin crawl, and it took all of her will to repress rubbing her hands along her arms, though somehow James understood anyways and did it for her. She snuggled into his weathered hands, grateful and wondering at how he managed to spare even a second of attention for her when he still could hardly breath in fear for what was happening to his brother.

Hermione's voice was hitting desperation as she shouted there was no 'in there.'

"Hermione really doesn't like this thing," Sirius pointed out.

"She doesn't understand it, and she has no immediate way to. Of course she doesn't," James shrugged.

Remus also was getting the start of a suspicion that Hermione had another reason somewhere in there, she had no connection to this thing.

Sirius wasn't in here, and they needed to go!

Something of that finally got through to Harry, but it was harder than it should have been for him to back up. Hermione was there though to lead him back out, and he wasn't the only one. Ron had to grab Neville's arm to bring him out as well, and Hermione was holding both Luna and Ginny's hand to escort their dazed gazes.

Remus had almost thought he'd had it for a second. His original idea wasn't holding as well, but considering lethifolds attacked those while they slept, perhaps they did create some form of whisper of their previous victims? All three who could see the Thestrals were apparently entranced by it, what if that thing spoke of death? Yet Ginny had apparently been affected by it to...but then again, she'd been a breath away from death in the Chamber. He made a disgruntled noise and told his mind to shut up, he had no want to linger on this place, Harry hopefully would never have to suffer another death again and the place was irrelevant.

Harry asked one last time what that could be, but Hermione said she was only sure it was dangerous as she crossed out that door before closing it.

"Hermione used to think I was dangerous too, oh, no wait, that one's still true," Sirius looked so proud of himself reminding them of that. It seemed impossible he was worried about his ego at a time like this, but clearly he was picturing Harry coming across him any second and seeing him in the most degrading position he could ever be in his life.

Harry just shook his head at his godfather, he'd never agreed with Hermione more in his life.

Once the place stopped spinning again, they tried the next door, which was the first and only one locked.***

"Is that one it?" James hissed, his hands tightening almost painfully around his wife now though Lily didn't feel a second of discomfort, it was grounding and helped her not to fly out of her mind with worry.

"No, no, must be something you need special access to," Remus babbled at the top of his lungs, trying to ignore his tunnel vision. "Everything else has been open and too easy, this must be something else."

Harry agreed, he had a funny little frown in place even as he said aloud, "yeah, don't think I actually go into this room."

Lily made a breathy little noise, some combination of discomfort and relief, her heart really was going to sink right out of her soon if this didn't end.

Hermione tried the Alohomora charm, but nothing happened.

"I wouldn't exactly be surprised, that spell doesn't fix everything, there's charms you can use to block charms," Lily muttered.

James moved to brushing at her hair, for the first time recognizing how grateful he was she was the one reading this. He wasn't sure what he'd do with himself when hers ended and if his began without any resolution but still more problems.

Harry even tried Sirius' knife he still had in his bag, but when he pulled the blade out from the crack in the wall, it had melted straight to the handle.

Sirius looked offended! "Oi, what the bloody hell is behind that thing!"

"Now I really don't want to know," Lily muttered, if it was warded powerfully enough to stop conventional means, she was more sure than ever it really was something she didn't want her son around.

Hermione decided they were leaving that room be, though Ron said what if that was really it with honest curiosity in place.

"I can understand that though," James sighed, another part of his life saying how cool all of this would have been to poke around any other circumstances.

Hermione reminded of Harry's dreams,

'Oh, so now his dreams are credible,' Remus thought bleakly, wishing for this attitude hours ago instead of for the first time wondering how long Frank and Alice had suffered before their damage had been irreparabile...

marking the door before they tried again, as it began spinning once they'd stepped back away from it.

Luna began to offer her own idea of what was in there,

"I'm sure she'll tell us," James told with whatever affection he could muster for a person who wasn't Sirius right now.

"Why was the wall moving? You didn't open a door," Remus muttered.

"I guess the room took that as intent and did it anyways," Harry shrugged.

Hermione said it was something blibbering before she could finish, and Neville gave a nervous laugh.

No one managed one in here, though Hermione's sarcasm right now was at least appreciated.

On the next door, Harry shouted they'd found it!

"Oh boy," James stated, trying to look over Lily's shoulder, to find at any moment what was going to happen already.

Lily wasn't giving him the chance, making sure he couldn't hurt himself by reading ahead by continuing loudly with determination now, this had to be the end, they couldn't stand anymore delays.

It was finally the room full of glittering lights sparkling off glass, which now that Harry was present saw the room dominated by a giant hour-glass that was filled with an egg that was slowly rising up, cracking as it went so that by the time it reached the top it was a fully hatched chick, but when it reached the top it sunk back down into its egg, reaching the bottom only to begin again when going up.

Harry released a suddenly heavy breath. For the first time since his vision of Sirius, his eyes traveled unfocused again, a memory trying to return to him, and he could almost hear the echo of someone calling his name, 'Harry, watch out-'

"Harry?"

Lily had frozen, everyone realized what he was doing now, and he softly whispered, "I wasn't having a go at my memories, I swear, just, this place-"

"You've been dreaming about it for ages, it's natural to start feeling overcrowded now remembering a dream coming to life," Sirius told him with comfort he was sure would help Harry to stop looking at him with that desperate face any second.

Harry didn't answer, the memory was already fading away but leaving him in no less dread of what happened in this place on any occasion.

The rest of the walls in the room were covered with every kind of clock imaginable, there was even a glass case dedicated to time-turners.

"It's a room for time," Sirius muttered in fascination, though for just a second he had a walk over the grave moment. Last time his life had been saved due to a time-turner, he didn't like the premonition Harry was walking through a room dedicated to studying that just before fetching his arse. He only hoped if something went wrong, at least Harry could come across something to help him this time as well.

Harry paid no mind to any of this as he darted through, wrenching the next available door open, they'd finally found the right place.

Lily couldn't help but still, every rampant emotion coursing through her reaching its peak all at once, and finally ebbing off for just a moment so she could collect herself. No more waiting, no more wondering, Harry was there, and whatever happened, was going to happen.

The room was large as a cathedral, with rows upon rows of shelves. Harry reminded they were looking for ninety-seven, and Hermione saw the nearest one was fifth-three,

"Why would you start-"

Remus was shushed again, and he'd never been more grateful for it. He more than anyone wished his mind would shut off, it hurt to breath enough as is without wasting the air on stupid questions.

to the right was fifty-four, so they went along that way. Harry struggled to hear anything as they took off, but no noise echoed except their own feet. Sirius was still okay though, he was possibly gagged, or even unconscious, it didn't mean...

Harry could hardly hear his mother, his own pulse thumping so loud in his ear. He cared not for anything but the steady presence of his godfather on his side, watching more than listening to those around him, it was too hard to take in every word but each syllable was held with all his concentration.

They stood grouped around the end of the row, gazing down the alley way.

There was nobody there.

It happened all at once, five heart beats stilled until every possible thing went flying through their mind too fast; he'd been stowed away, he was being tortured somewhere else now and brought back in front of Harry when needed- Harry made a noise first. Half a sob of relief, half a scream of surprise, and all around one of confusion.

Lily looked to him for some kind of answer, but it was impossible. He was actually making even less sense now than when the vision had first started. All they knew was a combination of their own fear and confusion, where was Sirius?

Harry insisted he must be down there, darting to the end with still nothing in sight. He even checked the next available rows as if he'd crawled away, and still there was no one in sight.

"I, don't, understand," James said slowly, scrutinizing Sirius now like he was still worried he'd vanish any second.

"Maybe, the Order really did come and help out already?" Remus tried to offer.

Lily shivered hard, something tight refusing to unclench in her as that still was no answer for the state Sirius was in.

Harry had no answer for any of them, feeling more every moment he only wished those around him would remain in this state of confusion, whatever lingering hope they were clinging to, because once that ended...

Hermione finally told Harry she didn't think Sirius was here.

"That's, supposed to be a good thing, Lily," Sirius said every word carefully, trying with all his might to put that into his own tone, but it was hard going.

"Right you are," Lily agreed without looking up. She'd gone in with this expecting some sort of fight between Harry and Voldemort again, now they felt more in limbo, a never ending state of fear for never being given an answer.

Nobody said a word, Harry started to feel sick with fear. He did not understand, Sirius had to be here, Harry had seen him.

"Then that's what happened!" James stated, there was no other option. "Clearly something happened in the meantime."

"The Order, or Merlin, maybe even the Ministry did find some way to step in," Remus uneasily agreed, trying to nod his head but really only getting a jerky movement in before Lily ignored the lot of them. She could feel they were trying to push into something more bearable, but her terror still resided.

He looked desperately around for some kind of clue, but there wasn't even a sign of a struggle.

Sirius hummed, nestled as he was it was harder to focus on what that could have been as he still kept eyes on Harry. He was more concerned his Godson may still well run into trouble before he caught up with him now, the idea of that ambush, that this was all set up had yet to be explained anymore than, well anything!

Ron called out to Harry, and at first Harry refused to turn back towards him, afraid Ron would tell him this was stupid and they should go back to school.

"You're not stupid!" Remus said at once, the word never should have crossed his mind when clearly something had happened, Harry just didn't know what yet.

"And Ron would never suggest otherwise," James agreed vehemently.

Instead Ron called for Harry to look at this, and he came back eagerly hoping he'd spotted something, but Ron was looking at the shelves. Now Harry stopped to look, he saw they were filled with a million glass spun orbs, all coated in dust. Some were dark, but others were lit up as if from the inside, like the one Ron was now looking at. Up close, they each had little plaques below them,

"Err," Sirius said with genuine concern now.

Lily blinked slowly, an itch at the nap of her neck promising this wasn't the kind of answer she'd been hoping for.

and the one Ron had spotted was dated sixteen years ago labeled;

S.P.T. to A.P.W.B.D.

Dark Lord

and (?)Harry Potter

"This is where the weapon's supposed to be," Remus recalled slowly, this information coming back to him now that their panic for Sirius had subsided for a moment.

"What are the odds something relating to Harry would be in the same place?" James agreed with a detached horror, he didn't believe in coincidences.

"That's a weapon?" Lily tried to scoff, not wanting to believe what they were trying to say for a moment.

"It's, something," Sirius agreed uneasily, as a memory tried to offer up what this could be, his old aunt telling a couple of kids the secrets the Ministry held.

Lily grumbled, but honestly paid it not too much mind, she still wanted more than anything to hear of Harry being out of there.

Ron was looking at the adjacent shelves and asked why none of them had one as well?

"Maybe they're in alphabetical order," Remus said snidely.

"Or Ron's just not important enough," Sirius shrugged.

"Well don't tell him that," Lily huffed.

Hermione told Harry she didn't think he should touch it, as Harry's hand had been reaching out to do.

"Neither do I!" Lily shrieked as she looked to Harry like he'd lost his mind. "Are you crazy Harry! You shouldn't be touching anything in there! Sirius wasn't in there, so you either keep looking for him or try to find someone else to find out what's going on!"

Harry kept wincing like each word had struck a blow in him.

Lily had seen she was on the last page, and while she wanted to keep informing him what an idiot her son was being, she supposed she could do that later when whatever this was stopped feeling like a mouse trap ready to snap shut. None of them had forgotten, this still felt like a trap, he'd made it here without any resistance from anyone, and they had no more explanation to that than when they started, only more questions.

Harry insisted it had his name on it, so with a reckless surge he grasped it in his hand. He'd hoped something would happen, but it only continued to swirl in his hand as if a miniature crystal ball of gray fog.

"Err, does it have an on switch?" Remus asked through that tingling feeling raising down his spine was quickly coursing out to the rest of his body, already leaving his fingers twitching for his wand any second.

"Don't know," Sirius honestly muttered, whatever details he'd tried to attain from his forgotten youth too mixed up to be of help now. "Maybe they should try breaking it open."

"That's your answer to everything," James huffed.

"He still shouldn't have even grabbed it," Lily snapped at the lot of them, anger was replacing fear, she wanted to smack her son upside the head for doing this when all she wanted him to do now was leave.

And then, from right behind them, a drawling voice spoke for Potter to give that to him.

"Who was that?" James demanded slowly.

Harry didn't even hear him, he didn't care! "Sirius isn't there," unbelievably that relief was still holding Harry together, even as something very painful tried to warn his hopes from springing too high, and he blissfully ignored it all. He'd been wrong, he'd suffered those consequences, and he wouldn't let them fall him again.

He got up and stretched, trying to walk away for just a moment to ignore that heavy weight mashing down on him for trying to remember something too early, for still feeling a part of him that knew that not to be true. Remus watched him go uncertainly, Harry growing more jittery by the second was not at all encouraging as they now had even more questions of who'd arrived, all but him seemed to agree it wasn't going to be a good thing!

Lily mutely handed the book to James while Sirius gave a flick of his wand and the living room righted itself. The couple got whizzed back across the room still partially seated and both glared at his innocent smile. James gazed heavily at the stupid book, wishing now more than ever Harry'd taken Sirius' offer when it had been given and skipped past all this while they had a chance. They'd suffered for nothing apparently, his idiot of a brother was okay, he must be! That was probably Moody right behind them, to tell them where Sirius finally was and get Harry out of there.

HPHPHP

* This one still manages to make me laugh every single time, Ron just has that effect on me I suppose.

** I also imagine Cedric said something along the lines of 'I don't blame you,' but I couldn't work out how to add that in.

***I also love the symbolism they go from the door of death to the door of love, feels appropriate.

#The Life That Never Lived #Harry Potter #fanfiction #reading the books #HP #Marauders #Jilly #James Potter #Remus Lupin #Sirius Black #Lily Potter #OotP

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