#I’m also a bit nervous but that’s just my internal monologue I’ll be fine
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What Chima stuff have you done so far? It's cool to see new people join the Chima community!
Oh hello! :D
I’m somewhat new to tumblr, and this is my first time making a blog that is dedicated to one fandom. I haven’t done to much in the fandom yet, but I’m happy to be in a welcoming community!
And I’m excited! I have lots of fanart I wanna do, and I was pleasantly surprised to see how active this fandom is, despite being quite small.
I plan on rewatching the Chima show as a whole, and then indulging in fanworks after. I’ve treated myself to sneak peaks of your fanfic and I can’t wait to read it!
Chima holds so many memories, watching the show with my brother, building Lego sets, and getting excited with every new season. Let’s just say I was more than disappointed when it was cancelled.
Besides all of that, I’m really happy to enter the fandom again! I don’t really know how to start posting art, and I’m a bit nervous lol. Once I finish watching the series over again, I’ll hop right into reading fanfics, posting art and discussing the series. I admire your work, as you’re both an artist and author! I’m no author, but I love reading fanfics and books.
I’m hoping this fandom will also help me care less about how many likes my posts get. The fandom isn’t dead, but it is small, and I know my art won’t get much traction. It’ll teach me to not judge my art by the amount of likes or reblogs it has.
Anyway, sorry for rambling lol. And thanks for the ask, I’m so excited to join and it’s nice to know I’m welcome :)
#thx for the ask#uhhhhhhh don’t know if I should tag this with Lego chima and stuff#never mind I might as well#chima#legends of chima#lego chima#lego legends of chima#I think that’s all the main chima tags#ok thxs again moot IM EXCITED TO MAKE ART RAHHHHH I just gotta binge watch it over the weekend lol#I’m excited to be in this fandom again#but you can probably tell lol#I’m also a bit nervous but that’s just my internal monologue I’ll be fine#Terrified I would make a grammar error and I ended up rereading this post seven or eight time :P
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summary: kakucho is shy around you, and has a very dramatic inner monologue. ft. izana, ran, rindou, and shion.
word count: 1.8k
genre: fluff. crack/comedy?
warnings: f! reader, kaku is very nervous, he refers to his scar, but it isn’t really talked about, this is really my first fic ever so let me know if i missed anything!
“everybody shut up.” izana stares intensely into the corner of the banquet hall with a hand held out to silence ran, rindou, and shion. the trio pause mid conversation to follow their leader’s gaze.
“oh! they put out more punch. ima go get—”
izana swings an arm across shion’s chest, catapulting the blond back to where he was standing before, alongside rindou. “if you ruin this, i’ll put rindou in charge of ruining your joints.”
the three of them exchange a confused look, brows furrowed, then turn back to izana curiously.
“ruin what, exactly?” ran questions.
izana snaps his head toward the three of them, “kakucho’s moment. don’t you see who he’s speaking to?”
with the way kakucho is carrying himself right now, if izana hadn’t pointed him out, they never would’ve spotted him. kakucho, usually headstrong and self-assured, standing tall and intimidating on a normal day, is currently fidgeting with his jewelry and looking everywhere except at the girl in front of him. it makes rindou cringe, and ran huffs out a laugh at his brother’s expression.
“and how exactly is this his…moment?”
“he looks like he’d rather be doing anything than talking to that person.”
“seriously. dude looks miserable. what’s his deal?”
izana sighs, exasperated, “can you three shut up? i’m trying to read their lips and i can’t concentrate with your yapping.”
“...doesn’t look like he’s saying much.” rindou notes.
“not with his mouth at least. man is screaming internally, by the looks of him, though.”
kakucho senses eyes on him from afar, and takes that as an opportunity to once again avert his eyes from yours. the sight of izana and the three idiots watching him with amusement is the last thing he needs right now. if he keeps fumbling this hard, he’ll never hear the end of it from them.
“kaku-chan? you good?” your voice snaps him back to reality.
“huh? me? yeah. yeah, i’m…” his eyes flicker back over to where his friends are standing, and shion is giving him an obnoxious double thumbs up as izana slaps both his arms down to his sides. he sighs, and looks back to you, “i’m fine. great, even,” he chuckles nervously and downs his entire cup of punch to alleviate the dryness in his mouth. except, he doesn’t swallow soon enough, and the last bits of punch dribble down his chin onto his dress shirt. you’re blowing it, kakucho, he thinks to himself.
you try to hide a giggle behind your hand, but he clocks it, and wishes he could just crawl into a hole and never emerge again. i guess it’s time to pull a haitani and completely change my hairstyle. i wonder what color would make me unrecognizable. maybe i even go bald. and i also leave japan. and i’ll bulk up so big, i’ll have to buy a whole new wardrobe. yeah, this could work…
his thoughts are interrupted when he feels your hand on his chest, dabbing the liquid away with a napkin. he freezes, and slowly looks down to see your face twisted in concentration, with that small little smile that never really leaves your lips. you’re so pretty up close. he wants to brush away the strands of hair that are sticking to your lipgloss, but he thinks if he moves even an inch, he might wake up in a cold sweat. this is a dream, right? yeah. yeah, must be. that’s why i’m so warm i feel like i could pass out, and that’s why i can’t hear her, even though her lips are moving.
…wait. “huh?”
you giggle again, and repeat louder, “i said, it’s a good thing your shirt is red. the punch is the same exact color,” after careful consideration, you add, “your eye, too.”
“my… my eye?”
“yeah. your shirt and your eye are the same color.” his cheeks are now, too, but you think you might finally be getting some words out of him, so you decide to keep that to yourself. “did you do that on purpose? I didn’t know you were so detail-oriented, kaku-chan.”
he laughs nervously at the nickname you give him. you overheard takemichi calling him that one day, and you haven’t called him anything else since. he makes a mental note to thank takemichi for that next time he sees him.
“uh, yeah! totally.” he’s lying through his teeth. he knows damn well kokonoi helped him put his outfit together, but he’s not giving that asshole any credit right now. he’ll thank him later. this is his moment.
you don’t buy it for a second. he’s a terrible liar, and it’s kind of endearing. you play along anyway. “well, you clean up real nice. it’s nice to see you dressed up for a change. classy. and i’m a fan of the grown out hair.” he really wasn’t expecting you to go from making a simple observation to complimenting his entire appearance, and he feels like he could faint again. play it cool, kakucho.
“oh. i really just grew it out to kinda…,” he motions to his scar, “cover this up a little bit.” he has no idea why he even pointed out the one thing he doesn’t like to bring attention to. in his head, he is chasing around a little kakucho with a mallet, calling him stupid and spouting various threats.
you furrow your brows and tilt your head, and his heart melts a little. “why, though?” you question.
he doesn’t know what you mean, or what kind of answer you’re expecting. but ran told him once that girls don’t like sob stories, and rindou told him once that girls like honest guys.
so he shrugs. “‘cause i know it’s not the easiest on the eyes.”
you frown a bit, and then smile sweetly. “well…i like it on you. it makes you look unique. in a good way.”
he blinks a few times, and his eyes grow ten times in size, seemingly in slow motion.
“i’m sorry, did i upset you?” your eyes flicker between his, unsure if you had crossed a boundary.
“n-no!” he clears his throat, and deepens his voice a bit, “no. i just…i was just shocked, is all.”
“oh. well, don’t be. a handsome guy like you shouldn't be shocked to receive a compliment,” you laugh.
you’re trying to kill him, he thinks. before he can even begin to think of how to respond to that, you’re walking away to the table your friends are at. he sighs. well, consider her fumbled. can’t wait to hear what spectacular advice izana has for me this time. he turns around, prepared for the walk of shame back to his own table, but when he meets their eyes, izana is wearing a knowing smile, the haitanis are mouthing words he can’t recognize from this far and shaking their heads side to side, and shion is peeking his eyes out from between his fingers. kakucho has no idea what to make from those reactions, until he feels a light tap on his shoulder, and he spins around to see you.
“trying to get away from me already?” you raise an eyebrow at him, who’s looking at you like you grew another head.
“wha- no! you– i…uh, i thought–” he cuts himself off when he hears your laugh again, and his body goes tense for the millionth time tonight when you reach up to pat your hand against his chest.
“i’m just messing with you. talk to me more later, yeah?”
“yeah…for sure.” it comes out more breathily than he would’ve liked, but really, he feels lucky to still be standing right now. you take your hand off his chest and start to turn to walk back to your table.
he blurts out your name, with no plan of what he’s going to say next. you look at him expectantly, “yeah?” shit. please, for the love of god, don’t fuck this up right now.
“by the way, you know, uh, for the record…you look pretty tonight…also.” he doesn't dare make eye contact with you until a few seconds after he finishes his sentence. to his relief, the look on your face isn’t one of unease or disgust. in fact, you look…bashful. happy, even.
“thank you, kaku. you’re too sweet.” you flash him another sweet smile before you part ways with him.
he stands there for a few seconds, unmoving, trying to process what just happened. he doesn’t have a lot of time to think about it before he hears his name being called from the opposite direction, and his boys are waving him over with proud smiles on their faces. fuck. he cringes a bit remembering that they were watching the whole ordeal.
on his return to the table, he gets four sturdy slaps on the back and about a million rapid fire questions coming from the haitanis and shion.
“soooo? when’s the wedding? or the restraining order. i couldn’t really tell what was going on.” izana smacks shion on the back of the head. “ow– what the hell was that for?!”
that night, walking back to their respective homes, shion flings an arm around kakucho’s shoulder, much to his dismay. “I’m proud of you, man, i honestly thought you had, like, no rizz, and you kinda looked like a virgin out there–”
ran and rindou speak amongst themselves, “i know madarame is not talking about looking like a rizzless virgin right now.” “dude’s taken one too many hits to the cranium, brother.”
“–eh?? what’s in your pocket?”
kakucho furrows his brow and he digs around in the pocket of his suit jacket, not recalling putting anything in there before he left. suddenly, he remembers the way your hand lingered over his chest, and he pulls out a napkin with a few blotches of red punch on the corner, unfolding it to see your name and number scribbled on it, followed by a messy little heart and a smiley face. a smirk stretches across his lips, and he turns the napkin around to the trio without a word.
“mannnn, wipe that stupid smirk off your face, kakucho. you got no game, you just met a girl who’s charmed by losers.”
izana whips his head around. “shion. what did i tell you earlier? about rindou? hm?”
shion’s arms flail around helplessly. “i’m not ruining shit!”
the haitanis roll their eyes and swat at him. “shut the fuck up shion!” “yeah man, at least he got her number, you’re still bitchless.” madarame mumbles something under his breath with a pout.
kakucho can’t even pretend to care. the bickering goes right over his head as he’s typing your number into his phone with a soft smile, fully ready to redeem himself with the second chance you’ve so graciously given him.
dividers by @bunnysrph <3
#kakucho#tokyo revengers#kakucho x reader#tokyo rev x reader#tokyo revengers x reader#tokyo rev x you#kakucho fluff#kakucho hitto#tenjiku
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☆ﾐ 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚊𝚢 “𝚘𝚑”
PART 13: ...O-OH?
it’s the night of the big stream. y/n uncovers a strange, albeit deep, bond with charlie. corpse interrupts her garden date with sykkuno quite unceremoniously. tensions are high as ever; proximity chat reveals internal monologues and stray thoughts. y/n’s “batshit insane” energy affects everyone. this is, quite literally, the best game of among us bretman has ever played.
─── corpse husband x reader, sykkuno x reader (if you squint, it’s very one sided)
─── soc. media + written fiction!
─── word count: 6.1k oops
─── ❥ reqs: sum people requested some interaction w bretman + jealous corpse + flirty sykkuno
author’s note: guys....GUYS WE’RE ON THE 3RD “OH” hope ur excited cus i am!!! this was rly fun to write, but then again, everything is better than writing an essay lmao! this is extremely chaotic and a bit seggsy but like a minuscule bit u wont even notice it i swear xx there’s not much social media in this one, mostly written lol. as always lmk wat u think n thank u for all ur kind words n sooo manyyyy ideassss!!! love u lots
ultimate masterlist. ҉ myso masterlist ҉ previous. ҉ next.
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✼ ҉ ✼ ҉ ✼ ҉ ✼ ҉ ✼ ҉ ✼
It’s happening, you think, picking the discreet, angelic white color for your astronaut - with a halo and all, truly, you are a seraph that stepped through the gates of heaven and descended onto earth to grace these morals with your presence...quite literally, you’re not only donning white in game, but also in real life, cute as a button or more like as a bunny. Cat girls are overrated - cat boys, on the other hand, you’ll ardently defend till your last breath - but bunny girls...Safe to say, your chat had been going feral. Your endless ego is fed well. You even swore on your heart that no devilish trickery would follow in this game - you had left your snake ways behind you.
No one believed you. The Roaches know you too fucking well.
The influx of new subs, however, do not. Look at this cute girl! She wouldn’t hurt a fly! You chuckle at the compliments. At the exact same moment, Rae pipes up on the discord call, “Y/n is leering and cackling evilly. No one trust her.”
Demon woman herself must be watching your stream before starting her own. You pout, all adorable and innocent, but your eyes gleam slyly. Truly, a mastermind of manipulation! Look at you go! The chat is swooning. The viewer number steadily climbs past 16K and you hum happily, welcoming all that decided to join your little clan, “Don’t listen to Rae. Wifey is mad because I said I’m not bringing her back a souvenir. Well guess what, bitch, I’m the gift.”
Your perfect image does not quite align with your tone, nor the affectionate nickname you call your roommate (bitch, not wifey). The new viewers are none the wiser though, just like your new stream mates.
There is laughter from people you don’t quite know. The lobby is almost full, but not everyone has trickled in yet.
“Filing divorce papers right now.” Rae mumbles, but you hear the smile in her voice. It makes you crack a grin, too.
More hello’s and shy introductions to the people in the lobby. Sykkuno’s green astronaut pops in with a upbeat, “Hey, everyone! Hi, Y/n!” as his character circles around yours. A collective awww echoes in your stream chat as you, quite breathless at the wholesomeness, reply with a “Hi! Hi hi!” as well.
Corpse is next to join, mysteriously ominous. The discord call is pure chaos, everyone screaming over the other variations of his name while stressing different syllables. Silent as a grave, he just stands there, his black astronaut seemingly eyeing everyone in the lobby.
Alas, when the noise dies down, he utters, “Whaddup, baby.” and it’s pandemonium all over again. You are screeching/laughing along with the rest. His astronaut swiftly glides to Sykkuno, still circling around you, “Hey, Sykkuno.” He says. The latter abruptly stops. The game hasn’t even started, and already - betrayal! Sykkuno starts circling around Corpse now, leaving you in the dust.
“Hey, dude!”
“Yo,” You interrupt, “I’m like here too, yeah?”
“Fight, fight, fight!” Pokimane jeers. You can’t see her, but you’re certain she’s pumping her fists in the air.
“Let’s leave the bloodshed for the game, yeah?” Dream offers past her laugh ridden urging.
“No, fuck that, let’s start this shit right now,” Charlie declares - his monotone is strangely pleasant to the ear, and you lean back in your chair with a thoughtful hum. Something about his energy just clicks with yours instantly, but perhaps you’re judging too quickly- “Got my fucking knife ready to slit some throats. You can all pretend you aren’t ready to kill on sight, but that’s not me. I’ll teabag your dead fucking body.”
-yeah, no, your initial estimate had been correct! What a pleasant surprise, you feel like you and he will get along beautifully.
“Way to be subtle, Charles.” Rae snorts.
“Subtle doesn’t make an interesting game, Rae,” He’s quick to bite back, “and if I’m Impostor, you bet your fucking ass I’m going after you first.”
“Noooooo!” She shrieks, rushing to your astronaut, which is still just standing there, abandoned, like the equivalent of that one emoji, “Y/n, protect me.”
“Of course, baby.” You purr.
There’s mumbling in the discord call, though it’s barely audible. Corpse seems to be repeating the word to himself: Baby...Baby?...Baby...
“You’re gonna stab me in the back the first chance you get, won’t you?” She questions, already painfully aware of the answer.
“You know it!”
“Finally, someone that’s not fucking cowering in their boots and flaunting their real nature.” Charlie says, “Y/n, form a Big Dick Alliance with me.”
“Oh for sure, man.” You agree immediately, trailing to his in game figure, “Let’s show these virgins how it’s done.”
“This is going to be a mess, isn’t it?” Sean’s voice rings with a cheerful laugh, making you flustered. Yes, you’re actually playing with THE JacksepticeyeTM. You still haven’t fully wrapped your head around that part, “I’m very excited to see where this will go.”
“Nowhere good.” You say with unparalleled sincerity - every word you speak to him, the icon, the legend, the one of the few youtubers you actually actively follow, must be genuine. You doubt you can lie to him. He’s too good of a person. You admire him too much. Stuck between wanting to be a shady bitch and an absolute saint, you refrain from addressing him more - you are simply not worthy.
its the y/n trying to act like a normal person in front of jack for me
ikr she looks ready to join the monastery
each day we stray closer to gods light???
Your viewers are snide as always. Gosh, you love them.
The last player pops in, fashionably late, “Hey, y’all.”
“Hey, Bretman!” The call choruses somewhat harmoniously.
“Hi, daddy.” He’s speaking to Corpse now, a smile in his voice - you can hear it even past the static of his atrocious mic. Your eyes widen, eyebrows shooting up. Your friends are cackling, but confusion refrains you from doing the same - were you not the only one Corpse offered, seemingly so long ago!, to be his sugar baby?
One betrayal after the other. You’re glad for the Big Dick Alliance. The name has a nice right to it, too.
Corpse laughs, “...Hey, Bretman. How are you today?”
Damn, two sentences for him, but not even a word spoken to you!? You’re already scripting a very melodramatic paragraph you will text him after the stream. With poorly masked discontent, you mutter, “Wow, thanks for such a warm welcome, Corpse, my day’s going great, yeah, loving the company.”
“Now now miss girl,” Bretman chimes, “we can’t be all daddy’s favorite.”
“Careful,” Charlie drones, “I think you just got yourself onto Y/n’s shit list.”
“Right next to Corpse Husband and Valkyrae.” You agree, “Sykkuno!” You suddenly call him.
“Uhm-Uh-Yes?” Is his nervous reply.
“You’re safe.” You state coldly, “For now.”
“You are not going after Sykkuno on my watch.” It must be a belated holiday miracle because Corpse finally decides to address you. His words seem to awake something in him, “Hey-Hey-Hey-” He swiftly glides to you, standing right next to your minute virtuous angel, “When are you coming back to Cali?”
corpse stop acting weird challenge
literally omg lmao
he does bring up a good point y/n y u not in cali yet?!
^pack it up corpse simp he disrespected the queen when he didnt say hi
“Back off, buddy,” Charlie interjects, “this spot is for Big Dick Alliance members only.”
“I’m never returning.” You inform him, your voice cold like the Arctic snow, and the look in your eyes is no kinder. You feel like you’re having a stare down through screen.
Silence stretches. Is this an intimidation tactic? Because if it is, it’s a paltry one. Your conviction to be petty is stronger than any vulnerability you might feel.
“Then I have nothing to say to you.” He admits and fucks right off with that. Fine, go join Sykkuno and Rae in their little corner of betrayal! Friendship ended with Corpse, now Charlie is your best friend.
“Okay, guys, guys, guys-” Toast, noting this is going to spiral any minute now, tries to catch their attention, “Let’s start?!”
You look into your camera, and the roaches know what you’re thinking. You’re twins like that, communicating telepathically. You are taking back your tender promise of not being a conniving bastard. It’s fucking on. You will destroy everyone in your path, starting with the guy you have a stupid crush on - maybe?! Feelings are confusing, you’d rather just not think point blank period.
With no objections from the cast, the counter ticks away seconds and, for the first round, you’re stuck as CREW MATE.
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Charlie is a gift. Truly, you had not expected such a sudden, wonderful relationship to bloom. How have you not known of him sooner?! It’s a crime that you hadn’t spoken to him earlier. You are a 100% certain if you had found him before you started streaming, he would’ve been a big inspiration.
The two of you do your silly little tasks and curse like sailors, commenting about this and that thanks to proximity chat. You wouldn’t have been able to stand the claustrophobic silence if it was just a normal Among Us game - to think, missing out on all his foully worded quips! It almost springs a tear into your eye. He’s just as unhinged as you.
worried about this dynamic
its a trainwreck lol i love it plz collab more plz
Caught in a headed discussion in Electrical - TikTok trends, or audios specifically - you defend the app the best you can. Charlie thinks it’s super cringe, and you insist it’s part of the charm as you connect wires.
“I mean, have...-do you know that one audio, the one that goes, like,” You’re spilling your words, heated, frustrated that he’s so dismissive of the app that literally saved 2020, “it goes like, uhm,” You clear your throat, prep your voice - even take a sip of your favorite drink. Drawing the syllables, you try your best to make it drop an octave - it must sound like you’re doing an atrociously bad and nauseatingly scratchy Corpse impression with an extra dramatic flair, “My assssssss, your cockkk, you do the mathhh.”
“Did-Did I just-” You freeze hearing Corpse’s voice, finally done with your task. Charlie is muffling his laughter behind his palm; Corpse’s astronaut stands in the doorway, “What the fuck did I just walk into?” He seems genuinely confused, though a strangely winded. You’re mortified. Your shoulders are shaking. You look at the stream chat but it’s going too fast for you to follow. Manic laughter bubbles in your chest and you squeeze your eyes shut, mouth split into a toothy grin, lowering your head and trying to hide the blush dusting your cheeks.
“Hey? Guys? What the fuck are you talking about?” He questions again.
“Honestly?” Charlie chimes, “No fucking clue. TikTok, I think. Ask Y/n.”
You can’t reply. You’re crying. You cover your face with your palms, muttering a soft oh my god before bursting into a full blow laugh, throwing your head back, the motion accidentally knocking your headphones off.
“Y/n.” Corpse calls you, “Fuck was that?”
You’re howling. Your stomach hurts. There are literal tears in your eyes. You think Charlie might be laughing too, but you can’t really tell over your loud screeching. Hastily fixing your headphones, you wipe away the tears stuck to your lower lashes, heaving, “S-Sorry, I-” You stutter, breaking into another fit of giggles. Corpse patiently waits you to calm down. Catching your breath, you start again with a sniffle, “TikTok, yeah.” You idly fix your hair, trying to bite down a smile, “It’s an audio.”
“What- What kind of videos are you watching?”
“The good kind.” Your reply is instant, merciless, “Also, why are you here? We’re having a BDA meeting, you know.”
“I-I...” He trails off, “I...I heard people talking and...I just came here to check it out, but...I’m regretting it.” There’s a lilt in his voice, and you know he doesn’t regret jack shit. You bet he’s smiling. You wish you could see it.
“Bitch, then leave!” You huff. You aren’t sure what is with him today, and you don’t want to stick around and find out - his playfulness makes your stomach flip at the most inappropriate times! Like when you’re trying to sound threatening. You must retreat posthaste, “No, wait, I’ll do it for you.” You say, brushing past his character. Charlie follows after you.
“Dude, you’re so fucking lucky neither of us are the Impostor because you’d be deader than I’ve been feeling since I was 10.” Your favorite companion comments. Charlie is truly a modern wordsmith. You’re pretty sure you adore him, because you’re nodding your head, so quick to agree with him that even you’re surprised.
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A meeting is called. You spare a glance at your fallen crew mates. They will be missed. Sean most of all, God, why does heaven always take the good ones?! The game feels emptier without him, even if you really only passed him once on your trek to Cafeteria with Charlie.
You may or may not have been avoiding him, afraid you’d accidentally say something horrible and he would hate you. It’s a silly fear, though a deep one. And with Charlie keeping you company, you had not uttered a single objectively good, or even coherent, sentence. Your parents can’t watch this stream once it’s uploaded onto your Youtube channel. They know you’re barely keeping it together in most of your videos, but here, now? Yeah, no. Charlie is already hard to listen to on his own for sensitive viewers, and hearing you agree with literally everything he says with your own chaotic ideas? Your dad would stumble into an early grave.
Mom probably wouldn’t mind too much, but you’d have to explain your relationship status again. She is under the assumption that everyone you collab with is your significant other. You’d say it began with Sykkuno, though the exclamation of “Finally! My daughter isn’t pathetically single! We need to celebrate.” had started with Rae. Truly, a scandal.
Speaking of which, Sykkuno is gone, too, but you had time to mourn him already. You found his body roughly ten minutes ago; so torn with the fresh agony of heartbreak, you could not do anything else but cry. It was Charlie, bless his heart, that reported it.
“Someone killed Jack,” You say, voice dripping with venom, “court is now in session. I’m ready to vote the fucker out.”
People speak all at once. Toast roars over them, “ORDER! ODER IN COURT!” as he slams his hand onto his desk repeatedly. That seems to work, though briefly.
“I think it’s Y/n.” Corpse says. You stare at him, hand gripping your heart, mouth falling open in surprise.
flame him
corpse boutta be a corpse fr
beat his ass queen!!!!!
“Pardon my french,” You grumble, “but nani the fuck?!”
“It’s definitely Y/n, I found her and Charlie conspiring in Electrical. Surrealist experience of my fucking life, but it’s definitely her.”
“Dude, we’ve been over this,” Charlie sighs, shushing Rae who was about to comment something - knowing your luck, it was probably in favor of the man throwing you under the bus, “we would’ve snapped your fucking neck the moment you walked in. But we didn’t.”
“Yeah, we didn’t.” Corpse notes, “I said nothing about you, I’m just saying it’s definitely her. She probably didn’t kill in front of you because of your stupid alliance-”
“Someone sounds salty because he wasn’t invited.” Pokimane snickers.
“-or possibly she did tell you and you won’t betray her for the exact same reason.”
“That’s some big brain logic you pulled there, genius,” Charlie says, absolutely unimpressed, “sure you didn’t have an aneurysm trying to connect all of that together?”
“Well,” Rae pipes up, “Y/n and Charlie did say they will kill right before the game started. If you ask me, it’s not unbelievable. And Sykkuno was sorta on the shit list.”
“I’m writing down your name twice, Rachell.” You spit.
“Not helping your case at all, Y/n...” Dream worries, “And Rae makes a good point. Charlie and you have professed desire for murder. I’m just saying! It’s a bit suspicious, you know?”
The next words to leave Corpse’s lips sound incredibly smug, “See?” He drawls. The pressure is getting to you - you don’t understand where this beguiling talent of his to convince literally everyone comes from, but it doesn’t inspire any confidence. Your fist suddenly feels incredibly lonely, so useless - oh, how you long to swing at him, “It’s definitely Y/n.”
“I dunno...” Toast mumbles.
“It’s Y/n.”
“Corpse-” You try, but he's ignoring you - shocker, as if he hadn’t been doing that from the very start of this stupid game - and chanting your name like it’s a fucking mantra or something, a smile in his voice, knowing, relishing in the fact that he’s grating on your nerves, “FIRST OF ALL,” You scream into the mic, successfully cutting him off; catching your breath, you exhale, and continue, calmly, lowly, “get my pretty name out of your mouth.”
There’s a pause full of tense silence.
Then, there’s a sound, seemingly stuck in the back of his throat, “...O-Oh...?”
“Second of all,” You continue, words like honey dipped in arsenic, “This is the clearest smear campaign I have ever witnessed. By how hard you’re trying to frame me for fuck knows what reason, I’m led to believe it’s you that killed them. You’re the Impostor.”
“Corpse wouldn’t kill Sykkuno, though.” Rae comments, skeptical.
“Then the other Impostor did it.” You counter.
“Maybe you’re both Impostors.” Pokimane chirps.
“Y/n would never betray the Big Dick Alliance like that.” Charlie states.
You grin, “Charlie, I literally love you.”
“Wait hold up now,” Corpse seems to get his bearings together, “what’s this about love I’m hearing?”
“I have none for you, dick.” You snap, flipping him off. Your chat cheers. While he can’t see it, you hope he senses it through the screen, “I officially hate you.”
“No, wait-”
“Boo, Corpse, you suck.” Toast laughs.
“Y/n, please-”
“Let’s all vote for Corpse Husband, okay?” You say it like it’s his full official name with an encouraging smile and multiple soft nods. Sykkuno can’t be here to nod, so you’ll do it for him. You eye the rapidly decreasing timer before clicking on Corpse’s figure and voting for him. The VOTED icon instantly pops up beside your adorable astronaut.
“Baby, I-” It slips past his lips so easily, as if he’s not even thinking about it, like it’s only natural to call you that and a spike of anxiety shoots up, making you glare. It’s only halfhearted. You try your best to ignore the rapid and uncoordinated pulses of your heart. Replace unwanted feelings with anger and hate - works like a charm, every time.
“You are not allowed to call me that.” You hiss. The chat spams snake emojis.
“Wait-” Bretman chimes, “Hold up, y’all, slow down a minute. Why does Corpse never call me baby?”
“Yeah!” Pokimane agrees, “I want to be baby, too!”
Pokimane may not have been called baby, but you just single-handedly decided her nickname for her - Target 4. Welcome to the shit list, she is officially your public enemy number 1. You aren’t sure why the thought of Corpse ever referring to anyone else as baby makes you sick to your stomach (you actually do know why, but brain no think at the moment), but you wish this whole conversation never happened. You don’t like it.
20 seconds left. More VOTED icons appear by your friends. Corpse is the last one to cast his ballot at, you assume, you, as the rest wait for his quick explanation before everyone (or not) returns to the game, “...Because she’s my baby.”
Goodbye. Life had been sweet, and there was sorrow, though the amount of embarrassment you feel now is worse than when the internet found your cringe worthy high school pictures on your mom’s Facebook. It’s a mixture of dread and excitement - the pleasure of being noticed, cherished even, though anxious from vulnerability. Someone is screaming a very prolonged “WHAAAAT?!”, or maybe multiple people are, you aren’t sure, your ears start to hurt from the loud, conflicting cacophony of voices as you stare blankly at the screen. You received two votes, just like Corpse, Charlie got one, the rest skipped. With no one flung out, you all find yourself back in Cafeteria again.
Baby. My baby? My baby. My baby. The sentence is playing ping-pong in your mind, reverberating louder each time. You’re actually speechless for the first time in your life; your chest hurts, your heart beating so fast your hands start shaking. Had he meant it? Or was this a some joke? Was he trying to get a rise out of you again? You might just go insane from so many questions. My baby. Holy shit, this is a heart attack, this is what a heart attack feels like, dear God, you figured you at least had ten years before you get one!
✼ ҉ ✼ ҉ ✼ ҉ ✼ ҉ ✼ ҉ ✼
✼ ҉ ✼ ҉ ✼ ҉ ✼ ҉ ✼ ҉ ✼
First round ends with IMPOSTORS raining victorious. Your sixth sense had been working wonders since, true to you previous estimate, it had been Corpse. His companion was Pokimane. For absolutely no reason what’s so ever, you change her name once more from Target 4 to Target 1. Normally, you’re all for girls supporting girls. Men don’t deserve anything, really, but now you’re so flustered and still reeling from what you are 80% sure was cardiac arrest that you genuinely don’t care about your established morals.
Round two starts without much deliberation. You get CREW MATE again; the game must sense your growing bloodlust, making sure that once you do get IMPOSTOR, you will not hold back. True power is granted to those who are ready and strong enough to wield it. You wait for your moment with bated breath.
Charlie is taken from you too early. The two of you were once again caught in a discussion - God knows about what, Minecraft, hentai, oh! your server! - as you tried to card swipe for the umpteenth time. The lights blew out and you just knew one of you was getting murdered there and then. Charlie’s voice abruptly cut off, and you think a part of you died with him.
It’s a cold meeting; with your new best friend being the first to go, everyone decides to skip. You proclaim you seek vengeance. When the meeting comes to an end, Sykkuno is the first to offer his condolences.
“I’m sorry, Y/n.” He says, and while he’s not in Brooklyn, you somehow feel him patting your back. You feign a sniffle.
“There’s nothing to apologize for...” You murmur sadly, “Unless...” Your voice turns sharp as the knife that was surely twisted into Charlie’s back, “It was you?”
“NO!” He exclaims, “I would never-you gotta believe me! I would never kill him. I know he’s important to you. I wouldn’t do that, I swear.”
“He was like a brother to me.” You admit, solemn, “Charlie, if you’re haunting me right now, know I will avenge you. I will not let this go.”
Sykkuno hums, circling around you, “Hey, I have a task in Greenhouse. Would you, uh--Would like to, uhm, join me?” Despite the shaky start, he finishes on a firm, pleasant note. He’s trying to cheer you up. Having lost your closest friend, he’s offering you his company. You accept with a soft smile and a cute “Yes, please!” and he releases an airy little laugh. The two of you make your way to your favorite place in map MIRA.
It’s difficult to stay sad for long when Sykkuno’s so sweet; the atmosphere of the Greenhouse is strangely calming; your problems seem to be left behind the shut doors. If you tried hard enough, you could imagine being in an actual Greenhouse - the warm, damp air clinging to your skin, the unmistakable smell of earth and vegetation, the pleasant silence broken only by yours and his hushed voices and clumsy footsteps.
The two of you are talking. Mainly about your choice of attire. Cat first, Sykkuno ponders aloud, doing his task as you watch the plants grow, now bunny, what’s next? You affirm that you will most likely dress up in cow-print next, or as an adorable sheep. He laughs, admitting you’ll look good in anything before he trails off. His awkwardness is really endearing.
“Or!” You chirp happily, content with being locked away with him for the whole game. The idea must be playing in his mind, too, because he seems in no rush to leave, “I could, like, dress as someone from My Hero Academia. I watched the stream you did with Stella, the one where she made you look like Todoroki. It was really cute. You were really cute.”
“Oh, uhm-well, uh, thank you, thanks, I, uhm-” He clears his throat, and despite his stutter, you hear the smile in his voice, “I-I think you’d look better, though. Not as Todoroki. Or, probably as Todoroki, too. But, uhm, what character are you thinking about?”
“Maybe Momo?”
“Momo!” He yeps, “Momo is good. Yeah, she’s great. You’ll-uhm-you’ll look amazing. Really. Momo is awesome. Very pretty. Just like you.”
You are blushing. A stupid, toothy grin makes your cheeks hurt. Your eyes flicker to the chat, but again, it’s going wild. Giggling, you thank him for his sweet words, so giddy it’s honestly embarrassing. Why can’t you stop smiling? This is incriminating. You hide your lips behind your palm.
“...What’s this?” Corpse question. You had failed to note his sudden appearance, too busy gushing. “Am I interrupting?”
“Hey, Corpse!” Sykkuno greets. For someone so awkward and shy, he sure is good at hiding it when he wants to. Perhaps it’s all an act and you had been deviously tricked! Probably not, but you can’t help but narrow your eyes suspiciously, finally able to calm down. You definitely underestimated him, you just haven’t figured out how yet, “Not really! Y/n was sad Charlie died so I took her here.”
“You interrupted our date, dipshit.” You deadpan.
“...Fuck you say?” Corpse dares, his voice low and somewhat menacing - for someone who exclusively portrays his emotions through only his voice, he’s incredibly hard to read. This is payback. Your love for wreaking havoc resurfaces suddenly. Serves him right for pulling all this ignoring shit at the start. Maybe you’ll make him say oh again.
Your sly smirk is promptly wiped. Fuck. He said oh, he literally said oh out loud. The Teruhashi fangirl in you is screaming. You had been so caught up in defending yourself you didn’t even register it at first. Alarmed, you look at the camera, then at the chat. First oh, then my baby. There’s no way he had been teasing you, and this proves it. Holy shit. You mouth the words “HE SAID OH!” for your audience only.
now she notices
snail pace baby we’ve been loosing our shit for the past hour
corpse x y/n saikik au enemies to lovers 500k words slow burn im here for it
opening wattpad rn^
Your heart races in your chest - it might be considered an Olympic medalist at this point; flustered yet again, you wish you could cave into yourself. You should’ve brought your bright blue wig with you to Brooklyn. Turns out it would have been perfect for this stream. Yes, yes thinking about unnecessary details always works in distracting you from the butterflies throwing a fucking rave in your stomach.
“I guess it is a date!” Sykkuno admits, “Kinda after a funeral, but still.”
Corpse hums. You’re still too stunned to say anything. The black astronaut with adorable cat ears approaches Sykkuno.
“It’s not.” He states. Your mouth falls open in shock as your date, your companion, the Shoto to your Momo is murdered in cold blood right in front of you. His lifeless body, cut in half, lays on the tiles by the growing flowers, right beside you, “You didn’t see shit.”
“...I didn’t see shit.” Is all you can utter, breathless and terrified.
“Thaaaat’s fucking right, baby.” Corpse coos, “Now I’m gonna report it, and I’ll say we found Sykkuno together. Better stick close to me after the meeting, got it?”
If Sykkuno is Shoto, then Corpse is definitely Dabi.
why is that kinda hot tho omg
didn’t know i needed dom corpse since now but i do
y/n looks like shes boutta throw up lmao
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You follow him around like a lost puppy - because what else is left for you to do!? You’re helpless in this situation. He’s got you in the palm of his hand, successfully eliminating everyone you had previously interacted with. First it was Charlie, then Sykkuno, even Sean, who said hello in passing, was shot instantly. Real Sangwoo behavior. You almost want to scream warnings at everyone to not approach you. You cannot mourn another lost crew mate, you don’t think your conscience can take it. But words fail to form. You’re too weak. You fake cry to your audience. They’re quick to remind you to stop acting like a little bitch.
“Mean.” Is all you say, eyeing the comments.
“Hm?”
“Was talking to the roaches.”
“What are they saying?”
“That I should betray you.”
“...Better not.”
A shiver shoots up your spine and you half believe he will bust down your door and drag you into his basement for real. A nervous laugh slips past your lips, “I won’t, I won’t.” You reassure him, “Don’t worry, I’m sticking with you. I haven’t seen shit.”
“I like that you listen to me. You always this agreeable?”
“You’re kinda not giving me a choice right now.” You grumble, vending yourself a drink while he looms behind you, protecting you. From who?! Himself?!
“Oh my fucking God, finally,” Bretman exclaims, “girl, I’ve been running around the whole map trynna find someone, is everyone like, dead?”
You’re scared to reply. Corpse does it for you, “Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, maybe? Not sure. Where have you been?”
“Oh you know,” Bretman grins, “doing tasks, talking shit, the usual. You two are not, like, Impostors right?”
You shoot a look at Corpse, but he obviously can’t see it. Biting your lip, you murmur, “Nope.”
“Just your regular crew mates doing regular crew mate things.” Corpse says, no, purrs. Because that’s not suspicious at all. You’d recommend Bretman to run, and not only because that sounded shady as fuck. But he seems to enjoy danger, or he just doesn’t care.
“Hmmmm, crew mates, sure. Miss girl Y/n,” He’s addressing you now; you smile anxiously, “How come every time I see you, you’re with a different man?! Like damn, leave some for the rest of us, for real!”
You like Bretman. You like his high-pitched whine and drawl. You would like him even more if not for the complex situation at hand. You fear for his life. Chewing at your bottom lip, you snicker, “Sorry, Bret. I can leave you Corpse if you want?”
He laughs, “Girl, I’d say yes so fucking quick, but I know he wouldn’t want that. Normally I wouldn’t care, but y’all are such a cute couple it’s making me not want to be a shady motherfucking bitch. Changing my ways, embracing the lord. Love it.”
Corpse doesn’t correct him that you are, in fact, not dating. His lack of reaction unnerves you slightly. Does he...? No! No think! Only exist! You catch that train of thought and steer it away from forbidden territory. Looks like it’s up to you to clear the air, and that is exactly what you do after trying to swallow down the lump in your throat, “Uh, we’re not together, actually. We’re just really good friends.”
“Bitch, then move over,” Bretman says snappily,”go like, back to your other boyfriends. Or find another one. I think I saw Dream near Navigation.”
“Near Navigation, huh?” Corpse hums thoughtfully. It’s a subtle warning, but you catch it. Yeah, even if you try running, Dream’s going to join your other ‘boyfriends’ in the afterlife. Granted, killing someone by just talking with them is kind of cool. Or maybe Stockholm Syndrome is finally kicking in, “Bret, the thing is, Y/n’s scared of dying, so she asked me to stay with her.”
It’s disturbing how good at lying he is. It is also really really attractive, as bizarre as that is.
y/n stop being in a toxic relationship with corpse challenge
making fanart of this omg her face
its the blushing for me girl get your head outta the gutter!
^she cant, it lives there
“Baby, you’re gonna fucking die if you stick with her,” Bretman points out, “have you noticed the mortality rate of her partners? Rest in peace, daddy.”
“He’s right, you know.” You mutter, dramatically looking to the side, “I’m no good, Corpse.”
“Not leaving you, end of discussion. Bretman, join us?” Corpse offers, catching you by surprise. He might still be lying, though. Creating a false sense of security before eliminating Bretman. Probably would laugh while doing it, too. Wow, he truly is evil.
Turns out he doesn’t have to do any of that, because when Dream strolls into Cafeteria, he kills Bretman instead. The two Impostors are finally revealed. You promised not to snitch on Corpse, but you didn’t say shit about not exposing Dream. You press the REPORT button and say just that: “Dream just murdered Bret right in front of me and Corpse.”
✼ ҉ ✼ ҉ ✼ ҉ ✼ ҉ ✼ ҉ ✼
The last meeting is called. Dream had been voted out with the help of Corpse, and now only you, he, and Rae remain.
“Baby, you know what to do.”
The VOTED icon pops up beside Corpse’s astronaut. Rae wheezes, “No! Y/n, it’s not me, you gotta believe me, I swear it’s not me!”
“...I really don’t know,” You murmur, “I’ve been with Corpse a lot, and...Rae, I’m not sure...”
“Please! I swear it on my Kagayama cardboard cut out, I’m not the Impostor, please! You know me, I’d never lie to you like this.”
“She’s definitely lying.” Corpse says, sounding pleased.
“Don’t listen to him! Remember, during the first round, when he tried to convince us that you were the Impostor? He’s doing the same shit to me!”
“I also remember you agreeing with him.” You remind her.
“I was stupid! Small dumb brain moment! He was using us to win! He’s using you right now!” She votes, “Please, Y/n, make the right choice.”
You’re silent for a moment.
“I’m gonna...I’m gonna vote for who I think it is.” You lastly say.
A slow, lazy grin makes it’s way onto your lips, eyes gleaming mischievously. You had not forgotten your promise to your brother from another mother, you had not forgotten the pride of the BDA, you had not forgotten your beautiful friendship. Two miniature astronauts pop up by Corpse’s at the exact moment Rae screeches “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEES!”
“Fuck.” Is all Corpse says with a laugh.
The screen changes, informing of the first CREW MATE victory.
Your ears are assaulted with different voices as you appear in the lobby.
“Now that’s what I’m fucking talking about.” Charlie raves, “I swear to fucking God, Y/n, you even got me going for a second. Pulled some 1000 IQ shit right there. It was fucking amazing. Best back stabbing I’ve seen in a while, and I’ve seen a lot.”
“That was absolutely fantastic, Y/n.” Sean applauds, “I really thought you joined Corpse like some crew mate accomplice or something. Can’t believe you switched on him at the last second.”
“That’s my wifey!” Rae cheers, strolling to you, “Love you, mwah.”
“Hey, Corpse,” Charlie calls him, “How does it feel to be a fucking loser?”
“I’m surprisingly fine with it.”
yeah he would be lmao
mom is the best snake ever i love you sm y/n
rae and y/n’s friendship....the feeeeeels
As the rest sing your praises for another solid minute or two, the third round begins. CREW MATE again. Though, just because you’re stuck as an underpaid worker in a dying spaceship, it doesn’t mean you’re innocent. Your last round proved that quite well. You can’t help but silently snicker.
✼ ҉ ✼ ҉ ✼ ҉ ✼ ҉ ✼ ҉ ✼
TAGLIST IS CLOSED!
tags (in italics is those i couldn’t tag! make sure all’s ok w your settings!) : @littlebabysandboxburritos - @fairywriter-oracle - @tsukishimawh0re - @ofstarsanddreams - @bbecc-a - @annshit - @leahh19 - @letsloveimagines - @bellomi-clarke - @wineandionysus - @guiltydols - @onephootinfrontoftheother - @liamakorn - @thirstyfangirl - @lilysdaydreams - @pan-ini - @mxqicshxp - @tanchosanke - @yoshinorecommends - @flightsandfantasy - @liljennyx3 - @bingusmode - @unknown-and-invisible - @sinister-sleep - @fivedicksinatrenchcoat - @mercury--moon - @peterparkerspjsuit - @unstableye - @simonsbluee - @shinyshimaagain - @ppopty - @siriuslystupid - @crapimahuman - @ofthedewthesunlight - @mythicalamphitrite - @artsyally - @corpsesimpp - @corpsewhitetee - @corpse-husbandsimp - @hyp-oh-critical - @roses-and-grasses - @rhyrhy462 - @sparklylandflaplawyer - @charbkgo - @airwaveee - @creativedogs - @kaitlyn2907 - @loxbbg - @afuckingunicornn - @fleurmoon - @yeolliedokai
more tags are in the comments bcs tumblr only allows me to tag 50 people max 💙
#corpse husband#corpse#corpse husband x reader#corpse x reader#corpse social media au#corpse husband x y/n#corpse husband fanfic#social media au#corpse husband imagine#myso#make you say oh#sykkuno x reader#if ya squint#imagine#imagines#reader#reader insert
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NRC Students and an Anxious MC
And with this, I've done all of the students at NRC!! Well, with the nervous MC, anyway, I have some other stuff in the works too.
Also, in case anyone was wondering, I'm open for both requests and commissions!
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Ace: “You look awful.”
The Ramshackle Prefect shot Ace a glare, but it lacked their usual fire. “Thanks, Ace.”
“Come on, I didn’t mean it like that and you know it.” he caught up with them easily when they turned around to keep walking. “I just meant you looked like you had a rough night. Or like you’re stressed out. You know.”
“Your grave only has to be six feet, Ace, you can stop digging now.”
Ace rolled his eyes. “You aren’t usually this crabby. Seriously, what’s up?”
They sighed. “You’re right, I had a rough night.”
“Any particular reason why? Or just ‘cause?”
The two of them had reached Crewel’s classroom, but they still had a few minutes before they had to be in there. The Prefect bit their lip nervously. “I kind of freaked out last night because of the homework.”
“It was pretty hard, huh?”
“Well, that too,” they crossed their arms, almost like they were trying to hide themself. “But, it’s like...I feel stupid, you know? You guys all know this magic stuff, but I’m struggled to handle even the basics. Then I thought, well, if I can’t handle the basics, I’m going to get punished, and I would deserve it because I’m an idiot, and...you can see how the spiral went.”
Ace was quiet for a moment, studying them with an unreadable expression. Then, he heaved out a side and grabbed their wrist, tugging them into the classroom. “I guess it can’t be helped, then.”
“Huh?”
He plopped unceremoniously into his seat and dug around in his bag. “Be quick about it, okay? Queen only knows what Crewel’s punishment for getting caught copying homework is.”
The Prefect stared at Ace with wide eyes. “Seriously?”
“It’s better than nothing,” Ace shrugged, slapping his notebook down on the desk. “If he says anything, I’ll tell him you helped me word it. Now, come on!”
Deuce: They weren’t getting anywhere.
The longer they stared at the question on their worksheet, the less they could focus. Apparently this was supposed to be basic stuff, but there were so many strange ingredients with different magical properties that they couldn’t keep track. And the more that had to flip back and forth between their textbook and worksheet, the more stupid they felt.
“...right? Hey, are you alright?”
Deuce’s voice broke through the panic that was beginning to set in, and when they finally looked up, his blue eyes were wide with concern.
“What? I’m sorry, Deuce, I kinda...spaced there for a minute.”
That only made the crease in Deuce’s brow deepen. “You looked really freaked out. Is something wrong?”
The two of them had made a habit out of studying in the library together. Since Deuce wasn’t the best student and the Prefect was playing a very intense game of catch up, they figured they could motivate each other while studying. But lately, all they had been able to do was sit there and be anxious about everything.
"I...um…" They absent-mindedly clicked their pen, unable to look Deuce in the eye. "I'm sorry."
"What are you apologizing for?" he asked incredulously. "For real, are you alright?"
The genuine worry in his expression made something in them burst. They threw their pen down on the table and buried their face in their hands. "I don't know what I'm doing! I went from magic not existing to suddenly having to study it, and I can't even master the basics! I'm terrified that I'll fail and Crowley will kick me out and -"
"Whoa, whoa, hey, it's okay!" Deuce's chair scraped against the floor as he hurried over to their side, grasping their hands in his. "Everything's gonna be okay."
Their chest heaved as they tried to suck in enough air. "But -"
"Listen," he cut them off. "The stuff you have to deal with is a lot. And I'm sorry for not realizing it earlier. If you want, we can go to Professor Crewel and ask for some tutoring, or even remedial lessons. Whatever you need, I'll help."
Cater: “What are you looking at?”
At the sound of the Ramshackle Prefect’s voice from behind the couch he was sitting on in the Heartslabyul lounge, Cater lolled his head back to grin at them. “Heya! Just scrolling through Magicam, what else is new?”
“That is your favorite pastime, huh?” they leaned on the back of the couch, looking at the screen.
“What are you doing in Heartslabyul, anyway?” he asked.
“Ace thought he could get away with not studying if he ‘forgot’ his textbooks at Ramshackle. I’m returning them before Riddle thinks I was in on it.””
“Yeah, that tracks.”
The two of them lapsed into a companionable silence, the Prefect watching as Cater scrolled. However, out of the corner of his eye, he could see their expression gradually get tighter and tighter, like they were trying to control whatever emotion was trying to show through.
“What’s with that face?”
“What face?” they asked defensively. “This is just my face.”
“That’s the face you make when you start having bad thoughts but don’t want anybody to know.”
“Get out of my head, Cater.”
He snorted, turning so he was sitting sideways on the couch and could get a better look at them. “Come on, tell Cay what’s on your mind.”
They hesitated, picking idly at the loose thread on the couch. “...It’s just me being stupid.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
“...The people on Magicam are way more good-looking than I am.” the finally mumbled, looking away. “I keep wondering when you’ll realize that.”
Cater’s green eyes widened before he giggled. “Nope.”
“Nope what?”
“I won’t realize it,” he reached around them to pull their face closer, kissing them affectionately on the cheek. “Because it’s not true. And whenever you start to think like that, you tell me, so I can reassure you.”
Jack: Something felt off.
Nothing in particular had happened, it was just one of those days. But, it was bad enough that they thought about just going back to Ramshackle instead of waiting for Jack like they normally did. Waiting outside of the classroom just made them feel even more antsy.
Just as they were about to shoot him a text to say that they weren’t feeling well - which wasn’t technically a lie - said wolf came out of the classroom, tail wagging involuntarily when he saw them waiting like it wasn’t an everyday occurrence.
Before he could even greet them, however, his nose scrunched up. Furrowing his eyebrows, he leaned down and began sniffing them.
“Jack, what the hell?”
“You’re nervous about something.”
Right. Nothing could beat that canine sense of smell.
“It’s nothing.” Jack opened his mouth to reply, but they cut him off. “No, literally. Nothing actually happened, it’s just a...a weird day, I guess.”
It was clear from the expression on his face that Jack didn’t quite understand, but the guy was nothing if not sympathetic. “Do you need help with anything?”
“Nah, it should eventually work itself out.” They tried to muster up an encouraging grin, but from the look on Jack’s face, they didn’t quite hit the mark. “I’m fine, Jack, promise.”
His tail had dropped, and his ears were pressed against his head. “...When I get worked up, going for a jog usually helps me. Gets all the energy out.”
They raised an eyebrow. “You and I both know that your jogging is my sprinting.”
“Then I’ll walk and you jog,” he grinned. “If you want to, that is.”
They paused before shrugging. “I probably won’t do a good job on the homework if I’m like this, anyway.”
Floyd: Don’t fall asleep. Don’t fall asleep. Crewel will turn you into a rug if he catches you falling asleep.
Their internal monologue was the only thing preventing them from passing out onto their desk. They had had a hard time falling asleep last night, and of course they were working on sleeping draughts in Alchemy today. The vapor wafting from the cauldron was enough to knock them out.
They hadn’t noticed that their eyes had closed until a hard knock on the classroom door startled them open. When Crewel called out for whoever it was to come in, the door opened to reveal Floyd.
“The Headmaster wants to see Shrimpy!” he sang, leaning against the doorframe. Crewel nodded, motioning with his pointed cane for the Prefect to get out.
Physically shaking themself awake, they stood. Next to them, Ace went “Oooooooh~”
“Trappola, just for that, you’re responsible for giving them the notes for the lesson.”
“Aw, come on!”
They didn’t even have the energy to stick their tongue out like they usually would. They just inched past all of the other students until they were at Floyd’s side. The merman casually slung an arm around their shoulder and steered them out of the classroom.
“What does the Headmaster want?” they asked. It could literally be anything, honestly.
“Oh, I lied!” Floyd giggled. “He doesn’t need to see you at all.”
“Huh?”
“You looked exhausted this morning,” Floyd tugged them closer. Not quite a squeeze, but there was something intensely protective in the embrace. “I figured you could use a nap.”
“So you busted me out of class?”
“Yup! This makes me your favorite, right?” he grinned, showing all of his teeth.
“Definitely.”
Epel: They always did have a nervous stomach.
There was a test in Trein’s class that day. No matter how much they studied the night before, they didn’t feel prepared, and their stomach was committing mutiny in response. They hadn’t been able to eat any breakfast, so now they were nauseated and hungry at the same time. They were either going to puke on the test or eat it, they hadn’t decided yet.
“Are you alright?”
They jumped. They had been so caught up in their own head that they hadn’t even heard Epel approach. “Hey. Yeah, I’m fine. Just a bit of test anxiety, haha.”
Epel didn’t look convinced. “Are you sure? You look kinda pale.”
“Really, I’m fine. I was just a bit too nervous to eat breakfast.” they insisted.
“Well, that’s not good.” Epel frowned. “You’ll do even worse on the test if you’re hungry.”
Oh, why did he have to phrase it like that? Just the thought made their already roiling stomach turn, and they whined softly as they hugged themself around the middle.
“Ah, wait, I didn’t mean it like that!” he backtracked. “I just meant it won’t do you any good!”
Epel reached into his bag for a moment, mumbling to himself. “I know I have some in here...ah-ha!” he pulled out a bag of dried apple chips. “Here! It’s not exactly a full meal, but it’ll help. And they’re really light, so if you’re sick because of nerves, they won’t upset your stomach.”
“Are you sure?” they asked as Epel handed them the bag.
“Pos’tive.” he grinned. “I’ve got plenty back at the dorm. And Ma’s always sending me stuff from the farm anyway. So go ahead, I don’t want you passing out!”
Sebek: They had no idea what he was talking about.
It was a feat in and of itself to be able to not pay attention to Sebek. The man was a walking lightning bolt. But today was just not a good day, mentally.
A pity, too. They always liked walking around in the woods with Sebek. Something about being in nature and listening to him talk passionately about whatever was on his mind was almost soothing, but it just wasn’t working this time.
“Are you listening?”
They jumped when he said their name. They had gotten so sucked into their own head that they hadn’t noticed him turn his monologue into a conversation. “I’m sorry!”
“What are you sorry for? Is everything alright?” he looked them up and down with sharp amber eyes, scanning for anything that could present any danger. “Are you ill?”
“No, no, it’s not…” they sighed, shoulders slumping. “I didn’t sleep well last night. Nightmares.”
Bad dreams had been a problem before they arrived in Twisted Wonderland, but now they were really plaguing them. It made concentrating difficult, even on simple things such as a walk with their partner.
Sebek stepped in front of them, forcing them to stop in their tracks. His angular features were serious, thrown into deep contrast from the light of the sun setting between the leaves. He clasped both of their hands in his own, holding them tightly as he looked into their eyes.
“You needn’t worry about such things. I will not let anything harm you, even your own mind.” he squeezed their hands. “On my honor as a knight.”
Silver: Watching Silver train with a sword was...something else.
They could watch him all day, going after the training dummy like it was actually an enemy.
Well, usually, they could.
It had been another sleepless night, up worrying about all the various things they needed to do. They only managed to fall asleep around four AM, and they needed to be at their first class by eight, so they hadn’t exactly gotten well-rested. They were impressed that they had managed to stay awake during their lessons, but now it was catching up to them.
The warm sun shining on their face and the rhythmic swishing of Silver’s practice sword was vaguely soothing, and before they really knew it they had slumped against the tree they were sitting under, fast asleep.
When they awoke, they were moving. It took a minute to gather themself, and they blinked sleepily at their surroundings.
“You can go back to sleep.” Silver’s voice rumbled against their side. He was carrying them. “We aren’t that far from Ramshackle.”
“...You could have woken me up.” they mumbled, nuzzled closer to his chest. “I would have walked.”
“You looked so peaceful.” he responded, adjusting his grip. “Unless you want me to put you down?”
“No.” they sighed. “This is nice. Me and Grim are always saying that it takes forever to get to Ramshackle from anywhere in the school, I’ll take the ride.”
Silver chuckled, leaning down to press a kiss to their forehead. “Go to sleep.”
#twisted wonderland#disney's twisted wonderland#twst ace#twst deuce#twst cater#twst jack#twst floyd#twst epel#twst sebek#twst silver#ace trappola#deuce spade#cater diamond#jack howl#floyd leech#epel felmier#sebek zigvolt
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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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Of Muffins, Coffee and Other Miracles - Pt.1
Of Muffins, Cheeky Vigilantes and Sad Interns
Pairing: Matt Murdock x reader Word count: 3130
Type: Two-shot, reader insert
Warnings: swearing, mention of attempted assault, tons of fluff and cheeky/cute Daredevil
Summary: You’re a secretary at Landman and Zack, having an office on the same floor as the interns. You notice one of them (which you might and might not have a crush on) seems down lately, so you decide to cheer him up the only way you can come up with. You bake muffins; right after your life is saved by a cheeky vigilante.
You stared at the two unconscious men at his feet, still perfectly shocked but relieved, pressing your handbag to your chest.
You were slowly leaving your place by the wall – more like in the wall, because you had been trying to merge with it even since the two men had backed you into it, pulling out their knives and demanding your handbag. That had been before this guy had appeared and put them in a line – and you were pretty sure he put some of their bones out of their natural line, but you couldn’t find yourself to care.
“You… thank you. How— you… saved my life,” you stuttered, watching the man in a black mask wince as if he only now realized you were there.
“You’re welcome,” he said, voice pleasantly low-pitched, looking in your direction. “Though I’m not sure it would go that far if you have just given him your handbag.”
“Well, I couldn’t do that,” you retorted, automatically drawing the item closer to your chest.
He took two cautious steps to you, easing his fighting stance. “I know it would be a lot of paperwork and bureaucracy, but for future reference, it would be much better if you just gave it up.”
“I couldn’t. There’s a… there’s a secret recipe.”
“… a recipe. You… couldn’t have let go of your handbag because of a recipe. You’re joking,” he stated, and the little of his face you could see, free of the fabric of his mask, seemed shocked. And maybe a little amused. How would you know, you could only see his jaw. And lips – their corners were quirked inconspicuously, so yeah, definitely amused.
Well, at least you made him smile since he had saved you and all.
“It’s important! There’s this guy in my work and— never mind. Forget I said anything. I mean… beside the thank you. Wow, babbling is not my usual reaction to stress.”
“Well, if that makes you feel better I don’t usually chat with people I help out,” he said with a shrug, making you raise your eyebrows.
“So why do you now?” Not that I complain.
He shrugged again, coming a little closer again. “Nowhere to be. And you seem fun.”
Huh. Who would think a guy in a mask, lurking in a dark, would be such a nice person? He seemed genuine. You had no idea where he picked up the idea of you being fun, but you guessed he didn’t meet women protecting their handbags for recipes of all thing every night. Did he do that every night? Was that a thing?
You shook off the thoughts. “…thanks, I guess?”
“So, guy at work?” He smiled suggestively, clearly teasing you. You just gaped.
“Oh my god, I’m not talking about that with… with a masked guy! And… and it’s not like that,” you protested, questioning your own claim. Maybe?
“Really? So why that blush?”
You quickly checked you cheeks with your hand. “I don’t-“ You never blushed. You doubted you were now and your cheeks felt just normal-- that little shit. “You know, for a guy who lurks in a dark, you are sure pretty cocky.”
And for a near assault victim, I am pretty chatty and easy-going.
“People also say I’m a good listener,” he offered nonchalantly, a gentle smile on his lips.
You were not doing this, right? You wouldn’t just load that on a complete stranger? Then again, he was a complete stranger, so he couldn’t tell anyone who knew you. Mmm...
“…it’s not like that. I mean, yeah, he’s… handsome, but-- he’s… I barely know him, but he’s just really nice, you know? Like…” You licked your lips, finally letting the handbag rest on its usual place. “The kind of guy who would help you to pick up your stuff, even if he wasn’t be the one who ran into you. And the other day, I saw his telling a joke to someone who seemed down, but usually is a bitch to him. He’s the guy who would hold the elevator for you. Just… really nice. And lately… he seemed down himself. Not even his friend can cheer him up. So… yeah.”
“So… you decided to… cook something for him. For this… nice guy,” he summed up your monologue, looking a bit confused.
“Yeah. My friend met me at the bar and gave up her secret recipe for the best muffins in the world. I already bought the ingredients, guessing, but I didn’t pick up on the vanilla beans.”¨
“That’s really nice of you.”
“Well, it’s not like I’m saving his life,” you said, giving him a significant look.
Why were you smiling? You just almost got mugged! And you were chatting with a man who just broke someone’s bones! To be fair, he was really likeable. Had called you fun and nice. Not something you were used to.
“He could be depressed. So maybe you are.”
You couldn’t but smile wider. “Maybe. Though he probably gets bagels every morning… never mind. …And you know what, you are a good listener. But I should go. Got work to do.”
“Sure. Good luck with your… baking,” he wished you, grinning like a goddamn child. Was it really so amusing?
“If I have some spares, I’ll leave them on the rooftop for you,” you decided, freezing after you realized what you said. “A random rooftop! I wouldn’t want a masked guy to know where I live.”
He laughed. He honest to god laughed. “Of course. Go, I’ll call the police to pick those guys up.”
You didn’t need to be asked twice.
⊱⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊰
You barely managed to sneak into the interns’ office – office? More like a closet – and make it out before they appeared behind a corner. These two guys started there recently, but you instantly liked them. The one with blond hair was smiling most of the time, a cheery smile that made you smile back even when you were busy and nearly harassed by your boss a minute before; the other one, the dark-haired one, had a gentler smile, a warming one – and you hadn’t seen much of it lately. If you were honest, you thought his idealism was being crushed; he was incredibly nice and polite to everyone as far as you saw him interact with people and you were sure that a firm like Landman and Zack wasn’t a place for his fragile soul-- and now you were just projecting.
The pair fell into their closet office and you released the breath you were holding. You resisted the urge to listen in with your ear at the door. It turned out, you didn’t have to; most of the offices were empty due to the lunch break and the blond man – okay, yeah, you heard him introduce himself as Foggy, which was ridiculous, but kinda cute – was very loud.
“Matt, a muffin.”
You bit your lip, a little nervous about not hearing Matt’s reaction.
“Matt, I swear to God, there is a muffin on your table. With a note on a toothpick in it and it says— oh. That’s just mean. Why would someone give a muffin on your desk only to tempt you?” Foggy sounded bewildered and a little hurt on the behalf of his friend.
You giggled into your palm. You had left a written note saying: ‘Don’t you dare to touch it, you, who are reading this.’
The trick was in leaving one more note – in braille. ‘Feel better and be happy. The offices are too dark without your smile. Enjoy.’
Which was an idiotic lie, because the offices were all glass and steel, having too much light most of the time, but the message was clear, you hoped. Not to mention Matt wouldn’t be able to tell. Because he was… well, blind. Which meant he couldn’t read the note not directed at him, but could read his own.
You sneaked from your office, coming a little closer, listening in.
“Dude, your face. Why do I have the feeling the braille version says something different?”
You smiled for yourself, hoping to cause at least a little rise of Matt’s lips while he was reading his personal note (it was a bitch to use the braille printer without no one noticing, okay, you were kinda proud of yourself). His response was quieter, but you pricked your ears and heard it.
“Because it does.”
Later, you were trying hard not to stare too blatantly when they passed your office, but you caught a glimpse anyway. Matt was smiling. Brightly.
⊱⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊰
“This is so stupid, I’m crazy, I’m the craziest person to ever walk this Earth…” you were muttering as you laid a plate with two muffins in the middle of the rooftop. “If anyone’s gonna eat it, it’s gonna be Frank from 2B when coming to have a smoke. Or pigeons…”
“Did the nice guy liked his muffin?” sounded a voice from behind you and you jumped ten feet above— well, not. You literally fell on your ass, yelping in shock, your hand trying to keep your heart inside your ribcage. “Hey, easy there.”
You spun slowly to the source of the pleasant male voice, only to find a man dressed in nothing but black. With a mask on, naturally.
“Not sure. Maybe I just helped him to have a heart attack sooner. But I can ask him if he’s looking for one and refer him to you,” you complained, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath, easing your hand down.
Jesus.
“I apologize. I didn’t mean to scare you.” He offered you a gloved hand to help you up. But it was a warm night and forgetting the fact your pants would be no doubt terribly dirty from the concrete, you were actually fine sitting there. You patted on the other side of the plate instead. He hesitated.
“For some reason I don’t believe you,” you exclaimed darkly. “I’m not sure you deserve these…”
“They’re really for me?”
A shy smile appeared on his lips – you really needed to stop focusing on people’s lips, it was creepy, but to be fair, this guy wasn’t offering many things to go on and staring at his body tightly wrapped in black probably wasn’t much better. He lowered himself elegantly, sitting down on the offered place.
“I figured that you might appreciate it and you’ll burn the calories easily. And since I baked six of these…”
“Thanks.” He tentatively took off his gloves, reaching for one of the muffins. He took a bite.
You blinked in surprise at his trust. “They could be poisoned.”
He froze. “You wouldn’t.”
“How can you possibly know that?”
“No one who bakes a muffin just to cheer up a guy they barely know would try to poison me,” he reasoned, his confidence almost unshaken.
“I could have just made the story up. Or bake two batches, poison one of them and lay a trap.”
He frowned, taking another bite easily. “That sounds like an awfully lot of work, considering pigeons might have eaten this. Or Frank from 2B.”
“You— you heard that?” you asked, surprised.
“I have good ears. And taste buds. This is really good.”
“I’m glad. Maybe one day I can quit my soul-crushing job, steal all of my friend’s recipes and open a bakery. The Hell’s Bakery… in Hell’s Kitchen.”
He chuckled, the sound so light that it made you wonder how the hell this guy was a vigilante. Should he be like… dark and broody? I am batman, I’m the night?
“I would be a regular. I promise.”
You couldn’t help but smile as he finished the muffin and licked his thumb.
“He’s a lucky guy, you know. Having you to look out for him,” he offered casually.
“I told you, it’s not like that…” you repeated, though you were less and less convinced it was the truth. “…and he doesn’t know it was me.”
“You didn’t give it to him?” he sounded shocked. You thought he might have raised his eyebrows. “Just leaving it? Why?”
You shrugged. “I didn’t want him to feel… obligated to be grateful or something. Plus, me noticing he’s smiling less than usual? It’s a little creepy, I imagine. It’s better if I stay anonymous.”
“Huh. You really weren’t trying to… get his attention, were you?” He seemed genuinely surprised. Was it really that strange? “Why? Not your type? Have eyes on someone else?”
“Not my type…” you repeated lowly. “I think he’s everybody’s type.” He tilted his head curiously. “I don’t.”
“But?”
“But nothing. He’s… he’s him. I bet he has someone. He has this whole…” you gestured vaguely with your hands as if it could mean something. It did. To you. “…charming, take-me-home aura.”
“Take-me-home aura?” he parroted, bewildered.
“It’s hard to-“ you stopped in the middle of the sentence, realizing the absurdity of the situation. Muffins. Late night. Dim lights. Boy problems. “Oh god, I’m having a slumber party with a vigilante on a rooftop. I really am crazy.”
“Do you want to braid hair?” he suggested with that boyish grin you remembered from yesterday. “I’m no good at painting nails, but I rock at braiding.”
You looked at him incredulously, watching him for what could be a minute. Then you burst out laughing.
“I believe you. But I’m afraid I’ll have to decline. I’m very picky about who I let touch my hair.”
“Uh-huh Okay. What does take-me-home aura mean? Take home and..?”
“And snuggle him…” you hummed, thoughtful. “Or rip his clothes off, sometimes it’s hard to decide. Probably both in the right order.”
“Oh.”
You burst out laughing once more when seeing him so taken aback. Well, you thought he looked taken aback.
“Oh god, you look so spooked. I’m not gonna do that to you, or him. Have a muffin.”
He pouted, but relaxed and reached for his comfort food. “I’m not… spooked. It’s just… why don’t you?”
“Because I’m pretty sure dragging someone into my home and ripping their clothes off is a crime,” you emphasized, even though the irony was lost on this guy, since he was acting outside the law. Matt, on the other hand… was a lawyer.
“You could just ask him out.”
The smile froze on your lips. You cleared your throat. “Yeah, right. I forgot you don’t know me very well and you don’t know whom I’m talking about. He’s… like… waaaay out of my league. Professionally speaking – one day, I’m sure – and with his looks too.”
He nibbled his muffin, looking thoughtful. It was incredibly cute. “You said he was nice. I’m sure he wouldn’t turn you down.”
“A pity date. Yay for me.”
“…you don’t have very high opinion of yourself, do you?”
You shrugged. “I’m a realist.”
He set his muffin down, turning to you with his whole body. “I don’t have many references to your looks, since we’re meeting at night, but you seem like a great person and… I really don’t talk with people much. Not at all, if I can help it. But you’re easy to talk too. Even if it was a pity date, I’m sure he would have a good time. And maybe you would find out he’s just a guy and forget there are some… leagues or whatever,” he mimicked, sounding a little disgusted. He picked his muffin back, possibly to drown the bitterness of the word league.
Oh my god, how was this guy even real? There was no way he was not chatting with all victims of crime he saved.
“Thanks— what do I call you? Give me something. I don’t expect your real name, secret identities and all, but… something.”
“Huh. I don’t know. Uhm…”
“If you don’t come up with something, I will,” you threatened, your mind racing. He would either have a terrible name, compensating with a nickname, or a plain name no one would look twice at.
“Go for it,” he challenged, licking the remains of chocolate of his lips. You observed him for a minute, wondering.
“Mm. Alright. Thank you for your encouraging words… Clark.”
“Clark? Like… Clark Kent?”
“Yeah,” you confirmed, grinning. “Hero. Secret identity. Ripped. Sweet. Yeah, you’re Clark… you’re not wearing glasses to work, are you? Are you trying to look awkward, or better yet invisible? Unnoticed? Are you a journalist?” you asked quickly to cover up the fact you blatantly told him he had hot body.
“I’m not a journalist,” he said slowly, looking a bit alarmed. Though he didn’t deny the rest.
“Okay, okay, I’ll stop prying. But thanks. It’s… really sweet of you, but… I guess I’m too chicken to ask him out.”
The sentence lied heavily between you for few moments.
“…what if he asked you?”
You snorted. “Right. He doesn’t even know I exist, Clark. Doesn’t know my name.”
“Neither do I. And look at us, sitting on a rooftop, talking about boys.”
This time you laughed. “You just wriggled your eyebrows, didn’t you?”
“Maybe…” he played along mysteriously, before his smile softened. “Can I have your name?”
“Well, I guess there’s no point in denying you now know where I live, so a name wouldn’t add much. But you know what? I picked yours. Pick mine.”
“…okay. Nice to meet you… Lois.” He extended his hand towards you, making your breath hitch.
“Nice to meet you, Clark.” You shook his hand, swallowing the nervousness his choice left you in. The love interest? “Though I’m more of a Jimmy Olsen, don’t you think?” The friend.
He tensed, jerking to his feet, crouching, his head tilted. You almost had another heart attack at the sudden movement.
“I gotta go, I’m sorry. There’s… an assault a mugging in progress. But-“ he turned to you, his tense features softening a little, leaning into your space. “I chose the name on purpose.”
Then his freaking lips brushed your temple and he jogged away, jumping-- jumping off the roof. You flied to your feet as well, running after him, checking he wasn’t a bloody smudge on the pavement. He wasn’t. You saw only a shadow several rooftops over. You brought you hand to the place his lips touched your skin, still shocked.
What the actual hell?
You stood on the rooftop for a very long time, staring at the city lights, still trying to process that Clark had… pecked your temple. When you finally made it inside, you couldn’t fall asleep. After an hour of staring into the ceiling, you got up and… baked. Not wanting to bake the same stuff again, you improvised. You added cocoa powder, switched milk chocolate for dark and added some cherries you had bought the other day, hoping for an acceptable outcome.
When you had one of the muffins for breakfast, you came to conclusion it wasn’t half bad, packing one for lunch, counting on a zero lunch-break again. It turned out it was a good idea.
⊱⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊰
Part 2
⊱⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊰
I know there aren’t many Matt readers with me here, but someone might like it ;)
Thank you for reading :-*
#marvel#fanfiction#matt murdock x reader#daredevil x reader#matt murdock x you#daredevil x you#matt murdock fanfiction#mcu#matt murdock fanfic#reader insert#matt murdock imagine#fluff#of muffins coffee and other miracles#anika ann
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@izzabizz139
I wanna hear you rant about the Gin vs Hitsugaya anime fight bc I love seeing your pov and you clearly write better than whoever extended that scene :) pretty please
out of character. DON’T ENABLE ME SO MUCH !! No but I cackled when I first saw this ask because oh my god, clearly you saw a taste of my annoyance about the anime adaptation -- no, adaptation implies it was accurate, I’ll say the anime’s take was “inspired by” the manga’s quick run-in. I’ll start by saying this moment is supposed to be a bit important considering, via the audience’s point of view, THIS IS THE FIRST WE SEE OF TWO CAPTAIN-RANKED SHINIGAMI CLASHING. The only other captain-involved fight we’ve seen thus far in the manga is Kenpachi ( who is an outlier and should not be counted... no, I joke... but, still, Ichigo was not an equal to him, his sword was sliced through like butter. ) The whole reason I enjoyed this encounter between Toshiro and Gin was simply this; it wasn’t some fancy multi-chaptered fight. IN THE MANGA, THERE ARE ONLY TWO BLOWS MADE. One, by Toshiro, to begin the fight. The second, to end it, is Gin’s strike.
I want you to know that I’ve rewatched this specifically to answer this ask, and only due to this, as I wouldn’t have ever sought it out otherwise. HONOR MY SACRIFICE.
Read more for length. I’m merciful.
In the anime, they monologue at each other, and it’s mostly a combination of Toshiro making three separate death threats ( he starts this off by saying “I’ll kill you before Hinamori arrives” and then goes on rewording it each time, and then also repeats the death-threat he gave Gin prior to this conflict about “I’ll kill you if Hinamori bleeds” ) and then also Gin and Izuru talking about how truly powerful and amazing Toshiro is -- no, this isn’t me being bitter or petty, I literally shit you not, Gin has a line that is legit “AS EXPECTED FROM HITSUGAYA TOSHIRO, CAPTAIN OF THE TENTH DIVISION, A CHILD PRODIGY OF TH' SORT THAT ONLY COMES ALONG ONLY ONCE EVERY FEW CENTURIES. HOW VEEEERY DANGEROUS. YOU’RE SERIOUS, AIN’T YA?” like don’t get me wrong, love a good sarcastic little shit comment like that, but the amount of times the anime pumps Toshiro up like he’s their shinest new cash cow ( and he is, at this point, it is not even 50 episodes into the series and they’ve realized everyone likes him and he’s jumped to high ranks in popularity polls... earning him filler spotlights, and eventually his very own non-canon movie ) so everything coming out of Gin’s mouth feels like more bullshit than necessary. Izuru’s already literally monologued, internally, how powerful and amazing Toshiro is anyways. Why this ?
Not to mention that, prior to saying that long-winded shit, Gin’s haori changed length three times ( and once it was longer than his entire body by several feet, and no not in a ‘to show motion’ way ) and most importantly Shinso was drawn, consistently, at katana-length for the duration of their little spat where the following, too, happened: Gin frog-leaps after doing a backflip, Toshiro gives Gin two (2) haircuts, Gin ruins some floorboards and gives Toshiro at least one splinter in his arm, Toshiro whilst wearing socks lands on Shinso’s blunt edge and pushes the sword down with his footsie because that’s how that works, there’s another backflip somewhere in there that Gin doesn’t need to be doing, twirl, twirl, and ballet, Gin’s face elongates until his chin is bigger than his face, Gin spends ten+ seconds purely dodging very close strikes to his face as Toshiro is the only one making breathy growly and ‘tsuuaaah’ sounds, there is a brief moment of no gravity as Toshiro keeps hacking at Gin midair and Gin blocks it over and over again but they still stay in the air but they’re not standing or jumping or using reiatsu they’re just like, momentum-locked I don’t fucking know, Gin frowny faces as he blocks because like somehow this kid who doesn’t even have more reiatsu than him, whose arm strength should not be an issue, is like. making him nervous?? as sword sparks fly. if you know me at all you know I hate when they fuckin’ firework sparkler-ify swords clashing.
Anyways, all of this happens whilst Shinso is the wrong length and Gin’s hair is getting purpler by the second and this entire thing is somehow a big jack-off to Toshiro’s immense strength even though he’s screaming and wailing at Gin like a child and Gin’s just a vessel at this point to Enhance Toshiro, which, fine, okay, but at least be more accurate with it god damn. ANYWAYS,
THEY JOUST. They literally run at each other, swords centered, and run past / to the side of one another. Jousting. “Cause that’s how that works. No slashes, no cutting motion. Just swords centered, because the animators were like “no worries guys I know swordfighting basics that’s a legit pose” yeah it is WHEN STATIONARY. Not rUNNING IT DOWN.
And then Gin’s sleeve is cut, somehow, from the Jousting, because wow Toshiro wow wow wowowowow, and then Toshiro comes back and starts wailing at Gin again and Gin blocks it, again, and it’s all very annoyingly repetitive, and Gin’s frowning and sparks are flying and Gin’s using Shinso, the katana-length wakizashi I guess, with two hands because like I said, the animators knew basics and basics are “katana are used two-handed” like. Okay, you’re not wrong, but I cannot stress this enough: SHINSO IS NOT A KATANA. It’s shorter and meant to be used single-handed!!!! sTop!!! So then Gin rips off the tattered part of his sleeve and throws it at Toshiro, who swipes it away from his face using his Zanpakuto because that’s intelligent and a piece of cloth was definitely threatening enough to use your sword to bat it away ( btw, Hitsugaya wasn’t holding his sword with two hands at this precise moment, so he could have just... used his other hand ) and then Gin goes in for the classic “stabby stabby rapidly at you while the animation gets a little breather because we repeat this cycle a few times with flashy bgs and phew money made” ... WE ARE FOUR MINUTES AND THIRTY SECONDS INTO THIS FIGHT BY THE WAY. Gin does this for seventeen (17) agonizing seconds straight. Yes, I counted. That was sixteen and a half too many seconds for me, personally.
Toshiro somehow lassos Shinso whilst Gin is stabby stabby-ing with Hyourinmaru’s chain component. I say component like it’s somehow some type of beauty guru’s lipstick holder, but really am I that wrong ? When else has he ever used this feature ? Anyways, he lassos Shinso because yeehaw I guess, god I’m falling apart at this point can y’all tell????? I need a drink.
and so, because now Toshiro has Gin’s sword somehow trapped with chain even though it’s just looped around it, he backflips over Gin for a cool trickshot, no blow issued, just vibes, and Gin uses a big brain moment to tug Shinso and the chains slide off. okay now what. We’re past five minutes into this fight, nonstop.
SOUNDS LIKE A GOOD TIME FOR GIN TO PAUSE AND APPRECIATE TOSHIRO AGAIN! “I see, I shouldn’t have underestimated you, HItsugaya Toshiro” I’m starting to have a feeling Gin’s VA was told to just wing these lines because the amount of times he fills silences / Gin’s mouth movements with Toshiro’s long-ass name is astounding, he’s definitely drawing blanks here but he sure as hell knows one thing: that damn ice-boy’s name. He continues by saying “I suppose I’ll end up regretting it afterwards.”
Toshiro says that’s not enough, and it’s really dramatic and cool. His eyes even glow all icy and blue and pretty, like his flowy reiatsu. Aesthetic points were gifted entirely to Toshiro’s animations in this scene. Gin was finished in MS Paint and each new scene they had to draw Shinso from memory and try to remember what hue of purple his hair was at gunpoint. Toshiro lets off a big wave of reiatsu and then it vanishes, and he jumps up reaaaally high. like this guy’s flying. his eyes arent glowing anymore that’s sad. Bring Back Glowing Eyes For Strong Shinigami 2k21.
Toshiro releases his Shikai, and it’s badass, the sky darkens, Izuru looks distinctly more worried than usual, and Gin’s frowning with his teeth out like Bugs Bunny’s having a bad day, all is right in the world. Toshiro and his released Shikai have a nice moment for the Pics, and a big epic freeze frame blur moment happens with it all coiled and swirling around him. Wrow! ( click the ‘wrow’ it’s a link to my exact reaction ) Izuru narrates for the third time about how powerful Toshiro is, his reiatsu, his Zanpakuto being a deity who is only unlocked every few centuries. The strongest ice-type sword. Pardon the pun, but that’s... you could say, so cool.
It can even control the weather. So hey, next time it’s rainy, cold, icy, or snowing and you’re unhappy, it’s time to direct a big fuck you at Toshiro.
Gin dodges the first dragon, and blocks the second with Shinso because blocking water and ice with a sword makes sense right? This actually takes a solid amount of seconds as Gin cuts through the entire length of this ice dragon noodle. Things dissipate, and pause, too, to really drag this out. Surprisingly, this reveals that Gin’s made a boo-boo, his left arm’s frozen, which doesn’t even mean anything because Gin is right-handed, and Toshiro teleports himself behind Gin in true fighty fashion.
We have arrived at seven minutes and just under twenty seconds of this fight, and Gin turns, DOES THE UNTHINKABLE, gasp! He opens his eyes. His red, dull, evil, gray-eyebrowed with purple hair eyes, and shoots Shinso through its hideout spot behind his haori. This nearly takes off Toshiro’s eye and upwards of his head, but the little guy dives down fast. The rest happens in slow motion, supposedly, because it takes an eternity and people talk entire full sentences in its span of time.
Gin asks Toshiro if he’s sure he’d like to dodge that ( it’s a little late for that ) and says that Momo’ll die if he does. SHINSO SCRAPING ALONG AGAINST HYOURINMARU STRANGELY MAKES NOT A SINGLE SOUND. Mute. Even though before they had no problem animating and adding sounds to them smacking blades earlier. There are soundless sparks though, so there’s that. Yay. Can you tell how exhausted this’s made me? I need a nap.
Shinso is already more than halfway towards Momo, still unconscious, she most definitely has a serious concussion via Toshiro backhanding her midair consider she’s been unconscious for longer than ten minutes. Toshiro has time to get up off the floor where he dropped to dodge, realize with a shocked gasp, turn, shout her name, and watch as Rangiku arrives in a random glow of gold which never happens ever again and blocks the attack with Haineko. Haineko almost cracks on the impact, and continues growing in damage as Rangiku holds Shinso there, implying that she’s stopped it from reaching one-hundred sword’s lengths to pierce Momo. Yes I’m including that implication / note in here because we love to see Rangiku succeeding in life and being Not-Helpless, all while potentially damaging Haineko severely if it wasn’t able to hold him off. Yikes, Gin!
Rangiku threatens to join the fight if he doesn’t withdraw his sword. Gin smiles, withdraws it, and then Shunpos away.
Whatta mess. Oh, and the anime fight was pretty fucked up, too.
This is a long post, but here’s the manga version:
Toshiro leaps into the air,
This is where the fight actually starts between them:
And end.
Five pages. Two blows. Does not equate to ten minutes of non-stop fighting and monologues. Sometimes, and I mean this in the most unbiased way possible, less is more.
#[ out of character ] masquerade; hide your face#me: i wanna reply to things!!#also me with eyes glowing red: no.#long post#LOOOONG POSTTTTT...#4 pages.#of text.#im so sorry.
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party 4-2 | l.jeno
↬ due to unfortunate circumstances, you and jeno have to pretend to date at a party, the only problem is that both of you have suppressed feelings for one another and can’t seem to admit it.
fluff + angst | 5.5k words | beware! cussing, suggestive themes, mentions of cheating and drinking :(
(a/n: happy jeno day! this was originally a request with : fake dating + #5,6,&12, but i got quite carried away! Italic dialogue indicates flashback. hope you enjoy <3)
Jeno’s grip around the leather steering wheel tightened like the knot that built at the pit of his stomach. On his wrist was a watch that seemed to tick too slow, or too fast-- he really didn’t know. He did know that he was parked in front of your apartment complex. And before he was parked in front of your home, he had cleaned up the front seats so that there was enough space for you to move your feet around or place your bag down. He wasn’t necessarily messy, but in front of you he was always a klutz.
He shifts around, checking his car mirrors and pressing the light on and off, pretending he was Batman sending a signal, before taking a deep breath.
“I’m glad we were both hired, huh Jeno?” You had been sitting at the metal break room table, already dressed in your denim apron and matching hat. Tapping your foot excitedly, eyebrows raised at him as he got ready himself for your first shift together. He was tying up the loose ends of his apron behind him, smiling at you softly. “Turn around.” You got up to help him, impatiently excited to work at your new job as a barista.
You gingerly took the denim around his waist, making sure you were gentle as you tied it in a secure knot.
He vividly recollects how he had to look away from you, scared of his flushed ears making an appearance. It was a small gesture, but despite being friends with you for so long, every little thing you did made him fall for you even more.
That was your first job. The both of you experienced it together. And now Jeno and you were going to attend your first college party together too.
Seeing your shadow peeking around the corner he was aware of your presence. It retreats in hesitation in and out of view, until it makes a clear decision to approach him. He counts in his head the number of steps you take until you’ve arrived in front of him. On the outside he’s composed, calm, refined but on the inside-- well. Don’t worry about it.
“Yes??”
At the time, he was studying (more of using his phone to play a game) at the student library, which you knew you could find him at. He knew that you could find him here too.
You swivel a seat from the side, dragging it to place it beside him. He closes the book he mindlessly pretended to be reading slowly, as if to absorb whatever context it may have had.
“So Mark invited me to this party…” you start, mind zoning out slightly when Jeno’s gaze meets yours and you take notice of the eyelash under his glasses’ lens, “wait you have an eyelash.”
He closes his eyes and let's you sweep it off his cheek before continuing, “so Mark’s party… what about it?”
“Well,” the warmth of your fingertip leaves his face and he has to pretend like his heart isn't irregularly beating because of you, “you know I haven't been to like an actual, you know, party and I always hear crazy stories about getting your drink spiked and whatnot and I don't know if I wanna go alone, you catch my drift?”
“Mmm I kind of catch your drift, but also-- so you don't want to go to Mark's party anymore?”
“Not necessarily! I do want to go, it's just I don't want to go alone. I think it would be safer to go with someone.”
“Why don't you ask Ryujin to go with you? Then you guys could even get ready together, isn't that fun?”
“That does sound fun… but..”
“But what?”
You press your lips together, “I think I would feel safer going with you, I don't know.”
“All you had to do was ask directly bro.” He rolls his eyes at you jokingly, putting his stuff back into his backpack.
He knew you must've been excited. It was Mark who had asked you after all. And Mark Lee’s place was the designated party house known on campuses that weren’t even yours.
So why was he anxious now? It’s just a party. A party where you two go together. It's not like you two were dating.
He presses a button to turn the radio on, trying to zone out instead.
The knock on his passenger seat window brings him out of his internal monologue. He unlocks the door. When you enter, so does the intoxicating smell of your perfume.
“Jeno!!” you climb into the seat next to him, double checking if the door is locked.
He lowers the volume a bit and turns the keys, moving his head to look at you. His heart twinges a bit at the sight of you. He wants to tell you you’re gorgeous, but he swallows his words before they could surpass his lips.
“y/n!!” he says instead, “are you excited!?” To which you respond back by shaking your head vigorously. “Okay, let’s have fun.”
He starts up the car and glances at you again. “Wait y/n seat-belt.”
“Oh yea,” you pull on the strap a bit recklessly which causes it to jam, “just a second” you retract it back and try to pull it again but it stops, “this seat-belt is playing with me let me try it this again--” Jeno sighs and unbuckles his own. You look over to him as he reaches over your shoulder, causing your head to look up at an angle so he could fix it for you. The close proximity makes your stomach uneasy and you could feel the tips of his strands of hair light brush over your neck. When you hear the click, you face Jeno again, a smile creeping up your face out of nerves. He smiles back at you before finding his place back to the steering wheel.
Funnily enough he’s less nervous now that you are actually with him, comfortable to be in your company. The night sky was a clear blue-black, like a large obsidian stone glazed over your heads. There was a thrill that came with being in Jeno’s roughed up car, memories upon memories laying in here. You roll the window down a bit to catch the light evening breeze, closing your eyes to feel it against your skin.
“What if I do this move on the dance floor?” you open your eyes and start shaking your head vigorously, not matching with the rhythm of the song playing, your hands make micro-movements as if you were doing the robot, “don’t you think I’ll charm everyone there?”
Jeno glances at you quick, his eyebrow perched a little higher in expectancy to see something graceful but instead he bursts out laughing, choking a bit at the sight of you, “you’re going to get us into an accident with those possessed moves I-” he continues to laugh, his chest heaving up and down as he tries to concentrate on the road, “that’s something Donghyuck would do.”
“You’re right my neck is getting sore,” you wrap your hand around it, “oh talking about Donghyuck, did you hear his story about that time he jumped off the roof at one of Mark’s parties?”
“No way Donghyuck doesn’t have the balls to do that-”
“Hey it was a Mark party, anything can happen. But I doubt it’s true.”
“Yea…” Jeno makes a right turn, “his bones would’ve been broken the next day in class, a little suspicious that he came in fine in my opinion. But then again, didn’t Hendery break Mark’s light fixture in the living room? Mark posted it on his story that one time remember?”
“That’s so wild dude… I hope nothing bad happens.”
“Same, I’m getting drained just thinking about it.”
“But you know what? This is good! We should just experience a party like this at least once in our prime time aye Jeno?” You nudge him lightly on his thigh earning a “mmm” back.
Jeno changes the music station, forgetting he has an aux cord. Mark’s house in the hills is still miles away, numerous drugstores and fast food restaurants passing your car swiftly.
“Wait Jeno can I put this emergency sandwich in your car compartment?” The two of you are nearing a red light.
“Your what now?” he glances at you during the stop to find you already opening it up, “oh gosh please dont forget it like the emergency cookies or the emergency juice box.”
You shut the compartment, squishing down the bread so it fit. “But you still ate them didn’t you!? Like after five months when you were starving for a snack so they did have a purpose in the end!”
You turn your head back to him and the bright light turns green, placing an ethereal glow upon you. He subconsciously begins to smile.
“Okay you have a point, you have a point.”
You two are able to hear the house before you can even see it. You honestly believed parties like the ones Mark Lee hosts only existed in the movies. But they seem to also exist in the two-story rented house he and his roommate Yuta often rented for occasions like these. You always wondered how he learned such a skill, but that’s a secret he’ll never tell.
As Jeno rolls up the hill’s parking lot, steering with the both of his palms in order to parallel park between the abundance of cars and others attending, the villa’s full picture comes into view. The house is decorated with out-of-style Christmas lights and is painted an awful bright green color, the grass on the front lawn artificial with fake red and purple plants poking out wherever people didn’t step. Such a huge estate turned into a fun house could only be the doing of its occupants and host.
Once parked, Jeno clambers outside to open the door for you. “Do you need me to help you with your seatbelt again?”
“Damn Jeno, what a fine gentleman like you are, they don’t make em like you anymore.” you joke with him, laughing at his unamused face. He slams the car door back on you, the sound of you laughing muffling out as he starts walking to the entrance slowly.
“Hey!” he smiles to himself hearing your shoes clank with the cement to catch up to him. He turns his head to look back and your hand runs through his hair aggressively, messing up the overall shape molded from the gel. He sticks his tongue at you and enlarges his nostrils in false annoyance, not bothering to fix himself up anymore.
The huge wooden doors are already wide open, red solo cups littered amongst the sides of it and a welcome mat that says “kool kids only” beneath your feet. You guys walk in and already there's a certain mood established within the vicinity. As if the world around you has been thrown into a slow motion montage of every party scene in coming-of-age movies. The light fixture has since been replaced to a disco ball, the walls splattering with neon lights which your eyes had to adjust to after a while. Jeno pats your arm and points out the huge stereo system against the broken window that allowed some air to be pushed in amongst all the sweaty bodies. People were already resting their arms against the staircase railings, despite it only being nine o’clock. The glitter and extravagance of it all was fresh and unlike any other party you have attended.
You make sure not to lose sight of Jeno as you guys move closer to the crowd. “Where do you think Mark is?”
“Probably in the bathroom!” the music and people talking start to drown out your voices. Jeno starts to push through the crowd in order to get to the kitchen or dining room, struggling to not get stuck in between. You use your elbows as a way to distance yourself from people who are getting too close to your liking, but before you know it Jeno is no longer in arm’s reach.
“Jeno!” you shimmy through the bodies making you a bit uncomfortable with how many people have already touched you while passing. He turns back to wait for you and when you finally make your way beside him he lightly lays his hand on your waist.
“Hey be careful where you’re going.” He doesn’t let go of you until you’ve cleared through the main hall.
There’s an entire spread of food on the counters. How does anyone afford this much food? The takeout trays are layed out with serving spoons and paper plates have been carelessly placed in one corner, whereas the actual utensils are in the other. If there was one thing Jeno and you have heard about Mark’s parties aside from the crazy shit that goes down, it would be the food.
Seeing it finally in front of you, the both of you let out a small gasp in sync. Huge smiles making their way to your lips. Jeno is already grabbing you two plates.
“Did you bring the ziplocs?” he hands you your plate while you two make your way to the first tray.
“It’s like you read my mind.” You reveal the ziploc bags in your handbag with a grin of confirmation. He holds them open for you as you begin to pour in the dry snacks first. “We’re like partners in crime right now.”
He wishes you were partners in general.
“Well, well, well looks like you two are ripping me off! I caught you red handed!” Mark grabs a chip from the tray, cutting in between you and Jeno. “The look on your faces is priceless! Like you’ve been caught red-handed!” Mark starts going into a giggling frenzy indicating he’s a little tipsy. That and the smell off his clothes. “Aren’t my parties the best??” He points over to the bowl in the center, “have you tried the punch? Wait a second--”
His facial expression changes, scanning you both up and down as if he was playing a game of spot the difference. He points at the both of you repeatedly as the two of you stand there dumbfounded at what connection he made.
“You” he points at Jeno, “and you” he points at you squinting his eyes hard, “why didn’t you tell me you guys are dating?”
Now he’s done it. Mark released the bomb that you and Jeno have not been able to discuss. The two of you flare up in red, ready to argue and instantly defend that that’s not what’s going on. Well, you were ready. Until both you and Jeno see your ex heading over your direction.
Jung Wooyoung.
Jeno will forever remember your ex boyfriend. The three of you had been good friends before you got together. He introduced you two, unknowing of what was going to happen amongst you guys. It was on a Monday night, where the coffee shop wasn’t as busy and that night both of your shifts had matched up.
Wooyoung had pushed open the glass door instead of pulling it, yelling “Jeno!! That door was playing with my feelings!!” as soon as he entered. But Jeno wasn’t at the cash register. It was you.
Wooyoung had heard about you of course. You were the cute girl who Jeno always talked about. He had seen your pictures with him on Instagram, but he didn’t know you were this beautiful in real life.
“I’m gonna ask y/n out.” He had told Jeno after a couple weeks of the three of you hanging out more frequently. “It’s not like you like her right? You only told me you thought she was cute.”
Jeno didn’t know how to respond at that time. He didn’t want to ruin anything for the two of you. But he was sure Wooyoung already knew how he felt. How he has felt for you for a long time.
“You don’t need to tell me, she’s her own person. She can make whatever decision she wants.”
Jeno remembered Wooyoung asking you out in front of everyone in that damn cafe. He remembered how bashful you got and how you had to cover your face in embarrassment. He tried getting over you then. No matter how much you two tried to include him when hanging out it always ended with him going home first.
But then the fights came. He didn’t know if it was because you weren’t what Wooyoung totally pictured in his head, or if the two of you just weren’t as compatible as you thought.
Safe to say, the break up was not pretty.
You were late to your shift that day. Jeno had checked his watch a couple times within the hour. When you finally entered, you came in silence, not sparing him a glance, eyes glued to the floor all the way to the back.
And he remembers. He remembers keeping an eye on how you were doing. You were desperately trying to tie your apron around your waist, but he could hear you sniffing despite your back facing him. He went back to making drinks, usually minding his own business when it came to your personal problems within your relationship with Wooyoung. But while making a drink he heard you crash to the floor and immediately checked the back to see you sobbing on the floor. Your apron never got tied. Your knees seemed as if they were being hammered down bit by bit, your body collapsing within itself. Your sobbing made his own heart breaking into pieces at the sight of yours being torn apart.
He places his arms around your back, embracing you in a way where he didn’t see your face. He crouches so that he resembles a blanket wrapped around you. “What happened?” His voice is scared to speak.
“Wooyoung” your voice is jagged and choked up, “h-he was in bed.” the more you wail, the more Jeno squeezes your back, the rhythm of his heartbeat pressed against you to calm you down. “With someone else--”
Jeno couldn’t believe it. Wooyoung couldn’t do that. He refused to believe his good friend could ever cheat. How shitty, vile, disgusting. He can’t believe it. Not his Wooyoung.
Jeno doesn’t know that Wooyoung chased after you and saw you two on the floor. He observed the two of you holding each other. He snickered to himself, unbelieving. The answer was always in front of him all along. He left without a word or appearance.
It hadn’t registered within your head that Wooyoung was within ten feet of you two again.
“Well?” Mark’s voice raises in excitement, eyeing the two of you. You eye Jeno, searching his face for some sort of response, not knowing what to do in this moment. You’re stuck.
Jeno finally looks down at your face, frozen and afraid of confrontation. Wooyoung is getting closer to the three of you. Fuck it. Jeno wraps his arm around your shoulder, causing you to defrost under his touch. “Sorry we didn’t tell you Mark.” Jeno smiles at him stiffly, then you wrap your arm around his waist.
“Yes.” You say in strong confirmation. Wooyoung is now in ear-shot. “Jeno and I are together.” The word “together” falls out of your mouth effortlessly and proud. Wooyoung stops walking towards you guys. He stands around the corner diagonal to you and pretends to be absorbed in the punch Mark was talking about earlier.
“Wow! Finally! I knew you guys were going to end up together eventually, I was hoping Jeno would eventually let you know how he feels.” Mark pats Jeno’s shoulder, the expression like a proud father, “well Ima go, see you lovebirds around.”
Jeno starts to free you from his tender grip, but you keep his waist glued to you. He gets the message and moves in front of you and grabs the counter behind you so that Wooyoung is unable to see you from his back. Under his gaze the blush runs from your face to places unseen. After saying something as bold as that things are never going to be the same. After hearing what Mark said, every moment has become unrelentingly uneasy, but in a flustering, butterfly-inducing type of way. You stammer as you bring yourself close to Jeno’s ear, holding the nape of his neck to whisper, “thank you Jeno.”
His hot breath runs chills down your shoulders, “of course.”
“Is it okay if we pretend we’re together for the rest of the night? Play it safe?”
Jeno takes a deep breath, you can tell he’s reluctant at first, before he breathes out in what resembles a soft sigh, “deal. Just make sure you remember to take back your emergency sandwich by tonight.”
Your laughter flourishes up into Jeno’s ear, your head moving back to your prior position. You lightly push his shoulder that doesn’t budge as he continues to adore you and silently laugh with you.
Wooyoung walks away from the scene.
You end up pushing Jeno’s shoulders so that he could lead the way. The two of you navigate a couch lodged in a corner in one of the living spaces upstairs. It was less chaotic than downstairs, but the couch still had oddly suspicious stains all over it, and people were still getting wasted. You plop him down onto the couch first, holding his shoulders, until he takes ahold of your forearm to take you down with him.
Hours are spent talking about anything and everything, your head finding its way on Jeno’s shoulder as he takes out his phone to show you a game he started to play recently. When you talked, the bottom of your jaw tickled but he didn’t ask you to remove it. You press your nose into his shirt, your voice muffled, “do you smell that?”
“Smell what? The alcohol?”
“Yea, everyone is getting wasted, the smell is really pungent.”
“Do you want to drink? I’m going to be driving so you can if you want.”
“I want to, but you know I shouldn’t, and you shouldn’t be letting me because remember last time I tried to and then..gosh.”
“Ohhh yea the banana--” you clamp his mouth shut with your palm and raise your hand to look at him seriously.
“That’s enough of that Lee Jeno.”
He playfully protrudes his lips out so that he kisses the inside of your palm, making you retract it in surprise. He just laughs at you trying to wipe it off on his pants instead of your own. You look at him, an expression that is supposed to show how annoyed you are supposedly being there (spoiler: you just looked funny to him).
After catching his breath from laughing at you he slips, “Man, I didn’t drink but why do I feel so drunk on you?”
Realizing what he had said, suddenly both of you are silent, awkwardly glancing around the room fighting off the feelings that have been slowly seeping out bit by bit throughout the night.
“Maybe I do need a drink” you mutter under your breath, fanning yourself. He takes the hand that you’re using to fan yourself, your palms now sweaty from the skin contact.
“y/n, do you want to dance with me?”
And on that note, the two of you clumsily made your way downstairs.
Jeno thought he would always be the second lead in your life. The one who never gets the girl no matter how much he likes her. But the thing was, he was fine with being your friend. He thought he could probably go his whole life without needing to be with you romantically because he cared more about you as a person in general. Whatever made you happy made him happy. But what if he made you happy? What would he do then?
Now that the two of you were busting it down on the dance floor, gracefully or not, he realized that tonight this was just a party for the two of you. A party for two. You take his hand and twirl him around in circles and he starts swaying his hips to the beat.
“Dammmnnnnn” you start hyping him up, “get intoooo itttt!”
He’s so embarrassed but he’s enjoying himself, the humidity making you guys sweat and hair stick up in weird places. The two of you dance hip to hip, up grooving side to side with one another until you’re molded into one.
He ends up holding you close to him, taking you by surprise. You giggle, not knowing what he was doing but his voice is low, “he’s coming.”
Your body stops moving. Reliving the devastation you had once felt without any closure. Jeno keeps you faced the opposite direction, safe in his arms. But you had enough. You were sick of hiding. It was time to get into control. You softly break away from Jeno and turn around to face Wooyoung for yourself.
He’s the same.
“y/n. Jeno. what a surprise, you guys know Mark too?”
“Yea we do.” Jeno smiles at him, but you could tell it wasn’t sincere.
“How long has it been since we were all in the same room, huh?” Wooyoung keeps looking at the two of you. It made you mad for some reason. As if he was piercing remarks and judgements through his eyes.
“I don’t really want to talk to you Wooyoung.” Wow. You haven’t said that name in so long.
“Ohhh I see what’s going on here” he gets closer to Jeno, the music starts swelling and the air has become unbelievably stuffy, “how’s my old friend Jeno?” he puts a hand on his shoulder and Jeno shrugs it off.
Wooyoung smirks to the side, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek. He looks Jeno dead in the eyes glaring at him, “I fucking knew it. How you two were just gonna start seeing each other after I leave the picture, took a year or two but you did it Jeno,” he scoffs, “I knew something was up with you two since the beginning, I shouldn't have even asked. Look where the fuck you guys are now.”
Jeno holds your hand to gently guide you behind him as Wooyoung inches closer to both of your faces. Wooyoung snickers again.
“What are you?” he asks Jeno, his eyebrows knitted and face uncomfortably close to him. He pushes Jeno’s shoulder, “what are you?” he pushes Jeno’s shoulder with more force. Jeno does not budge, you squeeze his palm to remind him to stay calm. By now a crowd has formed at the sound of Wooyoung’s voice. “I said, what are you?”
You grab Wooyoung’s shoulder and press it firmly to the point it might have left a mark, “hey, enough.” He pushes your hand off of him like a lifeless bug. He laughs at you mockingly.
“hEY, enOUgH,” he imitates your voice, “shut up you fucking whore.”
You don’t know what comes quicker, the word “whore” or Jeno socking Wooyoung’s face as it leaves his mouth. After Wooyoung’s on the floor, Jeno straddles him in order to fight him off. Wooyoung is the one who undercuts him this time, his knuckles cracking in the process. Jeno’s face is smoosed by Wooyoung’s other hand, making his nose start to bleed. Jeno hastily grabs the collar of Wooyoung’s shirt and lifts him to face him, about to throw another punch.
“Jeno get off the floor. He’s not worth my time or yours.”
Jeno’s fist shakes violently close to Wooyoung’s head for a couple more seconds before dropping it to get up and go to you.
“I don’t need you, Wooyoung. I never did. I never will. Maybe learn how to respect yourself first before letting yourself go like this. Jeno, let’s go.”
You grab ahold of Jeno’s hand and start walking out to the parking lot, but before you do, you turn on your heel just to flip him off one last time. It’s what your past self deserved.
The moment you walk out and chilling night air hits your lungs, your body heaves and you release Jeno’s hand in order to place both of yours on your thighs. Your breath is shaky and you’re absolutely terrified, hot tears raining down your cheeks into every crevice. Jeno starts rubbing circles into the small of your back to comfort you, “I’m so proud of you.” His voice is like a warm blanket wrapped around you, soothing you like a cup of tea. He escorts you to the car after your tears come to a halt. On the car ride home, he had given you a spare shirt he had in the backseat you could wipe your tears and blow your nose in. He puts on music so that you aren’t embarrassed about it. The car ride home is always faster than the first one. Before you knew it, he was already parked in front of your apartment. He takes off his seatbelt so he could face you fully.
“Do you feel better?” you could hear the concern delicately laced in his voice.
“Why are you asking me?? How about you?? Are you okay?” you start hyperventilating, “man you shouldn't have gotten hurt!” You’re about to start crying again, gosh you were such a mess.
“Hey, hey, hey it’s okay.” He comes closer to you and tucks a strand of hair stuck to the dried tears on your face behind your ear. It calms you down.
“Come inside Jeno, let me help you put ointment on the scratches.”
Jeno has always been beautiful. Even when your ex-boyfriend smashed his face he was beautiful. But you’ve always treasured how beautiful he was on the inside the most. It was too scary to lose someone like him. Maybe that’s why you always fought back how you felt. But holding back how you felt wasn’t easy when he was in your bathroom and you were touching his face sweetly wiping the cuts and applying cat bandaids. “Are you okay.” you would weakly ask more as a reassurance that he was, indeed, okay and going to be okay rather than a question. He wished you took care of him like this forever. Made him come inside more. Let him hold your hand more.
He always knew deep down that he was, and is, and probably will always be, so in love with you.
Parting ways after the night was over was extremely difficult for some reason. He shakes your hand as you begin to close the door, not letting go and allowing your fingertips to slide off each other before finally parting.
“Goodnight Jeno, drive safe.”
“Goodnight y/n, sleep safe.”
The door closes and you’re left cold and in the darkness staring at it as if it was Jeno. Your mind runs, but not as fast as your heart thinking about him and everything about him and what you two have been through over the years. Your hand is on the handle of your door now, certain he had already left. You're about to open it again, but loud knocks stream in onto the door, pounding into your eardrums. You swing it open with no hesitation.
Jeno stands before you, his hair still messy, his jacket off from getting too hot at the villa, the cat band aids still fresh. His lips are parted and it seems like he’s as out of breath as you are. He’s staring at you like he’s seeing you for the first time and it makes your composure crumble.
“H-hey.” you finally make out.
“Hey.”
“I-i- forgot my emergency sandwich! that's why i opened the door-”
“I just want to see you.”
His words scatter around your skin and into your insides, encompassing you. You take a moment to process this.
“I came back because I want to see you.”
You wrap your arms around his neck, holding him really tight, catching him off guard for a bit until he reciprocates the hug ten fold. “You make me smile until my cheeks hurt. I want to see you by my side too.”
He pulls away for a second, “really?” you shake your head yes, “really? Are you being serious?”
“Yes! I am being serious! Why would I lie!?”
And if you were going to lie, Jeno presses his lips gently onto your smile before you could even try to. When he pulls away both of you stand in awe, the feeling too surreal. You pull him back in by the nape of his neck, intensely, as if to make sure this wasn’t just a dream. Your feet find themselves back tracking into the house, his shoes being kicked off as he closes the door behind you.
Safe to say, you had a party for two on your own.
#happy jeno day#neowritingsnet#cznnet#Jeno#lee jeno#nct jeno#nct#nct dream#nct dream jeno#jeno imagines#jeno scenarios#jeno reactions#jeno drabble#jeno ff#jeno fluff#jeno smut#jeno angst#jeno request#burst o'love event#lee jeno imagines#lee jeno scenarios#lee jeno reactions#lee jeno fluff#lee jeno angst#lee jeno smut#nct fluff#jeno soft hours#nct angst#nct imagines#nct reactions
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Scenario 18 and/or dialogue 23with Nathan and the Misfits crew might be fun?
A/N: I think I had a little too much fun with this one...
Also if anyone wants recommendations for creepy carnival/circus music to add ambiance check the tags for my listening-list.
Word Count: 4032
Content Warnings: death, murder, death threats, attempted murder, implied threat of sexual violence (very implied)
“Ugh,” you groaned, leaning on the railing outside the community center. “How long is that going to be there?”
The others looked to where you were gesturing to the bright colorful tents and flagpoles being set up on the far end of the park.
“The carnival is going to be in town for a week,” Simon said, shrugging. “It’s not so bad, although it does mean a lot more people around.”
“Yeah, but it’s a carnival. There’s halls of mirrors and kettle corn and candy floss,” Nathan listed off, sounding more excited than he usually let you all see. “And clowns!”
“I hate clowns,” you said with a shudder.
“Don’t act like you do,” Curtis muttered, casting a glance over at Nathan and rolling his eyes.
You glared before turning your attention to your boyfriend, who had decided to take up his usual antics and was hanging over the rail by his knees (and one hand which he tried to hide) like he was trying to be a trapeze artist and hassling Kelly, who kept threatening to push him over into the lake.
“Nathan Young, this lake is worse than the Bog of Eternal Stench, and if you end up in it, I’m not shagging you for a week,” you called over.
He shot up instantly, almost losing his balance in his scramble to get not only off the rail but as far from it as he could, as if the water could reach up and drag him in. Suddenly his attention was caught by a poster on the nearby column and he wandered over to it. Curious, you all followed, leaning around to read the bright purple page.
‘Raven Brothers’ Carnival and Sideshow! Now hiring local performers with unique talents to be featured in our show!’
“We should totally do it,” Nathan said. “I mean with our powers, we’ll be a hit.”
“Mine’s not exactly one I want to be showing off,” Alisha pointed out, flinching at the thought, “so I’ll pass.”
“Fair point, what about the rest of us?” Nathan looked around the group, none of you particularly keen on the idea of using your powers like cheap tricks, especially not so close to home where you were sure to be seen by loved ones and neighbors.
“No,” Simon said, shaking his head determinedly. “It’s not right. We shouldn’t abuse our powers like that.”
Well, it wasn’t quite the voice of reason you were hoping for, but it was close, so you half-heartedly agreed.
“Well I’m going to anyway. It says ‘cash paid.’” Nathan snapped, trying to play off his hurt that you had all sided against him off as nonchalance.
“Nathan…” you sighed, curling your fingers around his bicep, only to be shrugged off as he stormed in the direction of the carnival.
“It’ll be fine...right?” you asked the others, a bit fearfully. No one answered you, Kelly and Alisha casting you sympathetic glances and Curtis shrugging before all four of them turned back to gather their things and carry on with work for the day.
~
“The Playhouse?” Nathan read the sign above the red structure that had been erected with surprising speed given how sturdy it looked. “Kinky.”
He had followed the signs, and then the crowd of freaks, here so that he could audition. But now that he was here...he fidgeted, running a hand through his unruly hair.
He wasn’t nervous exactly, he told himself, trying to maintain his bravado even as an internal monologue. He just wished Y/N was here, to give him a kiss for luck. Not that he needed luck when he had charm and natural talent. He just liked the excuse to kiss her. Yeah, that was it.
Taking a deep breath, he pushed the little black door open and strode into the dim, velvet-lined interior. He had to admit, it was spookier than he expected a carnival to be, but maybe that was just because it wasn’t all done up and lit yet.
“Hello,” an airy voice called to him. “Are you here for the auditions?”
His eyes fell to the small, dark haired woman at the front of the room, sitting in front of a raised stage. She had a clipboard in her hands and a very glittery tophat perched off-kilter on her head. “I’m the Head Floozy, I run all the stage performances and the carousel.” She offered him a brilliant grin.
He frowned, puzzled by her title, especially given that she certainly wasn’t dressed like a floozy in her loose jeans and bulky turtleneck sweater. Not that he would have noticed if she was. Because he had Y/N and would never look elsewhere when she was right there. But she wasn’t right there…
He shook his head, pulling his thoughts back to the woman who now raised her eyebrows questioningly at him.
“Oh, yeah. I am,” he answered, once again trying to play up the bravado.
“Great! I love how many young people are still performers at heart! What’s your name and your talent so I can add you to my list.”
“Nathan. Nathan Young,” he smirked. “And I’m immortal.”
“Sorry what?”
“I’m immortal. I’ve got this weird power from a freak storm and now whenever I die, I just come back to life. It’s great!”
She stared at him for a moment. “Well then, Nathan Nathan Young,” her voice held a hint of something dangerous under its lightness. “You just moved up to the first slot. Why don’t you hope up there on that stage and show me what you’ve got.”
“Oh…” he hadn’t thought about the fact that they’d want a demonstration. Too late now… “Well, of course! But I need some way to die first.”
“That won’t be a problem. You just hope on up and I’ll take care of the rest.”
Nathan climbed onto the stage. The woman pulled a wicked looking knife out of seemingly nowhere. She pulled her arm back and Nathan felt a jolt of regret, and pain as the knife embedded itself in his gut.
He sank to his knees with a wheezing groan.
A few moments later he woke with a gasp, his eyes flying open to find the Head Floozy standing over him, the knife (still covered in his blood) in her hand.
“Welcome back,” she chirped, a bright grin on her painted lips.
She reached her free hand out to offer him help up. He decided not to take it, and her eyes narrowed but the smile never disappeared.
“You are definitely in. But, Nathan Nathan Young, do you have any friends with cool talents like yours?”
“Sure. My mate Kelly can read minds, and the weird kid, Barry, can make himself invisible. And my girlfriend…” he trailed off, your disapproving frown flashing across his mind.
“Whatever her power is, you can surprise me with it later,” the Floozy waved her hand dismissively.
“What?” He frowned.
She locked eyes with him, her face growing serious. “Bring them to me.” The command sounded nothing like her normal voice.
Nathan’s eyes went glassy for a moment and he found himself unable to resist, not wanting to even, before the world came back into focus.
“What was that?” he asked, having not heard what the woman said after asking if anyone else had powers.
“Oh nothing!” That bubbly trill was going to get annoying fast, he thought. “Just be sure you’re here first thing tomorrow for rehearsal. We don’t have much time before the Grand Opening!”
After Nathan left the room, the Floozy turned to a man who had been watching from the shadows.
“This will be the Greatest Show Ever!” she exclaimed.
“Yes, a trick like that is sure to bring in the crowds,” he replied. “It might let us be stable for a while, not worry about it.”
~
A few days later, things were still tense between you and Nathan, and the others had convinced you that you should all go to the carnival, to support him and also just have some fun. It would be nice to have a change from just drinking at the bar or sitting around eating bad pizza for a change.
“I just want to state again for the record that I hate this, and if a clown comes at me, I’m punching first and asking questions never,” you protested weakly as the group strolled up to the ticket line. “And if it goes all Something Wicked This Way Comes, I will say I told you so.”
Even you had to admit that, all lit up in rainbow lights, with pennants fluttering in the breeze, and tasty smells and cheerful music floating out, the carnival did look pretty inviting.
“Five with Nathan Young?” Alisha asked the ticket attendant pleasantly.
The heavily face-painted man in the booth smiled. “Right this way. VIP treatment for all of you. These wristbands will let you skip the lines and get you a free funnel cake!” He ushered each of you over and you reached your hand over the counter to have the blue paper bracelet taped on.
“And which one of you is the girlfriend?”
You raised your hand meekly.
“Ooh, good taste Mr. Young has!” the man exclaimed. “Come with me, young lady. Nathan has a special treat for you.”
“Eugh, gross,” Curtis muttered and the ticket attendant gave him a funny look before an exaggerated look of shock crossed his face.
“Oh, no! I didn’t mean it like that! Although I’ve only known him a week and I’d say he probably had it on his mind while arranging this…”
You flushed hotly.
“Let’s just...stop talking,” you pleaded. “You guys go ahead, I’ll catch up with you for funnel cakes later.”
The ticket attendant slapped a little cardboard sign on his booth to let the crowds know he’d be back later and led you away, winding confusingly through the crowds.
“So where are we going?” you asked.
He shook his head. “I promised not to tell.”
Eventually, you were brought to a stop near the base of the ferris wheel. “Wait here.”
You nodded and the attendant disappeared, melting into the sea of people around almost as if he’d never been there. The minutes dragged on. You tapped your foot impatiently. If you were going to be here, you wanted to at least get to explore the show, not wait around for your chronically late boyfriend.
Suddenly a hand tapped you on the shoulder and you jumped, spinning around angrily, only to find laughing green eyes staring down at you, peeking out from behind a potted flower.
“Nathan! Don’t scare me like that!” you shouted. You probably would have slapped him on the shoulder if it didn’t threaten to make him drop the plant.
“I was gonna do a bouquet, but I thought you might like something alive more,” he explained, holding it out for him. You took it, carefully, noticing that the clay was painted the exact shade of his eyes and had both your initials painted on it.
“That’s sweet, Nathan,” you sighed, instantly forgiving him. “Although I don’t know what I’m going to do with a marigold all night…”
“Ye can keep in my dressin room and then we’ll get it at the end o’ the night.”
“Is this just an excuse to get me back to your dressing room for a quick shag?”
“No! I would never!” he pressed a hand to his chest in mock horror. “Unless ye wanted to…Actually I was gonna take you on a romantic ferris wheel ride but it took me longer t’ get here then it was s’posed to. So I gotta get back for the show...you’re comin right?”
“I don’t know Nathan…” you bit your lip apologetically. “You know I hate watching you die…”
“Please?” he whined, giving you those irresistible puppy dog eyes. “I need my best girl…”
“I had better be your only girl,” you said warningly before sighing. “Alright, fine. Lead the way.”
~
There was something strange going on. You were sure of it. The hairs on the back of your neck prickled as the lights in the theater dropped to signal the beginning of the show. And as much as you wanted it to be, it wasn’t just because carnivals creeped you out as a rule.
You couldn’t shake the feeling, even as you tried to enjoy the performances. And then your powers twinged and you looked down to see the marigold, balanced on your lap because you hadn’t had time to stash it before finding your seat, was wilting rapidly before your very eyes.
The MC - a short, frighteningly pale woman with very little clothing and a very glittery top hat - came out on stage to announce the next act in her high, breathy voice that sounded better suited for a sex hotline. The clapping audience sounded smaller than it had in the beginning. The man came out, juggling a collection of fruits. You glanced at the person beside you and had to clap a hand over your mouth to stifle a scream. He was mummified!
You scrambled out of your seat, dropping the marigold corpse. The shattering of the pot against the laminated wood floor drew more eyes than you would have liked, but fewer than there should have been in the crowd. In particular, there was a man, dressed all in black, with a cold, cruel stare watching you now from the shadows at the edge of the stage. A shiver ran down your spine.
“Get her.” The MC called out in a voice that radiated power.
Everyone in the room moved toward you. Several performers came out from the wings, moving toward you. A familiar curly head appeared among them, moving toward you. Ice filled your veins and your stomach dropped like lead.
You ran.
~
You were panting and out of breath, cheeks stained with tears and desperate by the time you collided with the others, all standing around a bucket of kettle corn and watching a fire dancer.
“Oh thank god,” you cried, not caring that you had crashed directly into Curtis who had caught you in confusion and was staring.
“Y/N?” Kelly asked, confusion making her accent thicker. “Wot the fock happened to you.”
“Mummified...at the sideshow....evil...Nathan...mind control...have to…” you gasped, trying to explain around terror and exertion and your own heavy dose of confusion.
“Slow down, I can’t understand ya.”
You took a few deep breaths and finally pulled away from Curtis, who shrugged when you tried to apologize. You explained what you had seen and they all stared.
“I think having the plant with me saved my life, like my power used it to take the draining effect instead of me,” you concluded, sort of proud of it and sort of hoping you were wrong and imagining the whole ordeal.
“We have to save Nathan,” Simon stated matter-of-factly. “And stop the carnival from killing more people.”
“There could be more of them though. Everyone here could have powers and be in on it,” Alisha pointed out. “We should just go to the police.”
“Like they’ll believe us? They’ll book us all on suspicion for drugs,” Curtis countered, earning a dirty look from his ex-girlfriend.
“I’m with Simon. We have to try at least,” you said eventually.
The five of you settled on a plan and headed back to the Playhouse, not noticing the extra figure following in the shadows behind.
~
The crowd was gone when you arrived and the building was dark.
“Shit, they must be scattered looking for ya,” Kelly whispered, all of you hiding just in case.
“Well then maybe we should let them find me,” you gritted your teeth, suggesting a new plan which involved you being bait for a trap.
Running back to the entrance, you spoke to the friendly ticket attendant again, finding out that the two people you described were The Floozy and Lloyd Raven, the two people who basically ran the show.
“Great. Does this PA system broadcast to the whole carnival ground?”
“Yeah, why?” he asked.
“I need to borrow it.” Before he could say anything you grabbed the microphone, pressing the little button to activate it.
“This is a message for The Floozy and Lloyd,” you called, hearing your voice echo tinnily over the speakers everywhere, cutting off the bouncy music. “Give me back my fuckin boyfriend or else!”
Then you thanked the attendant and made for the wide main lane. Nearby you spotted your friends in the shadows of a booth and took up your position. Alisha pointed to the booth, calling your attention not to the dart game, but the array of prizes: marigolds, succulents, peace lilies, and tiny philodendrons. You smirked. It might be their carnival, but you had a perfect counter to their home field advantage.
A few moments later, the pair came strolling out of the crowd, Nathan walking placidly and stiffly between them.
“Hello there,” the man, Lloyd, purred, tipping his purple velvet hat to you as they stopped, right at the perfect spot.
“A fucking goatee?” you asked. “Really? Why not just wear a sign that says ‘I’m a villain’?”
“I don’t think you have much room to criticize my appearance dear. At least I have fashion, and the sense not to try threatening someone while wearing denim or ripped tights.”
“Let Nathan go.” You glared at them, reaching your powers out.
“But he’s ever so pretty,” the Floozy chirruped. “And would be so much fun to play with. Hey Lloyd, what if you fed off the immortal boy instead of the crowd?”
“I could sustain myself forever, and I just might. But it does so lack panache.”
Kelly looked ready to leap out at the Floozy. Curtis and Alisha were watching you for a sign that you needed them. Simon was nowhere in sight.
“Let. Him. Go. Now.”
“Oh fine,” Lloyd sighed dramatically, turning his head to the Floozy. “You know what to do dear.”
Her smile practically dripped venom as she leaned down to whisper something in Nathan’s ear. He started walking toward you, still stiff and glassy-eyed. You swallowed nervously, taking a step back. He increased his pace, running at you, hands outstretched, and definitely not for a hug.
And then suddenly he jerked to a stop in seemingly midair. You nodded in thanks to Simon, or where you approximated he was.
The grating sound of ‘Entry of the Gladiators’ blared over the speakers.
“Fucking cliche,” you muttered, just as the first strands of trailing vine wrapped around the Floozy’s ankle.
From there it was quick work to launch your attack, every little plant rising up to attack the two, subduing them and leaving them suspended upside down. Somehow their hats stayed on and irrationally it made you hate them more.
“Release him, and everyone else from your stupid mind control,” you ordered once more.
The rest of your friends had joined you by your sides, including a now-visible Simon who was still holding back Nathan, with aid of Kelly, to keep him from trying to throttle you.
“No,” she hissed.
“You know, we’ve figured out that when people die, it stops their power,” Alisha pointed out. You all whipped your heads around to stare, not expecting that suggestion to come from her of all people.
“I can handle that,” an unknown voice said.
“Who the fuck said that?” Curtis snapped, looking around.
Meanwhile you absently shook the pair around by their binding vines, determined to knock at least one hat off without actually touching it.
“Me,” the firedancer from earlier said, stepping forward. “They killed my sister at their last show, so I hunted them down here. I would have introduced myself earlier, but you didn’t really give me a chance.”
Maybe after we’re done here you can heat things up with him, you suggested internally to Kelly, noticing the way her eyes roamed over the stranger.
She rolled her eyes at you, smiling.
“I was just going to use my power to smother them, but if you want to have a go, be my guest,” you said, gesturing invitingly to them.
You watched a ball of flame flicker in his hand.
“Oh!” you cried out, surprised that he had a power too.
Simon looked nervous, probably about the number of powers gathered in one place.
“Hey, you should use that talent to cause a tragic accident over at the Playhouse,” you said, off-handedly, hoping he would pick up on the suggestion of using a fire to cover up a mass murder.
He flashed you a smirk. “I like the way you think. But first, them. If you care about those greens, you might want to withdraw.”
“Nah they’re...actually wait, I really wanna do something first.”
“This’s for threatening Nathan,” you growled. “And don’t think I don’t know what you meant.”
You narrowed your eyes, honing all your focus in on the Floozy. You whipped her up, high into the air and dropped her quickly down, jerking short just before she smacked into the ground. The stupid hat finally tumbled off her hair as she cried out in pain from the whiplash you had most definitely caused.
You grinned victoriously, and maybe a little manically if the looks the others gave you was any judge.
“Go ahead, I’m satisfied now.”
A few moments later, as the bodies burned, Nathan finally slumped, nearly knocking Simon to the ground as he became dead weight. Then he stirred.
“Where am I? What happened?” he asked, looking wildly around.
“Still at the carnival. You were mind controlled,” Simon explained, helping him right himself.
“It’s a long story,” Kelly added.
“Y/N! Are you alright?” he asked, hurrying over to you and cupping your cheeks between his graceful hands.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” you said. “How do you always end up the damsel in distress?”
He shrugged and flashed you a flirtatious smirk. “It’s because I’m so goddamn beautiful.”
“Hate to break up the party, but you should go so I can torch this place,” the firedancer said.
You all nodded, making your way to the entrance.
“Hey wait, where is everybody?” Nathan asked.
“I got them evacuated before we set our trap. The second time,” Curtis said, nonchalant.
“But not the people at the show?” you asked.
He shrugged. “I didn’t go back that far. You know how it is.”
Later, the six of you, plus one firedancer (Andrew he was apparently called) lounged against the rail, passing around a joint and watching the flames of the carnival lick at the night sky, reflecting beautifully in the lake. The fire department would be there soon, and until then, Andrew assured you, it wouldn’t spread past the farthest tents. All in all, it wasn’t a bad end to the night.
“Hey, Y/N, can I talk to ya?” Nathan asked, pulling you aside.
“Are you alright Nathan?” you asked, concerned that the mind control had some lingering effect.
“Hm? Yeah. I just...tonight was s’posed to be special and I fucked that up,” he started, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “But I wanted you to know anyway, I think I’m in love with you.”
“What?! Nathan, tonight has been a mess. You tried to kill me!” You cried incredulously.
“That wasn’t my fault! You said yourself I was mind controlled,” he whined guiltily, dropping his voice as the others looked over curiously. “And it’s still how I feel…”
You sighed. It was no fun giving him a hard time if it made him actually feel bad.
“I love you too, you idiot,” you said, threading your arms around his neck and idly toying with a curl.
He grinned a wide, dopey grin. “I knew it. I mean I am pretty irresistible.”
You rolled your eyes. Before you could say anything though, his lips were on yours and he had pressed you back against the brick wall. You moaned softly into the kiss as your tongues battled for dominance, and all your witty comebacks were forgotten.
“By the way,” you said when he finally pulled back, reluctantly, for air. “I told you so. Carnivals. are. always. evil.”
#Listening List: Something Wicked This Way Comes - Vernian Process. Circus Apocalyse - Vermillion Lies. Entry of the Gladiators.#I basically just had those three on loop#also Uncle Raven's Super Happy Funtime Carnival (album)#Nathan Young x reader#horror prompts#Halloween prompts#Misfits fic#I LOVE creepy carnivals so...#that's why I went so hard on this fic#and basically wrote a whole ass episode#also I had a lot of fun dropping references to various other medias and things
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see you again | lee chan
ミ★ synopsis: in which you fall asleep on the shoulder of a guy you hardly know but think is rather attractive .
ミ★ genre: fluff, first meetings, bus ride tings!
ミ★ warnings: none!
ミ★ word count: 1,141
ミ★ pairings: chan x gender neutral reader
ミ★ notes: hi guys! this is my first time writing a gender neutral reader oneshot, and I plan to make a lot more in the future because everyone deserves to be represented in fanfics. This is really short and sweet, I hope you like it!
“Yeah I know mom, I promise I’ll be safe! I have the pepper spray you gave me in my bag, I’ll be fine. It’s my first day on the job, I shouldn’t be late.” You say over the phone as you fill up your water bottle.
“Isn’t the bus scary though honey? Or is it not scary… I feel like it’s scary-”
“No the bus isn’t scary, I’ll keep my distance from scary people mom, don’t worry. Okay I have to go now the bus comes in like fifteen minutes! I love you, I’ll call you when I get home.” You hang up the phone after she says I love you too. You let out a sigh, putting your phone into your backpack.
“Time to run to the bus stop.” You say to yourself, sucking in a deep breath before running out your apartment door.
✿✿✿✿✿✿
Chan sees his breath in the chilly air, placing his hands into his jacket pockets as an attempt to keep his hands warm. He lets out a small sigh of relief once he notices the bus finally here at the stop. He steps into the bus, swiping his card and taking a seat at the last empty two-seater, feeling the warmth of the heaters.
“Thank God.” He mutters, taking his phone out to play a game. He hears the bus start to close its doors, but glances up to see someone running to catch the bus before it’s too late.
“Wait! Wait for me!” You yell, trying to catch up to the bus. Chan stares at you with wide eyes, immediately standing up to say, “Excuse me! There’s still someone trying to get on!”
The bus comes to a slow stop, and the doors open letting you in. You let out a thankful smile, swiping your new metro card and making your way towards the seats. You realize that the bus is rather full, except for a seat beside the cute guy who yelled for the bus to stop for you. You sit down beside him, giving him a small smile.
“Thank you.” You whisper to him and he gives you a bright smile. “Of course, I know how it feels to get left behind.” His eyes widen shortly after once he realizes how dark that sounded.
“Wait, I meant by the bus.” Chan immediately tries to correct, and you let out a giggle. You wave him off to signal that you understood, and he lets out a sigh of relief.
“I’m yn by the way.” You say, outstretching your hand for him to shake.
Oh god my hands are sweaty, why would they wanna shake my hand? Oh my god does that mean they think I’m cute too? Oh shit wait they’ve been holding their hand out for awhile-
Chan cuts off his own internal monologue by reaching out and shaking your hand, “I’m Chan, it’s nice to meet you yn.”
You smile, taking out your phone and facing forward now. You go onto Spotify to start playing some music. Chan is still staring at you, awed at how attractive you are. The morning sun is shining onto your face, literally making you glow.
“You’re very attractive.” Chan says out loud, only to immediately regret it a second after. Your eyes widen, a blush forming on your cheeks as you turn your head to look at him. There’s a blush forming on his cheeks too as you both stare at each other in silence.
“I-I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me-”
“Thank you Chan. You’re very attractive as well.” You tell him, giving him a nervous smile. His expression brightens and he glances back down at his phone to start playing his game again now that he doesn’t know what to say.
You also don’t know what to say because you’ve hardly flirted with anyone in your life. You put in an airpod and start playing your morning playlist, leaning your head back and closing your eyes. You feel a heaviness wash over you as the song progresses to Emerald by RINI, only for you to fall asleep.
After a few minutes of the bus ride, your head starts hitting the window beside you, then falling forward, only to fall backwards again as the bus takes a few turns. Chan notices the sudden movement, turning to look at you to find out that you’re asleep. He lets out a small giggle at how you haven’t woken up, only to let out a squeak when your head hits the window again.
Is it weird to have them sleep on my shoulder? We hardly know each other? We called each other cute though? Okay Chan they just hit their head on the window again it’s time to prevent a concussion from happening.
He reaches out and grasps your head softly, moving it so that you’re now laying on his shoulder. You let out a small sigh of content in your sleep, wrapping your arms around his arm and cuddling it. His eyes widen a bit, feeling his face turn warm at the fact that a pretty person is cuddling my arm.
Chan lets out a small smile, trying to get a good look at your sleeping face, but your hair, which kinda smells like strawberries???, is blocking his view. Okay yes he may have smelled your hair, but in his defense, your head is rather close to his nose!
You both stay like that for almost twenty minutes, until the bus comes to its first stop, which is your stop. You wake up at the sound of the doors opening, taking notice of how comfy the thing you’re laying on is. Only for you to realize that it’s… a shoulder. You jolt up, staring at Chan who is giving you a small smile.
“Good morning yn.”
“Oh my god! I’m so sorry-”
“Are you going to get off the bus or not?” You hear the bus driver yell, making you stop mid-apology and grab your bag, rushing out of the seat you shared with Chan.
“Wait, yn! Can I have your number?!” Chan asks, standing up from his seat right as you make it to the steps. You turn around to look at him, giving him a knowing smile.
“On the next bus ride, I’ll give you my number then Chan.” And with that, you’re off the bus. Chan lets out a small chuckle, watching you walk off towards the building you must work at.
He smiles down at his hands, raising an eyebrow when he sees an airpod on the floor. It has a small floral design painted on it, and he giggles once he realizes that it was yours. He picks it up, placing it into the small pocket of his jacket and zipping it up.
“I guess I will see you again yn.”
#seventeen fluff#seventeen crack#lee chan#lee chan fluff#lee chan scenarios#lee chan crack#dino crack#dino fluff#lee chan x reader#dino x reader#seventeens scenarios#seventeen dino#seventeen lee chan#seventeen x reader#seventeen scenarios
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Impulse x Grian x Ren
Part 1: Impulse x Grian x Ren
Part 2: Impulse x Grian x Ren
Part 3: Impulse x Grian x Ren
Part 4: Impulse x Grian x Ren
Part 5: Impulse x Grian x Ren
Part 6: Impulse x Grian x Ren
News about the new couple and how they got together spread quickly. Hermits would thank and congratulate Impulse on finally setting up the two. Somehow it didn’t feel as good as he thought it would.
Impulse had been feeling down recently. That was why he was sitting on top of Tek To The Skies at five AM. Ren and Grian had been the epitome of a happy couple since they got together, and it was starting to grate on his nerves. It felt like there was a pit in his stomach that he couldn’t get rid of.
Impulse had started avoiding the hippie camp when he could. He’d miss out on campfire sessions by showing up late or not at all. When he was at the hippie camp, he’d work on his redstone projects. Since Grian and Ren were so caught up with each other, progress had been slowing. They couldn’t afford to let Area 77 get ahead, or they may never catch up.
This had all been taking a toll on Impulse’s health, mental and physical. He never had the best sleep schedule, but he was perpetually tired now. Balancing all his projects was never easy, and he had to make sure they were perfect, as the tiniest mistake in redstone could render the whole thing inoperable. He was irritable from missing his friends and lack of sleep. Impulse had been spending more time with Tango and Zedaph recently.
Despite trying to avoid the hippie camp, Ren, and Grian as best he could, Impulse kept ending back up there. He tried to tell himself that he was just avoiding the suspicion that would come with not showing up, and that he needed to keep Area 77 on its toes, but really he just missed his hippie friends too much to stay away for too long.
Impulse heard the faint sounds of rockets, which grew louder. Tango landed nearby Tek to the Skies, and walked towards. He was probably going to restock it. Impulse debated saying hi. It didn’t matter what he decided, because Tango caught sight of him.
Tango got closer to the shop, glanced up, continued walking, then did an impressive double take. As it was, Impulse barely cracked a small smile. Tango backpedaled, then stared at him for a moment.
“If you’re waiting for a certain builder to get his supply of rockets, I’m afraid you’re a few days too early.” Tango called up.
“Nah,” Impulse said. “I’m just sitting up here.” Tango frowned. He flew up top and sat down next to Impulse. Tango kicked his legs slightly, before leaning back.
“What’s wrong?” Tango asked.
“Nothing’s wrong.” Impulse objected. Tango snorted.
“Which is why you’re sitting up here at five in the morning.” Tango said.
“You’re here at five in the morning.” Impulse said.
“I am restocking. You are just sitting here.” Tango said.
“Just. Feeling weird, that’s all.” Impulse admitted.
“Are you sick?” Tango asked, leaning away slightly.
“No. Feeling weird emotionally.” Impulse said.
“Okay. Let’s see if we can sort some of these feelings out.” Tango said. Impulse nodded hesitantly. “Okay. How about the whole Hippies versus Area 77 thing you guys have got going on?”
“I don’t think Doc and Scar should take other people’s property.” Impulse stated immediately. Tango raised an eyebrow. “It does make things kind of awkward when we run into each other.” Impulse admitted.
“I’ve noticed that you’re doing a lot of redstone projects. Well, a lot of redstone projects for the amount of other things you’re doing as well. Maybe you’re overstressed from that?” Tango suggested.
“I am stressed, yeah, but I’ve been stressed before, and this? This isn’t it.” Impulse said.
“What about Ren and Grian getting together?” Tango asked. He was determined to get to the bottom of Impulse’s troubles!
“They make me feel kind of sad, but happy? Bittersweet, maybe.” Impulse sighed. “Just. Weird.”
“Sounds a lot like someone’s jealous~” Tango snickered.
“I mean yeah, kinda. I’m worried that… that they won’t have time for me anymore, now that they’re dating.” Impulse said slowly.
Tango sat forward. “Don’t think like that. They may be in the honeymoon phase of their relationship, but they’ll still have time for you. Even if they get a bit caught up in each other. You might have to third wheel for a bit, but it’ll be fine.” He reassured Impulse.
“I just- We have to redefine the boundaries in our friendship now. Whether we’re friends first and lovers second or not. Will they need time to be together without me? I don’t want to intrude, or mess things up and lose them.” Impulse was distressed, and spilled his troubles to Tango like water from an upturned pitcher.
“Hey, what’s the matter? You didn’t act like that when Zed and I got together… Did you? Did you just hide it from us?” Tango was disturbed and worried that Impulse had been hurting and he -they- didn’t notice.
“No, I didn’t. I guess I was more… assured? Does that make sense? I knew that you guys wouldn’t exclude me, you just had something else with each other that wasn’t friendship. Unless you guys had the mother of all blowouts or something then we’d all be friends, even if you two broke up. I haven’t known Grian and Ren for as long, so I’m worried their relationship might break our friendship. Or that I might, with all my weird feelings about them.” Impulse confessed, worried.
“Okay. Let’s start with the weird feelings part. Do they make you nervous?” People were usually nervous around crushes, Tango told himself, and, well, Impulse did seem to be crushing a bit.
“No. Not usually. Sometimes one or both of them will do something that makes me flustered, like Ren grabbing my hand, or Grian’s smile, but they don’t often make me nervous. It feels nice to be around them.” Impulse said, smiling the whole time.
He is head over heels. Tango mused. The strength of Impulse’s feelings surprised him, even though he thought there would be something there.
“It’s probably because they’re hot.” Impulse mentioned offhandedly.
That blunt comment threw Tango for a loop. For a second all he could do was stare at Impulse, dumbfounded. It also, unfortunately, caused his internal monologue to briefly become his outer monologue.
“What!?” Tango squeaked. Impulse had outright admitted that he found them hot. Was he seriously that oblivious?
Impulse gave him an odd look.
“I’m comfortable enough in my own sexuality to say that they’re hot. I’m bi, not blind. That’s probably why I get nervous around them sometimes.” Impulse said.
“Well, how do you feel about them, then?” Tango asked another question, just to confirm.
“I just feel comfortable with them. Like I could be open and vulnerable, and they’d protect me. It feels like we fit together so well, like three parts of the same whole. Like I’ve known them for a long time.” Impulse admitted. His lips unconsciously formed a grin.
“Well, Impulse, that sounds a lot like a crush.” Tango said. Hopefully Impulse will be receptive to the idea, if I say it bluntly enough.
“I don’t know, I want to hold their hands, and cuddle, and listen to them talk. About their day, the things that interest them, their ridiculous flirting I would love to take part in-” His eyes widened.
“I do have a crush on them. Ugh.” He buried his face in his hands. “Why. This is awful.”
“It can’t be that bad, Impulse.” Tango said concernedly.
“I set my two crushes up together. My two crushes are dating. I am going to be so awkward around them that they’ll eventually decide I’m too weird and gradually stop talking to me and the Hippie Camp will fall apart and I’ll never see them again-” Impulse had started spiraling at this point.
“Hey. Calm down. You know they wouldn’t do that to you.” Tango placed a hand on Impulse’s back. “Breathe.”
Impulse sucked in a heavy breath. “You’re right,” He muttered. “I need to have faith in them.” Tango pulls Impulse into a hug, holding him close, and Impulse finally breaks down. Later he’d have to face what he’d done and figure out what to do next, but for now he was content just to cry in Tango’s arms.
#grian x impulse x ren#impulse x grian x ren#hermitship#impulseSV#grian#rendog#Ren#renthedog#impulse#my fanfiction#fanfiction#sorry i fell off the face of the earth after i finished my final project for writing class#i'd say 'it won't happen again' but lets be real it totally will
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In the Warmth of Your Smile
Pairing: Byeler/Byler
Words: 2441
Summary: Will’s had a pretty bad night. Scratch that, pretty bad year. Mike can’t rewind time, but he can be here.
Warning: None, they’re kids and they have their first kiss though? (Well, Mike’s second, sorry.)
Author’s Note: Thanks for reading this! I just have a lot of thoughts about that Halloween night. Can you believe I didn’t mention “Crazy together” once? I hope the feeling is invoked, though. You can also find this and all my other Byeler fics on my AO3 here!
They’re sitting shoulder to shoulder with legs pressed in close in Mike’s basement. It must be getting pretty late now. The fear’s still sitting in Will’s stomach like a lump, but it’s settled now thanks to Mike and his comforting words. His reassurances are still floating about in Will’s head when Mike says something and he has to turn to him to try to catch it.
“Huh?”
Mike scoffs lightly at his friend. “I said you really should have told me about that girl-”
“Max.”
“Yeah, whatever. you should have told me she was coming with us tonight, that you were inviting her.”
“You’re still upset over that? Come on, Mike.”
“What? Because of her-” he cuts himself off and lowers his voice again. “If I wasn’t so focused on all that, I would’ve been with you the whole time.” his chin is jutting out and Will’s worried he might cry, but instead he just curls his fists up, pulling on the pants of his Ghostbusters suit.
“Hey, it’s nobody’s fault. And don’t blame Max. ‘Sides you never asked about your friend, El being in the party. Just decided." he says it matter of factually as he swipes a bite-size snickers from the table and unwraps it. He tries to avoid conversations about her usually, especially if Mike’s the one talking about her, but he can’t help the comment that rolls off his tongue.
“What?” Mike has all of a second to feel offended before he looks at Will’s face. That’s right, now isn’t about him and besides, Will’s right anyway. He always seems to be right. He wishes he knew what Will was thinking though.
“Nothing. I just d- Look, it doesn’t matter anyway, okay?” Will sticks the whole snickers in his mouth and bites down. Hard. It gives him something else to focus on, other than the thoughts running through his mind.
“Sheesh, you won’t even have a conversation with me? Fine! I don’t get what the problem is anyway? It’s not like she’s done anything to you! She even helped save you!” During Mikes little tirade, Will finishes his mini up, but was now looking to the ground, visibly shaking.
He turns towards his friend within the second Mike was done talking and lets loose on him. “Jeez, I just don’t like her, okay?! Not everybody has to like everybody and I don’t! You don’t like Max? Well I don’t like this El you-you keep talking about! God, you can’t just shut up about her! I- I mean I get it, you care but guess what? I’m right here, Mike!” There are tears in Will’s sullen eyes now, but he keeps going, voice softer this time. “I came back. She left. You’re always here for me, but it’s like you’re not at the same time and I hate it.” The words are practically growled as they make their way out of Will’s angry throat.
Mike looks at Will, his best friend since they were five, as if he’s been stricken. It hurts, to hear all the thoughts and feelings that have been built up inside his small friend this whole time he’s been back home. He thought it’d been him and Will against the rest of the world, but it turns out he’d been part of what was hurting him most.
He blinks and feels something running down his cheeks. Huh? How long has he been crying? “I-I’m sorry. Will, I-” He looks down at his lap, then back up at the boy in front of him. Tears escape his eyes too and Mike wants to hold his hand or hug him, to comfort and be comforted, but he’s afraid he’s lost those privileges now, so he settles for just looking at his sad face, sure that he’s never felt so crushed in his life, excluding the time he saw “Will’s” body being pulled from the quarry.
“Will, I didn’t know you felt like that. I thought we told each other everything.” Will’s sharp look makes Mike flinch and inhale a breath.
“Yeah, so did I. But I guess not anymore.” When Mike looks at him questioningly, Will sighs. “You and El sure got pretty close while I was- gone.”
Mike is stunned for a second. He racks his brain and then it clicks. No, no way. “Will, it’s not like that! I- We weren't -!” He clumsily scrambles closer to Will on the couch and clutches both of his hands in his own. “I promise it wasn’t like that. Not for me, definitely! You know I-” The words don’t quite make it out of his lips, but the answering blush to both of their faces is enough tell them both the truth.
“But, then why did you act so uh, you know?” Will looks to the side.
Mike bumps his shoulder, still holding his hands and makes sure to look into his eyes as he says the next words.
“I lost a friend. I guess I started to care about her.” At Will’s hurt expression, Mike quickly corrects his phrasing. “As a friend though, a friend only! Besides, she doesn’t even know basic stuff. I think it would be, like, taking advantage of her.” Mike makes a face. He remembers Nancy overhearing Nancy talk on the phone to Barb about that. His dad was never gonna tell him, so he’s lucky to have learned it somewhere when he did. He still feels guilty for that kiss, knowing what he knows.
“Mike?” Said boy looks at Will and his heart almost stops. There are dried tears on his face and a question in his eyes still.
“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere but here, anyway.” He says softly, pulling Will closer and wrapping his arms around him tentatively. Will seems to accept this, so Mike leans his head on Will’s shoulder and then, with the silence of the house around them, he just breathes him in.
Will sits there, still and breathing shallowly. He’s too nervous to do anything, not wanting to make a mistake and have Mike move away.
It’s maybe thirty seconds before Mike chuckles and burrows closer to Will, gently stroking his back with a single finger. “I’m not made of glass, you know?”
Will seems to calm when he hears that and relaxes instantly. “S-sorry. Nervous.”
“Me too.” If Will could see the expression on Mike’s face as he say those words, he’d see the hopelessly lovesick look he wears.
Will, wearing his own lovelorn look, places his head atop of Mikes and his arms come around Mike in a hug-like fashion, then stay there.
It’s quiet inside Mike’s home. The only sound the boys can hear are their breathing and the muffled television upstairs. Will can feel Mike’s heartbeat against his side and he wonders if Mike can feel his. It’s a nice thought and it makes his heart feel all fluttery inside. There’s so much he’s yet to tell Mike, that he must know now but Will wants him to hear it too. He wants to-
“Can I kiss you?”
“I- Wha-?” Mike’s head shoots up and he stares wide and owlishly at Will.
“Um, a kiss?” Will’s losing his nerve, but he looks into Mike’s eyes and Mike doesn’t look disgusted. He looks amazed, like he’s surprised that Will would actually want to kiss him of all people.
“Y-yeah!” Mike catches himself and then says, calmer, “I mean, sure, okay.” But his eyes are still eager and Will can’t help but grin, even as his cheeks turn a dewy pink. It’s okay, Mike’s are the same color.
“I’ve never done this before.” Will confesses. It’s kind of daunting.
“I’ve never done this with someone that matters.” Mike whispers back as his face comes closer to Will’s own.
It makes Will’s heart hammer even faster. He feels almost like a grown adult and at the same time like he’s five years old again, meeting his best friend for the first time on those swings. His eyes are cracked open just the slightest bit ‘cause he figures you gotta be able to see which direction you’re going in, right? He thinks Mike probably looks beautiful this close up because he looks beautiful all the time, but he can’t see to well with his eyes squinted half open and half shut so he’ll half to check another time. Another time, wow.
His internal monologue seems to die as Mike’s lips graze his own, his eyes slipping shut fully and of their own accord. After five seconds it’s over but then Mike’s coming back in again. And again. And again. He doesn’t really know what he’s doing and Mike doesn’t seem to either, so he just tries to emulate what he’s seen in movies and from TV. It seems to be working, Mike and him pressing their lips together and rubbing them around slightly. It feels nice, at least. He’s grabbed onto the back of Mike’s suit sometime during their kissing and Mike’s bunched up the front of his in his hands.
They’re still softly kissing when the door to the basement opens and the clicking of heels starts down the steps.
“Shit.” Mike curses. They jump away from each other as quickly as they can, almost as if just burned.
“Boys!” Mrs. Wheeler rounds the corner and peeks her head down. She looks at them suspiciously for a few seconds then shakes her head fondly. “Boys, sort out your candy now! Will, your brother’s here to pick you up, sweetie.” She smiles, turning and heading back up the stairs.
“Yes ma’am!”
“Okay, mom!”
Mike looked put out as Will and he starts sorting through the candy and chocolate.
“Eugh, raisins.” Mike’s face scrunches up and he’s about to throw them in the trash can, but Will stops him.
“Wait, I’ll take them.”
“But you don’t like raisins either.”
“No, mom does.”
Mike’s eyebrows go up at that. “Dude, I’m seriously questioning your mom right now.”
Will just shrugs and smiles. “She eats them on her oatmeal.”
“Wow.”
When nothing else is said Will looked at Mike questioningly, still going through the candy pile. “Huh? What’s wrong?”
“It’s true.”
More silence.
“Mike, come on. What’s true?”
“You really are too good! How is this possible? That I could meet someone like you and you would think I’m worth anything is beyond me.” Mike’s tone is joking, but Will leans over and pecks his cheek anyway.
“Don’t you know how important you are, Mike? To the party? To me?” He leans in and just when Mike thinks for sure, they’re going to kiss again he smiles and pushes him back.
“Here.” In Will’s hand is a Baby Ruth. Mike looked at him questioningly.
“I dont-?” He wasn’t sure what was up.
“Kiss.” Oh. Oh, okay. Well, if it was an exchange Will wanted than he’d be happy to oblige.
“O-okay, yeah!” Wow, calm down, Mike.
Will just laughs slightly in return. Then, they’re coming closer and closer, but the sudden sound of footsteps on the wooden steps stop them in their tracks. They didn’t even hear the door open this time. Was it never shut? They can’t remember. Mike and Will back up until they’re at a safe distance from each other, then Will picks up his candy-filled bag.
Perfect timing, as Jonathan rounds the corner just then. His eyes are tired but his lips curve into a smile when he sees Will. He waves and nods his head at Mike too.
“Hey guys, you hit a lot of houses?”
They look at each other and remember the events that had taken place earlier. “Uh, it was pretty good. We decided to come back early though and just watch some Halloween movies.” Mike covers for Will.
“Oh, yeah? Not too scary?” Jonathan’s concern is palpable an honestly, Mike gets it.
“Uh, n-no. Funny ones mostly.” He’s blanking, shit, he’s blanking.
“Um, E.T and So-something Wicked This Way Comes?”
“Right. You guys okay? You’re kinda jumpy.”
Oh no. It’s all over. He knows and he’s gonna tell they’re mom, then Mrs. Wheeler’s gonna find out, oh God, Ted-
“Did you guys actually watch a scary movie? ‘Cause I won’t be mad. Will, I know you love them, an-”
Will sighs and looks over at Mike, who gives him a smile and a quick wink.
“Okay, yeah. We watched Cujo. It was really scary and ya know, we’ll probably both have nightmares now.” He looks back to Mike, who nods along.
“Okaaayy.” Jonathan draws the word out, still not sounding convinced, but whatever secrets they’re holding, it doesn’t seem they’re ready to give it up quite yet.
Will turns back to Mike and walks over to him. “Here.” He looks down and in Will’s hand is the Baby Ruth from earlier.
“But-” He looks at Jonathan standing on the foot of the steps and then back at Will. “Our deal.” He maybe puts too much emphasis on the words, but that’s neither here nor there.
Will grins. “It’s okay. You’ll make it up to me, won’t you Wheeler?”
It nearly short circuits Mike’s brain, but he manages to hug back when Will goes in for a hug.
“I’ll call you later on the walkie.” He promises.
“‘Kay.” Then Will’s out of Mike’s arm’s and moving up the stairs, shouting a ‘see ya’ behind him.
“Bye!” Mike yells back, then he plants himself on the couch with a doofy grin on his face.
~
"Hey, buddy?" Jonathan looks puzzled as he and Will make their way out to the car, having already said by to Mike's mom.
"Yeah?"
"You guys drink some Kool-aid or something? Have some kind of red candy?"
Jonathan can swear he sees Will's soul leave his body the moment he say it, the sheer terror on his face is enough to read and he feels like a fool. It doesn't take a genius to round up all the clues and know what they mean.
"Yeah! We had.. Skittles! It was skittles!" Will hurries through an answer and though it's hardly believable, Jonathan lets it go.
"Well, congrats." He ruffles Will's hair and the boy looks unsure.
"For what? Eating skittles?" He's incredulous.
"Uh, yeah. I haven't had any, but I hear they're pretty good." He says as they buckle their seat-belts and Jonathan starts the car.
That changes Will's mood instantly and he smiles. "Oh, I still have tons! You can have some of mine!"
"Oh. Thanks, bud."
Jonathan turns up the music on the radio, a song about someone who's in love, their heart is breaking, and for the first time Will can't relate to it.
#byeler#byler#stranger things#byeler fic#st fic#fics#my fics#my stuff#byler fic#i hope this is good and y'all like it!#i had to rewrite the second half#because i lost the last part#my tumblr refreshed without saving#it was a rookie mistake lol
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Coffee For Dean
Dean shivered as he quickened his pace. He just wanted to get to his destination before he froze into an icicle. He huffed a breath, watching it puff out in front on him. Stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket, he hoped the coffee shop wouldn’t be too crowded when he arrived.
He really needed to finish his paper for Mr. Singer’s Introduction to Mechanics class before Friday, or he knew he’d be screwed. Bobby being a family friend would absolutely not be reason enough to ask for an extension. In fact, he was sure Bobby would probably rip him a new one for slacking off if his paper wasn’t up to his expectations.
He knew it was his fault for waiting until the last minute. Now it was Wednesday, and he’d be lucky if he could finish the paper on time after pulling a couple of all-nighters. Which was why he was a headed to the coffee shop he frequented. For a strong cup of coffee and a hopefully quiet place to do his work.
He couldn’t wait for winter break to begin, so he could finally go home. He missed his parents and brother, and he was extremely homesick. A phone call everyday did nothing to help him get over the homesickness. It had been months since he’d last seen his family, because he hadn’t been able to make it home for thanksgiving.
Which reminded him that he still had to go shopping for Christmas presents for them. Not that he could get them something really fancy, because he was just a broke college student. But he knew that they would appreciate whatever he gave them, because they were awesome like that. And hey, it’s the thought that counts.
It also reminded him that this was yet another Christmas for which he wasn’t going to be bringing anyone home, no matter how many times his mom asked him to.
“If I had someone to bring I would, mom” he’d grumble into the phone every time she brought it up.
Dean let out a sigh of relief when he opened the door to the shop, and stepped into a blessedly warm room. Looking around, he found that the place wasn’t too crowded. It being just after rush hour, the place wasn’t deserted, but it wasn’t uncomfortably crowded like he’d feared. There were a few empty tables, for which he was thankful.
He stood behind the two people in line, and yawned. He was really tired after sleeping at four last night, and really needed his coffee. His turn came soon enough, and he was facing a tired looking barista.
“Good morning sir, what can I get you?” she asked.
“A coffee, black, with two shots of espresso please”
“I’m sorry sir, the espresso machine is down, so your coffee might take a while” the barista said.
Great, Dean groaned internally. He knew it wasn’t the poor barista’s fault. “That’s fine” he sighed.
“Can I get your name?” she asked.
“Dean” he answered.
She nodded, and he handed her the money, and was given the receipt.
He made his way to one of the empty tables, and took out his laptop. “Let’s get this over with” he muttered to himself.
Dean was so engrossed in his work that he almost didn’t hear his name being called out.
“…… for Dean” a voice yelled, shaking Dean out of his reverie. “Finally” he said, as he walked towards the counter.
Just as he reached out to grab the coffee placed on the counter, another hand beat him to it. What the fuck? He was tired as hell, running on four hours of sleep, and now he had to deal with some coffee stealing asshole?
“Excuse me, what the fu…” he started, voice trailing off as he turned around to look at the guy standing in front of him, holding his coffee. Which, he now realized wasn’t exactly his coffee, unless he’d accidentally ordered a drink with so much whipped cream and sprinkles, that his teeth hurt just looking at it.
The guy holding the drink tilted his head and squinted his eyes at Dean. Eyes, which he now noticed were an incredible shade of blue. Attached to an incredibly handsome face. The guy was wearing a worn out tan trench coat, over a purple sweater with a picture of a cartoon bee on it, and tight blue jeans that showed off his incredible legs. His incredibly pink lips, were twisted in confusion. Damn, this guy looked really incredible.
“Can I help you?” his gravelly voice rumbled out, which was when Dean realized that he had been staring at the guy for way longer than was appropriate.
“Oh…um…I” Dean stumbled through his words, trying to come up with a reasonable explanation for which he almost cussed the innocent guy out for grabbing his order.
“Coffee for Dean” a voice yelled out again, placing a cup of normal looking coffee on the counter, which Dean realized was actually his order. He turned around, grabbing the cup, giving the barista a sheepish smile.
When he turned back to face the guy, he was looking at Dean with a look of understanding. “I think I understand what happened here” the man said, looking at the cup of coffee in Dean’s hand, with his name written out in large, bold letters, and then at his own drink, with the same name scrawled out on it.
“Yeah” Dean mumbled, his free hand coming up to rub the back of his neck in a nervous gesture “Sorry about that man, I didn’t mean to…”
He was cut off by the sound of someone clearing their throat behind them. Turning around, he was met with a little old lady glaring at them, which was when he realized that they were blocking other people from getting to the counter.
“Sorry” he mumbled, and without thinking, he grabbed the guy’s wrist with his free hand, and pulled him away from the counter, to a spot where they wouldn’t bother anyone.
“Sorry about that” Dean turned to the guy, to see him looking down at where Dean was still clutching the guy’s wrist. Dean immediately let go of it, his face burning up in a blush. The guy was no better, his cheeks coloured a deep shade of pink, which Dean found adorable.
“It’s okay” the man replied, finally looking up to meet Dean’s eyes.
“I just…umm…” Damnit, why couldn’t Dean get his words out? Maybe because those big blue eyes were just too damn distracting, he thought.
“I understand” the man repeated, staring into Dean’s eyes.
“Yeah” Dean chuckled “Didn’t realize that there were so many dudes with the same name”
Would it be weird to date someone with the same name as me? When I introduce him to my parents do I just go ‘Oh yeah, here’s Dean’. Or when I introduce him to anyone really. And when we get married, we’ll both be Dean Winchester. That’s weird right?
Woah woah wait…marriage? I don’t even know the dude’s last name yet, or even if he’s into other dudes for that matter. Chill Winchester.
“Oh no, my name is not Dean” the man said, interrupting Dean’s inner monologue.
Dean raised a confused eyebrow at him, glancing down at the cup the man was holding, where DEAN was clearly spelled out in black sharpie.
“My name is quite…different, and I find that many people struggle to spell and pronounce it, so I usually just give out a plain and simple name when the time comes to order things to avoid any confusion” he explained.
Immediately, his face burned up in another adorable blush “N...not to say that there is anything wrong with the name Dean, because it’s quite the opposite really. It’s a great name. In fact, I think Dean is very pretty”
At Dean’s smirk, the guy stammered again “T…the name I mean”.
His face was so red that Dean was afraid the man was moments away from passing out.
“I’ll take that as a compliment” Dean chuckled. “Since you already know my name, may I ask what yours is?”
“Castiel” the man replied.
Dean’s eyebrows rose up to his hairline. Damn, he was not expecting that.
“Yes, I know” the man, Castiel, sighed, almost defeated.
“Oh no, don’t get me wrong” Dean rushed to reassure him “I think Castiel is a beautiful name”
At the man’s shy smile, Dean felt a bit more emboldened. “Just like the owner of the name”. He was glad to see that his words had the desired effect, as Castiel’s small smile grew into a larger one.
“Don’t take this the wrong way” Dean began, after a while of simply smiling at each other “but maybe you could go by Cas?”
“Hmm” Cas looked at him, like he was considering it. “No one has called me that” he said “until now”
Now it was Dean’s turn to tilt his head at the other man. “You’ve never had a nickname?”
Cas shook his head. “My family isn’t really the type to give each other nicknames, and the one brother I’m close to comes up with the most annoying things to call me”
Dean laughed at that, thinking about how he loves to annoy Sam, by calling him anything he could think of, especially Sammy, because Sammy would direct his bitch face at him and remind him that ‘It’s Sam, actually’.
“Older brother I assume” Dean smiled, and Cas nodded his head.
“This sugary monstrosity is for him actually” Cas answered “I would never drink something that could give you cavities with one sip, but Gabriel seems to love it”
“Gabriel huh? All you guys have biblical names?”
“We do, as a matter of fact. Michael, Lucian, Raphael, Gabriel, and me”
Dean gave a low whistle at that. “Lot of angels under one roof huh?” he winked.
“Oh we’re far from being angels” Cas replied. “Me more so than the rest, since I’ve ‘shattered my parents dreams of seeing me become a successful lawyer, by pursuing a degree in entomology, which is completely useless as I’ll see in a few years’ ”
Dean smiled at the air quotes. This guy really had no right being as cute as he was.
“Entomology? That’s cool” Dean said.
“It may not be as glamourous as law, but at least I’ll be doing something I love. Do you know how important bees are to the ecosystem, Dean?”
“Very important I’d say” Dean replied, smiling at the excited twinkle in Cas’ eye.
“I’m sorry for boring you with all these unnecessary details. I’m sure you have important work to get back to” Cas sighed.
“Oh no, you’re definitely not boring me” Dean was quick to assure him. “In fact, would you like to maybe continue this conversation on Friday, say at seven, at the Roadhouse?” Dean asked, hope shining in his eyes.
“I hear they have good burgers” Cas smiled at him.
“The best”
“Count me in”
Dean smiled so wide that he was afraid he’d split his face in two. He pulled his phone out of his pocket so that he could save Cas’ number.
“I’ll text you” he said.
“I’m looking forward to getting your messages” Cas smiled. “But I should probably leave now. Gabriel must be wondering what happened to his drink”
“Yeah, sure. See you on Friday?”
“Definitely” Cas smiled, before waving him goodbye, and heading towards the door.
Tucking his phone back into his pocket, Dean walked back to his table with a smile on his face. Sitting down, he took a sip of his coffee, only to pull the cup away, grimacing. Damnit, the coffee had gone cold.
He stood up again, walking towards the counter, in hopes that the barista would be kind enough to reheat his coffee.
But honestly, the only thing he could really think about was Cas. He couldn’t wait for Friday evening, so he could see Castiel again.
Maybe he would be bringing someone home for Christmas after all.
#supernatural#castiel#dean winchester#coffee shop au#meet cute#destiel#deancas#casdean#destiel fic#destiel fanfic#deancas fanfic#dean x castiel#spn#ficlet
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Would you post the playlist?
Sure! I’ll put it under a read more since it’s kind of long :3c
Also they’re meant to be listened to in order and I have summaries of why I picked each one! If you’re one of the players in the campaign then please don’t read!
vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv
Young & Tragic by Dead Man’s Bones
This track sets the tone for Vesper’s tragic journey. From a young age she wanted to practice magic and discover arcane lore, but her angelic guide, her family, and her religious community (Haven) all steered her away from those pursuits. To them, her lot in life was to provide assistance to anyone and everyone in small towns out of pure kindness. It was an important responsibility...and one that she blatantly ignored in order to study or listen to stories at an inn.
Blue Lips by Regina Spektor
“Blue Lips” is all about discovering faith but finding it unappealing. To Vesper, her religious community in Haven only do what the gods ask of them but never truly think for themselves. She doesn’t believe in a life that’s only meant to serve, even if it's for the greater good.
I See You by MISSIO
At this point her community has all but shunned her for her negligence and now all she has left is her angelic guide, Valandras. This track is told from Valandras’ point of view and shows how compassionate and hopeful they are towards Vesper.
If I Had A Heart by Fever Ray
Vesper addresses Valandras and tells them that her pursuit of magic and knowledge will not end because it is what she finds important and what she lives for. Even if it causes pain to Valandras and everyone around her. Vesper now starts to believe that she’s heartless but it’s fine because it's her decision and not based on the “guidance” of Valandras or anyone else.
Suffering by marc indigo
This track represents the final argument between Vesper and Valandras, and is told as a back and forth dialogue, but really it's an internal struggle with the part of her that’s good and the part that’s not.
Lose Your Soul by Dead Man’s Bones
This song is from a narrator’s perspective and precedes Vesper’s journey to an ancient, abandoned library where her first rare artifact - and an elder evil - awaits her. Her determination drives her towards her goals. The song ends just as she discovers the library and finds a long-forgotten tome of eldritch knowledge...
Who Are You, Really? By Mikky Ekko
The first encounter with her soon-to-be patron, an ancient Beholder from somewhere beyond the Far Rim known only as The Watcher. This mysterious entity promises arcane knowledge and everything that Vesper desires. She hesitates, questioning “Who are you, really?” but ultimately relents, deciding that she has nothing left to lose and will “bear [her] teeth” for them.
I Lost a Friend by FINNEAS
Time has passed. Vesper went insane and blind as a result of her pact, and in a stunning moment of clarity, finally confronts the grief she has buried about losing Valandras. Somehow she managed to make her way back to Haven, and is under the care of healers and acolytes. However, they sense the evil within her and know that Valandras has abandoned her...
Heretic Pride by The Mountain Goats
Vesper has been branded a heretic and her death has been ordered by the heavens for consorting with an elder evil. She takes pride knowing that her death will be one that was a result of following her dreams. But the Watcher has other plans for her, and imbues her with magical abilities. She uses them to save herself and now blindly wanders the forests…
Used to the Darkness by Des Rocs
Stumbling quite literally in the dark as a result of her blindness, Vesper is scared and nervous as she travels as far away from Haven as possible. Upon reflection of everything that’s led her here, however, her determination renews and she comes to the realization that she’s already used to the darkness — both in and around her.
“I'm too damn young to give up on the night
I'm used to the darkness, I'm used to the darkness
I'm just a man, I'm only flesh and bone
I can't blame it back on everything I've done
And now there's no-one else left to love
I'm used to the darkness, I'm used to the darkness”
Eyes As Candles by Passion Pit
As Vesper wanders the forest she recounts the many times she has asked the gods for help and was ignored. Her memory of the events prior to her blindness comes back and she considers the pact she made. Hesitantly, she calls out to her patron and asks for help, to which she receives a reply and is told that she will be “lead through the dark, with [their] eyes as [her] candles.” She is devastated by the cruel twist of irony: that she now serves a higher power again.
Eyes On Fire by Blue Foundation
This song represents Vesper’sinternal monologue in which she secretly vows to break the hold her patron has on her by playing the long game:
“I'm taking it slow
Feeding my flame
Shuffling the cards of your game
And just in time
In the right place
Suddenly I will play my ace”
But for right now she will use the powers she has been given to “fell any foe with [her] gaze.”
You’re Gonna Go Far, Kid by The Offspring
We fast forward a bit as Vesper is growing in power. This song is from the point of view of her patron, who is thrilled with how deceitful and cunning Vesper is becoming. Of course the “Dance, fucker, dance” is a reminder that she’s the puppet in this relationship. At the end of this song, the fire in her eyes from the previous has evolved to lightning, showing she is achieving her potential.
bad guy by Billie Eilish
Vesper now fully considers herself the “bad guy.” The power she has gained is casting doubt on her initial plan to take down her patron. The power and potential gain is too much for her to destroy...
Two Evils by Bastille
An internal struggle. Vesper is struggling with all the harm she is causing and reminds herself that she is the “lesser of two evils.” She remembers that this is a long game with her and her patron and that only one can win, and by being nice on occasion she can reassert some control because such acts are at odds with her evil patron.
Liability by Lorde
In this final song, Vesper has come to terms with the idea that she has to be self-reliant, because anyone who gets too close is bound to get hurt in the “game” between her and her patron. She’s convinced herself that she can only trust herself because her ever-watchful patron may be using others to spy on her. Sadly, she believes that her very existence is a liability to everyone around her...
Bonus Track:
Every Breath You Take by The Police
Pretty self-explanatory :P
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quiet, please.
prompt: the library's pretty empty save for you and me and OH! that couple making out loudly in the shelves somewhere
Lucas ran his fingers through his hair as he tried for the nth time that day to understand the material in front of him. Finals were looming, and by looming he meant in a couple of days, and he really needed to concentrate.
If only the couple making out in the shelves near him can take a fucking breather and maybe try harder to muffle their moans so they can stop distracting him.
He took a deep breath and tried to read the same paragraph he’d been trying to understand for half an hour already.
“Oh baby…”
‘Fuck this,’ he thought exasperatedly, shutting his book closed with a firm snap. He stood up, hoisted his backpack over his shoulder and looked around the library to find a spot where he can move to without moans and wet kisses as his background noise. Thank God the library was empty, save for Lucas, the couple getting it on in the stacks and simultaneously getting on his nerves and one other guy on the other side of the room, near the windows. He looked familiar but Lucas couldn’t be bothered to try and figure out who it was.
He walked over to his chosen spot and dropped his things unceremoniously on the desk. He winced slightly as the noise of his book’s spine hitting the wooden table echoed through the library. Lucas furtively looked at the other guy, ready to apologize but found him still hunched over, lost in his own little world. 'Good for him,' he thought with a little bit of bitterness.
He shrugged and proceeded to open his Biology book, ready to continue where he left off. After a few minutes, Lucas was finally engrossed on what he's reading and thank fuck, he's finally starting to understand what Imane was trying to explain to him earlier during class, when he heard it again.
“I've missed you so much, baby.”
“Are you kidding me,” Lucas muttered under his breath. “Get a room, for crying out loud. Really? In the library? Of all places? While I’m trying to study? I could be out with Yann and the boys, partying, but noooo, the one time I actually chose to be responsible, the universe just. Wouldn’t. Let. Me. Why universe, whyyyy?” Lucas continued his rant, each word punctuatedd by a thump of his head against the desk.
“Hey, are you okay?”
'No, I am not. I am stressed as fuck but nobody cares, certainly not the two lovebirds who clearly missed each other a little too much and couldn’t be bothered to get a fucking room. So, no, I am not okay –' Lucas continued his internal monologue when he made the mistake of looking up and saw who was talking to him, which caused him to inadvertently repeat what he uttered out earlier, “Are you kidding me.”
“Excuse me?”
“Sorry. No. Yeah. I’m fine,” Lucas said, once he finally got his bearings. He coughed slightly, to cover up his embarrassment of being caught talking to himself. Yup. That’s why his ears are turning bright pink. Certainly not because Eliott fucking Demaury was talking to him. Nope.
‘Stay cool, Lucas. Stay cool,’ he coached himself as he struggled to remain composed under his crush’s curious scrutiny.
“So, you come here often?” He internally cringed the moment the words were out of his mouth. “I meant, what are you doing here?” Lucas cleared his throat, trying his very best to regain some semblance of control over his brain and his mouth.
“Same as you,” Eliott answered, tilting his head towards Lucas’ stack of text books on the desk. “Cramming for finals.”
“I am not cramming,” Lucas replied defensively. “There’s just a lot of material that I need to review by Friday so I am studying with determination, not cramming, thank you very much.”
“That is the definition of cramming, Lucas,” Eliott said, his eyes dancing in amusement as he smiled at the other boy. Whatever information Lucas had absorbed earlier flew right out the window at the sight of Eliott’s smile and the sound of his name on Eliott’s lips.
“Uhm,” Lucas responded helpfully. His brain still hadn’t computed how he got into this situation. One minute he was ranting at the universe and the next minute, said universe threw him a curveball in the form of the boy he’s been crushing on since orientation day of his freshman year. They've met at numerous parties before and Lucas would like to think they're acquaintances but it would be too presumptuous of him to say they're actually friends. He wished they were, actually being more than friends would be ideal in Lucas' opinion, but not once did he gather up the courage to actually ask Eliott out.
“Are you sure you’re okay? I was just about to leave but then I saw you… doing whatever it was you were doing.”
“Yes, I’m fine. Like I said, I was studying or at least, trying to but I keep getting distracted by-”
A loud groan echoed through the library followed by the sound of two people kissing. Enthusiastically.
Eliott's eyes widened in surprise, his eyebrows rose a notch as he heard the unmistakable sounds that scream 'hot and heavy make out session' coming from behind the shelves.
"-that," Lucas finished, hanging his head in defeat. Under other circumstances, he would’ve laughed out loud at Eliott’s scandalized expression but he was so done. At this rate, he'd just have to make do and study at the flat even though he knew Mika would be there right now. His roommate specifically told him that he was going to take off work that day to watch Eurovision, and Lucas knew he'd never get a moment's peace even if he kept himself in his room. Maybe he can lock himself inside the bathroom for a few hours since it's the farthest from the living room. 'Yeah, that would have to do,' he sighed, accepting his fate.
Lucas stood up and started to gather his belongings, avoiding Eliott's eyes. He felt his cheeks grow hot as the older boy continued to look at him while he put his books back to his backpack but he refused to look up.
"Wanna come over and study with me at my apartment?"
Lucas hands froze at Eliott's invitation and his head whipped up so fast he felt a little dizzy for a moment. It’s definitely not because of what Eliott just said. Nope. He found the older boy grinning at him with his eyes crinkling adorably in the corners as he waited patiently for Lucas to respond.
'Okay, universe, what the fuck is going on right now. Not that I'm complaining,' Lucas thought as he stared at Eliott, completely dumbstruck that the older boy invited him over, just like that.
A few more awkward seconds passed by and while Lucas still could not get his brain to function, Eliott started to look a little nervous as he fidgeted with his backpack strap.
"It's fine if you don't want to. I just thought it would be quiet there since my roommates already left to go to a party. That's why I was heading home already," Eliott backtracked, his bright smile dimming a little as Lucas continued to look at him like he just announced that he killed his mother.
"Uhm, Eliott. I'm really grateful and let me just tell you, you are a godsend for offering, but uh.. are you sure? You barely know me. I could be a serial killer, you know. Do you just invite random people over? What if this is just a ploy to gain your sympathy so that you'll invite me over and I'll steal whatever valuable stuff you have in your apartment," Lucas rambled, all the while mentally cursing himself. 'STOP TALKING, LUCAS. Comparing yourself to a criminal. Bravo. What a way to make an impression.'
Eliott threw his head back, his delighted laugh distracting Lucas from having an internal meltdown. Again, the younger boy was rendered speechless by the way Eliott's throat moved as he laughed and the way his face lit up at Lucas' words.
"Lucas," Eliott said softly, once his laughter faded. Lucas bit his lip, in an effort to stop himself from asking Eliott to say his name again in that tone of voice. Eliott darted his eyes down to Lucas' mouth, his gaze darkening a little at the sight in front of him but when he looked up again, his eyes are as bright as before, which made Lucas think he must have imagined it in the first place.
"I thought we we were friends. Are you saying we're not?" the older boy teased, feigning hurt, clutching his heart jokingly.
"We haven't really talked or hung out before," Lucas explained, fighting off the smile that threatened to slip out at Eliott's antics.
"Well, we're talking right now, right? And I invited you over to my apartment. To study, yes, but also to hang out. If that's what you want." Eliott unexpectedly brought his hand up and fussed a bit with Lucas' hair, making the younger boy's heart momentarily stop one second and then beat in an uneasy rhythm the next.
"I do want to know you better."
Lucas stared at Eliott, completely floored. He could not believe that Eliott, the guy he'd been daydreaming about for a year, the guy who has the power to make him weak in the knees by just nodding at him when they pass by each other in the hallway, the guy whose name he embarrassingly doodled on his notebook time and time again until Yann caught him, actually said that he'd like to get to know him. There was no mistaking now, the way Eliott looked at him, the way the older boy's eyes flitted immediately to his lips when he nervously licked them, the way he met Lucas' stare with a challenge in his eyes, as if saying 'try me, know me, be with me'.
Lucas shook himself out of his trance and thought to himself, 'Why not?' Hey if this is the universe's peace offering to him, who was he to refuse it?
"Okay. That would actually be perfect. My roommate's home and he can get a bit too emotionally invested in Eurovision so I definitely would not have peace and quiet at mine. I was just planning on being cooped up in the bathroom for a few hours, actually," he admitted. He mentally pat himself in the back for sounding calm and composed despite the panicked fluttering of butterflies in his stomach.
Eliott's smile was back in full force and Lucas can feel himself melt a little bit at the utter adorableness being directed at him at that moment. He forced himself to look away, lest he blurt out something ridiculous like how Eliott's eyes just twinkle when he smiles like that or like how he can be compared to a literal ray of fucking sunshine and Lucas is a sunflower, desperate to be showered by his light. Lucas shook his head slightly to clear his mind. 'That's pretty fucking cheesy, Lallemant. Pull yourself together.'
Lucas finished tidying up and just when he was about to ask Eliott if he even lived on campus, they heard a clattering of books behind them followed by muffled giggling.
"They're still going at it, huh," Eliott observed dryly. He glanced at Lucas, deep in thought for a few seconds. He looked at the younger boy and waggled his eyebrows, mischievousness evident in his eyes. "What do you say to giving them some competition, Lucas?"
It really is amazing how many times Lucas' brain can short-circuit in such a short amount of time. Maybe it's the reason why he responded with a half-dazed "Sure" at Eliott's ridiculous suggestion because, really, there's no way he really said what Lucas thought he said. Right?
But then he found himself being dragged along the stacks, past the psychology books, past the encyclopedias 'really, who the hell still reads encyclopedias when we have the internet?' into one of the darker corners of the library.
Lucas let his eyes adjust to the lower lighting in his new surroundings and looked at Eliott, a little out of breath, silently asking 'What now?'
Eliott glanced down at the smaller boy and slowly lifted his hands to cup Lucas' cheeks. "Tell me if this isn't okay," he whispered.
Lucas met his gaze and found the same warmth he saw earlier mixed in with laughter and a flicker of something else. Fondness? Affection? Desire? He can't figure it out at the moment, especially when Eliott started rubbing his thumbs on his cheeks, making his eyes flutter shut at the softness of Eliott's touch. Lucas could hear his heart pounding inside his chest and he briefly wondered if the other boy can hear it too.
"It's okay."
The crash of Eliott's lips against his, the sheer force of it, stunned Lucas. He let out a loud moan, one that could rival what their companions let out earlier, and Lucas was not ashamed to admit that he didn't give one single fuck. He felt Eliott's hands tremble slightly against his cheeks, making him feel a bit relieved that no, he's not the only one affected by this.
Lucas felt Eliott's tongue slide gently across his lower lip, seeking entrance and he gladly opened his mouth to let him in. His knees buckled at the first contact and all he could think about was,'This is actually happening. This is right. This is how it's supposed to be.'
Eliott let his hand travel downward and Lucas couldn't help the shiver that went through his spine as Eliott gripped his waist tightly.
“Why don't we give them something to really talk about huh?” Eliott smirked, before kissing him again. This time there was no hint of nervousness in Eliott's movements.
Lucas brought his arms up to wrap around Eliott's shoulders, holding on to him tightly as if his life depended on it.
Eliott's hands slipped inside his shirt, caressing the soft skin there, causing Lucas to make an almost inhuman noise.
“Your hands are too cold!”
“Warm me up, then.”
Lucas groaned at this and it was his turn to crash his lips against Eliott's. He could taste the mint that Eliott had earlier along with a hint of smoke and Lucas just can't get enough. He trailed kisses from Eliott's mouth, to his cheek down to his neck and sucked lightly causing the older boy to fucking keen.
They continued making out, for who knows how long. All sense of time disappeared the moment Lucas whimpered and Eliott did everything in his power to hear it again and again.
After a while, only their heavy breathing could be heard. They looked at each other and burst out laughing.
“I guess we won,” Eliott declared.
“We sure showed them, huh,” Lucas replied. He was smiling so hard his cheeks were starting to hurt. He just couldn't help it.
Eliott nodded absentmindedly as he continued to stare at Lucas with something akin to wonder and Lucas can just bet his ass that he had a similar look on his face.
“Shall we?”
Lucas looked down at Eliott's proffered hand, smiled as he took it in his own and gave a little squeeze. More for his own benefit as he still can't quite believe that this is not just a dream on his part.
“Let's go.”
They walked out of the library hand in hand, giggling like school girls as they passed by the disgruntled, and slightly disheveled, librarian who was finally back at her desk.
Lucas wouldn't have imagined that what he thought would be a boring night of studying at the library, would turn out to be one of the most exciting nights of college life so far. He came in, stressed as can be and berating himself for not choosing to go with his friends to a party. Little did he know that he would end the night holding hands with his longtime crush, on their way to said crush's apartment.
To study, of course. But Lucas knew himself. There's definitely no way he's going to be able to study now. Whatever. He can always study tomorrow.
for @itubainaretro ilu mec <3
ao3 link
#skam france#elu#lucas x eliott#lucas lallemant#eliott demaury#i haven't written a kissing scene in years and it shows#ja;slkdfja;slkd#oh look#i wrote something#lots of internal monologues from our dear lulu#and lots of cursing#as well as smiling#the thesaurus and i are not friends at the moment
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Wine, Inhibitions, drunky Lannisters, Sansa Stark and the Hound
So. I continue to convince myself firmly that alcohol, particularly red wine, is crucial to understanding WTF is the deal with Sansa and Sandor in King’s Landing.
I’ll go over some details herein, but suffice it to say, I think that one or, “worse,” both of them being wine-drunk does what it does with all horny drunk kids everywhere throughout history: disinhibits behavior. (I believe that Sansa’s “outreach” is also amplified by fear and in her dreams when she’s unconscious--unconscious is really Bran is showing us when his eyes go white--but let’s focus on wine herein.) In the specific circumstance of Sansa and Sandor in King’s Landing, with the added aspect of Sansa’s First Men blood and her constantly agitated fight-or-flight response and both of their drinking (him heavily and her infrequently but enough to have an effect), her ad hoc skinchanger connection to the Hound, Sandor Clegane, is strongly amplified.
Very very few skinchangers can do humans, and from what we know it takes tremendous natural talent or great practice or both. Sansa must have some of the first, because she has none of the second. I think the reason Sandor’s consciousness doesn’t outright reject her or go instantly mad or just die, is because (a) he wants/likes/loves her duh (b) his consciousness is that of a fully formed powerful adult male, whereas hers is a confused but also ultimately very good, very kind and very gentle young girl. His consciousness doesn’t perceive it as an attack, as such. I imagine that your mental-emotional soul in this world might be not unlike an immune system: it’s highly evolved to distinguish between like and unlike, friend and stranger. For whatever reason, presumably that the big Hound has unwholesome feelings for the pretty little dire wolf, Sandor’s consciousness does not attack Sansa’s as an invading pathogen, but rather allows her to colonize his mind rather elaborately. She’s a virus, but the genetic material she’s transmitting into his cells is a beneficial mutation. And I suspect that it might be a two-way exchange, but TBD.
ANYWAY WINE:
“Is Joffrey going to kill Sansa’s brother?” “He might.”
In ep 2x03 “What Is Dead Can Never Die,” Sansa drinks her way through dinner with Cersei and the kids because it’s all lies and next-level imprisonment and abuse etc. She’s wearing a blue dress with a dragonfly necklace.
Awful deleted #SanSan scene? Same dress. She’s crying, just as she should be after Cersei said Joff was going to kill Robb and Sansa would “do her duty.”
youtube
She was just thinking about how she’s going to have to fuck Joff. And well, well, well, look who manifests in her hallway: the Hound, and his number one concern? How Joffrey “will be having you soon” and just for good measure, this is where they were going to emphasize that he’s a dog (DOGS ARE THE EASIEST ANIMALS TO WARG, GUYS) and the reason he calls her Little Bird is...because she’s trapped in a cage? IDK IDK they didn’t do so good with the name explanation, but whatever, we know it’s, above all, because he loves her and because she’s his bird.
SUFFICE IT TO SAY, I think he shows up here with the particular concern about Joff’s forthcoming rape of Sansa, because she was drunk and he probably was too, and everything she was afraid of when drunk went straight into his mind.
The barrier is thin between them to start with, but when she’s drunk she doesn’t withhold and she sends him everything she is feeling. He probably drinks extra when she’s “transmitting” to him, just to try to get the extra voice out of his head. I mean, that sounds like a reasonable plan for self-medication if you ask me.
Their next three interactions are all mostly sober (throne room cloaking, bread riots, “dog doesn’t need courage to chase off rats,”) but I will repeat that the music that plays during the rape rescue sequence in the tunnel is the same music that plays in season one when unconscious Bran is attacked by the cutthroat and Summer appears from nowhere to kill him and save Cat. I think, yes, the Hound’s a basically good guy who cares about her wants to save her, but also she’s screaming in fear in his head and he knows exactly what’s happening and saving her is going to help him as much as her because if he doesn’t stop it, he’ll experience all of her suffering in his head anyway.
“Well done, Clegane.” “I didn’t do it for you.”
And then after that, she dreams of the Bread Riot attack the night before she gets her first period, and lo and behold, who shows up? Sandor Clegane, who is either there on behalf of Cersei, or was summoned to Sansa’s chamber by the overwhelming feeling that she was mortal peril, because when she’s unconscious she can’t even begin to control broadcasting her fears and he has the only satellite receiver tuned to the Sansa Channel.
Which brings us to “Blackwater,” and Cersei’s drunk ass pouring cup after cup after cup of red wine for Sansa, who has no tolerance for alcohol whatsoever, while scaring the shit out of her about the outcome of the war, rape generally and the horrifying truth about her forthcoming marriage to Joffrey in particular.
Sandor begins the night of the battle already sauced. “Oh, there’s women in the ground. Put some there myself.” I’ve never understood this scene and it’s always bothered me as “off” in some way that I can’t put my finger on, but one interpretation is that they are illustrating the transition between Sandor early in the battle, who gives zero fucks about anyone, women and children included, to Sandor after a long of night of fire, drinking, killing, and above all, feeling a little girl’s fears about everything, transitioning to being like “Hey you wanna get out of here? We could go somewhere quiet, maybe have a coffee or something?”
Look, enter “the King,” a cunt who names his sword, and the Warrior personified, who ends the night covered in blood because he’s single-handedly fighting Joff’s war for him. Sansa knows what’s up.
ANYWAY, this whole scene is a riot. We see Joff for the sniveling empty talker that he is, and Sansa is at her very sassiest. She’s starts out pretty strong and so does Sandor.
But anyway, I think the whole point of this scene in the throne room and the Hound’s presence therein is so we compare the Hound and Joffrey side-by-side, again. Because why? Because it’s love triangle ripped right out of the pages of the most romantic/tragic love story in Westerosi history: the legend of Queen Naerys, her horrible brother-husband King Aegon the Unworthy and her other brother, the great and honorable and self-sacrificing Aemon the Dragonknight. See also Gwenivere, Arthur and Lancelot, but eh.
“Your king rides forth to battle.” LOL. I bet Sandor was dying inside.
DRINK 1 feat. SER ILYN, who executed Ned Stark and has frightened Sansa from the first. What’s he doing here? “He’s here to defend us...guards we pay. Should the city fall, they’ll be the first ones out of the doors.” Sansa’s internally monologue would be: Gosh I sure which I had someone on my side who’s even stronger than Ser Ilyn and would fight for me without being paid. Or maybe it would be I wonder if paid guard Sandor Clegane would leave King’s Landing if the city fell. Maybe I could leave too? (I know we have Sansa’s inner monologue of this scene in the books, but books and show are different beasts.)
“Here. Sit. Drink...no, not like that. Drink girl.”
DRINK 2 feat. “Tears aren’t a woman’s only weapon. The best one’s between your legs. Learn to use it. Drink...if the city falls, these fine women should be in for a bit of a rape. Half of them will have bastards in their bellies come the morning.”
She’s just plain frightened.
And then the line that I think is the direct reason she refuses Sandor’s offer of rescue in favor of waiting for Stannis. “When a man’s blood is up, anything with tits looks good. A precious thing like you will look very, very good. A slice of cake just waiting to be eaten.” (Well, this and Shae literally saying, “Stannis won’t hurt you.”)
Meanwhile, the Hound is out at the war, cutting people in two (literally) and generally fighting like the beast that he is and then shortly thereafter having a total nervous breakdown because (a) fire, (b) Sansa’s fucking his head.
What’s the cure? "Fuck the water, bring me wine.” Wine, I think, just serves to make him even more emo and less able to deny his feelings for Sansa and their inexplicable connection.
“Dog, I command you to go out there and fight!” Sandor, totally defeated already, would be having this sort of internal monologue: “But why? So you can stay king and start raping my soulmate, your prisoner whose father you already killed for no reason?
“Fuck the Kingsguard.” (they’re mean to Sansa)
“Fuck the city.” (the people of this city were mean to Sansa)
“Fuck the King.” (mean to Sansa and not good enough for her anyway)
This part, where she stands a little taller and says, “You won’t hurt me.” She is 100 percent inside his head at that moment, reading his feelings as easily you read these words right here.
BUT WAIT, there’s more. I think this scene is a little bit about the writers, at least, tipping that there’s something we need to know about Sansa and alcohol, and maybe skinchanging or enchanting men, too? Maybe she’s even starting to intuit that inebriated men are even more susceptible to her than usual?
“Ale?” “I’ll have some.” “Do you like the taste?” “I don’t see what all the fuss is about. Why do men love it so much?” “It gives some men courage.” “Does it give you courage?” (5x02, “The House of Black and White”)
And then here. She’s drinking and he’s drinking AND there’s the touching. She convinces him to fight for Winterfell. He does not want to, but she convinces him. I’m not saying that this is magic because the dire wolf and wolf-dragon connection is very likely just normal human kinship, but it might be, at least in part.
IN CONCLUSION, IF SANSA AND SANDOR ARE NEAR EACH OTHER AND DRINKING IN SEASON 8, WATCH OUT.
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