#thanks to everyone who sent responses in last week and to those who tuned in! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sunflowervolvimp3 · 4 years

Text

you’re someone i just want around: VIII

Like wolves we've run wild

Let passion get too much

And let ourselves get burned by the fire

We're walking on wire

But nothing feels higher

Then when I see that look in your eyes

Small Talk, Niall Horan

A/N: here she is!! another part!! you’re probably used to this now, but part 8 got a little long, and will continue in a part 9 but honestly!! who cares!! it just means more vampirerry for all of us 😌 here we deep dive into a few more dates with a dash of some good ole jealousy!! love to see it love to hear it!! and andrea and i would just like to say THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO VOTED IN THE 1D CRAFT AWARDS!!!! we cannot believe ysijwa was even nominated, let alone that it won most unique!!! as a thank you, we’re doing a livestream this sunday!! you can send in questions, we’ll discuss the story, and just have a lil chat so please tune in!! details can be found here!! and please if you like what you are reading here!! reblog it!! leave reactions in the tags (we read every single one)!! send a message to andrea and i!! feedback and interaction is what keeps content creators motivated to keep writing and updating!! and that’s a general rule for all content creators not just us!! we do this for free so a lil love note is always appreciated 💌 alrighty now that that’s out of the way!! let’s dive in!!

ysijwa masterlist : andrea’s masterlist : leyla’s masterlist : ysijwa playlist : ysijwa playlist II

word count: 30k

content/warnings: confessions of an immortal shopaholic, blair waldorf dark au, the glamorization of the sugar baby lifestyle, harry not understanding the concept of sharing, y/n “eat the rich” y/l/n, harry the walking rosetta stone (tw: google translate), an italian chef (and psychic) who will also adopt someone before dessert is served, A Cinderella Story 6: Fifty Shades of Gucci Grey (rated R), an internal monologue of john mulaney’s “now we don’t have time to unpack all THAT!!!”, and a definitive guide on how to get rid of unnecessary parts of an outfit

Harry is aware that he has a taste for excess.

He wasn’t always like this, truly. When he was human, everything about his life had been thoroughly middle class. He was apprenticed to his father, the town’s blacksmith, and spent the majority of his life living in modesty. He wore plain clothes that had been sewn by his mother with the cheapest and most durable material she could find. He spent most of his days at the forge, or dutifully completing chores at home. He prayed quietly in church, took only the bare minimum of what he needed from anything, and, for the most part, kept his head down. He’d lived his life with no fancies, no frills, and no fun, in the hopes that all his humble modesty would serve him well in his next life.

And then he ended up eternally damned, so a fat lot of good that suffering had done him. All he got from following such a plain mode of life was intimacy issues, a newfound bloodlust, and a broken neck. Therefore, when it came to his afterlife, Harry decided to try a different route.

And that route, lucky for him, always seems to lead him back to Gucci.

Harry’s tried a lot of styles and a lot of designers in his two hundred and some years of life, but he’s yet to find anything that speaks to him like Gucci does. Whether it’s a leather wallet, a blue velvet suit, a sheer pussy bow shirt, or a silk neck scarf; if it has the Gucci label stamped on it, Harry probably owns it.

Whenever he steps foot in the store, sales associates flock to him, knowing that he’ll drop at least five thousand in one visit. Harry knows he should feel a tad guilty, but frankly, he thinks he’s earned it— more so than those billionaires he compels into making monthly donations to the “charity funds,” also known as his bank account.

His methods, however, do bring him a bit of flack from his friends. While Mitch normally does everything with Harry, the laid back and neutrally good-aligned vampire can only spend so much time in a high-end boutique before claiming that he’s “choking on the cologne of the entitled.” Niall, on the other hand, doesn’t let his teasing nature stop him from joining Harry, but Niall’s affinity for polyester usually stops Harry from allowing him inside the store. And Xander is a non-starter— the last time Harry tried to bring him, the vampire had spent the entire time cracking scathing jokes about Harry being a sugar baby, to which Harry responded with a comment about Xander being jealous of the salesman fitting Harry. That little argument turned into a three day battle of neither speaking to the other, and had only been settled when they each agreed that the other deserved to lose an eyebrow for what was said.

Harry could recount more instances of friction caused by his shopping habits, but needless to say, he either frequents the shopping district of Los Angeles by himself, or with Adam, who is wonderfully indifferent to Harry’s methods of obtaining pocket change, as well as how he spends said pocket change, and possesses the bonus trait of having an eye for beautifully tailored trousers.

It’s Adam who is by Harry’s side as he walks into the Gucci store for the third time in two weeks, his disinterested expression nearly eclipsed by the confident smirk that adorns Harry’s ruby lips.

It’s almost like they have a censor for him, Harry thinks smugly, as the associates begin to whisper to each other at the sight of him. Even if he didn’t absolutely love the brand, Harry would come to Gucci just for the boost to his ego.

Despite having accompanied Harry before, Adam still leans over to his friend, raising a quizzical brow as his eyes scan over the racks of clothing they pass. “Do we have to go to the counter, or—?”

“Oh, I never have to go to the counter.” Harry chuckles lightly, brushing his icy fingers over a smooth silk shirt styled on a mannequin. “They—”

“Mr. Styles!”

The egotistical simper on Harry’s lips grows, and he shoots Adam a smug look before turning around. “They come to me.”

“Mr. Styles, it’s so nice to see you again.” Mr. Koffman, the manager of this particular location, stops in front of Harry after a brisk walk over, fixing the fit of his suit jacket before extending his hand to Harry and Adam. “How are you?”

“I’m well, thank you.” Harry shakes his hand once, enjoying the usual look of bemusement that flashes through the human man’s eyes at his strong grip and cool skin. “And yourself?”

“Oh, I’m just fine.” He replies, shaking Adam’s hand once without moving his attention from Harry. “We’re thrilled to have you back so soon. I understand we have a suit in the works for you?”

Adam rolls his eyes the moment Mr. Koffman turns away from him, turning his attention to the rack of jackets to the left and running his fingers over the material.

“Yeah, I got the call this morning to come pick it up.” Harry pauses, giving Adam a sideways glance as his grin grows. “But I was wondering if I could do one last fitting, just to make sure everything’s set…?”

“Oh, uh—” Harry enjoys the frayed tone that echoes from the manager’s mouth as he begins to scramble, a light sweat breaking out on his forehead. “I’m so sorry, but we have another appointment coming in fifteen minutes, and—”

Harry sighs in mock disappointment, clicking his tongue as he gives a slight nod. “Ah. I see.” He sighs again and lifts his shoulders in a small shrug, glancing at Adam from the corner of his eye. The other vampire is watching him with a half-amused, half-exasperated expression, and it takes all of Harry’s willpower to bite back a laugh.

The light sheen of nervous sweat on Mr. Koffman’s brow begins to drip down his temple. “I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Styles—”

“No, no, it’s alright.” Harry waves off the apology with an unconcerned air, glancing at his own statement watch and sighing again. “If you could just have my suit sent down to the Gucci location on Rodeo, I’d really appreciate it— I know they’ll be able to squeeze me in for a last minute fitting.” Harry smiles at Koffman, whose face fades a shade paler as the creature gestures to his friend. “C’mon, Adam.”

“No, no, there won’t be any need for that!” Mr. Koffman says quickly, checking his watch again as his hand reaches for the handkerchief in his suit pocket. He dabs at his moist forehead while forcing a smile at Harry, who gives an easygoing smile back.

“It’s alright, Mr. Koffman, really— if you’re unable to make some room for me, I’m sure they’ll be happy to—”

“You’ve been a wonderful and loyal customer to us, Mr. Styles— we’d be more than happy to make room for you.” The human smiles again, the action more strained than before as he tucks his handkerchief away and clasps his hands in front of him. “Just— Just give me one moment to arrange it with alterations, and move some things around. Please, feel free to browse,” He gestures to the racks of clothing around them. “And I’ll be back in a few minutes once we have everything ready for you.”

Harry hums in the back of his throat, faking hesitation as he replies in a slow voice. “Well...if you’re sure it’s not too much trouble…”

“No trouble at all. Not for you.” Koffman, to his credit, manages to make the response sound natural before scurrying away, already dialing a number on his phone as he speed-climbs the staircase leading to the alterations department.

The laugh Harry’s been choking on for the last three minutes escapes the moment the human disappears, echoing off the marble walls around them as Harry turns to Adam with a glint in his eye.

Adam, on the other hand, looks less entertained and more annoyed. “Was that really necessary?” He asks in a bored tone, crossing his arms as his eyebrows raise in question. “Why do you need to try the suit on? You had, like, three fittings. It’ll be fine.”

“I know, but I want to make sure it’s perfect before I take it home— I’m spending way too much money for it to possibly be defective. And I want you to see it in all the glory of the mirrored Gucci fitting room.” Harry pats his friend’s shoulder as he steps past him, his attention captured by a pair of red leather and snakeskin boots sitting on a pedestal in the corner.

Adam snorts once, short and harsh. “Were those the only reasons, Mr. Styles?”

“Well, now that you mention it…” Harry drags a finger over the embroidered side of the boots, his cherry lips rising at the corners. “I do enjoy making Koffman squirm. He’s so easily bothered by the littlest of things; it’s like an open invitation to cause some trouble.”

“Y’know, if I didn’t know what you really were,” Adam laughs once in spite of himself, shaking his head in disbelief while checking out a pair of plaid trousers. “I’d think you were the devil.”

Harry’s smile twists into something more sinister as he fiddles with his gold cross, twisting the pendant under the overhead lighting so it glints symbolically in Adam’s eye. “It’s a good thing I’m not, hm? I’d be unstoppable.”

“We’d all be doomed, that’s for sure.”

“Oh, absolutely. But world-domination aside, everyone knows the devil wears Prada, not Gucci. Get it together, Prendergast.”

The clicking of dress shoes against the marble steps alert Harry to Koffman’s return before his sputtering heartbeat does, and the vampire turns his head just in time to see him descend down the spiral staircase.

“Good news, Mr. Styles!” He beams at Harry as he steps off the last platform, nearly tripping over his feet in his effort to get to his client. “I was able to talk to the girls, rearrange some appointments, and we’ll be able to do a final fitting for you.”

“That’s wonderful t’hear, Mr. Koffman.” Harry tucks his cross back beneath his shirt with a pleased grin, catching Adam’s eye over the mortal’s shoulder. “I wasn’t fancying the drive to Rodeo.”

“I wouldn’t either, sir.” Koffman nods solemnly, gesturing to the stairs with a stubby hand. “But we’re always glad to make accommodations for you here.”

And isn’t that the truth, Harry thinks as he makes his way upstairs, Adam hot on his heels as Koffman leads the two of them to the alterations department. Part of the reason why Gucci— and this location, if Harry’s honest— holds such a place in his unbeating heart is because it reminds him of an era long gone. When Harry steps through the gold archways of the store, he instantly transforms into a person worth noting, and is waited on as if he were a lord in Victorian England who was set to inherit twenty thousand pounds. Now, of course, Harry could drop the equivalent of twenty thousand pounds in one shopping trip, but it was a large sum of money back then, when Harry could only dream of such wealth.

Now, the immortal’s reality involves him being waited on the moment he enters the alteration department, with one attendant handing him a glass of champagne as another shows him a display of accessories to match his custom suit, which hangs proudly inside a garment bag on the wall. Adam, for all his eyerolls, still accepts the complimentary champagne and appraises the accessories right along with Harry, who gets a chance to roll his own eyes as an attendant named Mara convinces him to try on a platinum watch.

“Would you like to try one as well, Mr. Styles?” The other attendant, Blair— Harry’s favourite consultant at the store, truth be told— bats her eyes at him as she taps a finger over the Rolex already adorning Harry’s wrist. “Could be nice to switch it up, no?”

Harry offers a polite smile as he readjusts the band of the watch on his arm, tutting in reply. “I’m afraid I’m rather attached to the Rolex brand for my watches, Blair.” He sighs before nodding his head at Adam, who’s become enamoured with the platinum band on his wrist. “Best to focus your energy on that one, I think. He’ll make you some easy commission.”

“It’s not about commission, Mr. Styles, it’s about finding you something you’ll love.” Blair pouts as she leads him behind the dressing room curtain, her lithe fingers unzipping the garment bag covering his suit with one swift motion. “I thought you’d know me well enough by now to know you’re much more than commission to me.”

The smile on Harry’s face only falters for one second, the flicker going unnoticed by the employee as she carefully removes the suit from the bag. The last time Harry had been here for a fitting, she hadn’t been working— he remembers because the new attendant they’d sent to deal with him had nearly zipped his suit into the garment bag when the fitting was over. It had been Blair, however, who had originally measured him for the suit, and Harry remembers her wandering fingers that paused at his inseam a moment longer than needed, how she had showered Harry with praise as he modeled the sample suit. It had done him good then as he strutted around the alterations department, flexing underneath the chandelier light as she’d complimented his every pose, but that had been nearly two months ago. Moreover, it had been two brunches, four dinners, three walks, and an antiquing trip ago. A lifetime ago, really.

“That’s very kind of you, Blair.” Harry finally manages to respond, his fingers pausing at the buttons of his shirt as she hangs the separate parts of the suit on their own hangers. “I’d trust no one else with a suit this expensive, you know.”

“Oh, I know.” A light giggle escapes the girl as she hangs the jacket on the wall, stepping back and admiring the pieces with a keen eye. “I’m glad you decided to go with the light grey fabric; it’ll compliment your eyes so nicely.” When she turns back around, Harry doesn’t miss how the same keen eye skirts over the half unbuttoned fabric covering his torso. “I’ll give you a moment to slip everything on. If you need anything…” The girl tugs the curtain back just enough to let herself out, her pink lips tugging into a simper. “Just call for me.”

Harry’s smile grows tighter as the curtain closes behind her, and disappears the moment he’s out of her sight. He’d forgotten, really, the effect he has on most mortals. It had been something he’d paid close attention to before, delighting in how they all unknowingly stroked his ego as their jaws dropped whenever he’d walked by. In a way, it’s nice to know that he’s still capable of that— he’s still a narcissist, after all— but it’s a little less satisfying when he’s grown so used to that careful attention from Y/N. When it comes to stroking, he thinks shrewdly, a smirk slowly crawling onto his face as he strips out of the rest of his clothes, there’s no one better than her.

Once he’s stripped completely, he dresses in the custom suit, pulling the crisp fabric along his muscled limbs and tugging it into place. He starts with the silk black shirt, slipping his arms into the sleeves and buttoning the two sides together, excluding the top three holes. After that, he steps into the grey trousers, tucking the shirt in and taking a moment to admire the black stripe that runs down the inseam of the pants, which— to Blair’s credit— hug his thighs perfectly. Once he’s satisfied with the lay of the article, he slips the suit jacket overtop, adjusting the sleeves over the dress shirt as he fiddles with the cuffs.

“Now, don’t worry about the cufflinks with the suit, Mr. Styles,” Blair calls through the curtain, her voice grating across Harry’s admiration with an irritating cadence as she seems to predict his need. “They’re just some samples given by the store. I’ve personally selected some more appropriate pairs that match your style much better.”

When Harry tugs back the curtain, Adam has shifted himself to the plush velvet couch in the middle of the room, his champagne glass already refilled as he slouches back against the cushions. Mara, it seems, has disappeared from the fitting room, but Blair is standing just to the side, next to a table lined with gold accessories for Harry to try.

“Well?” Harry asks, stepping to the platform that sits in front of the mirrored wall, his jeweled hands tugging at the starched lapel of the jacket. He regards himself in the mirror for a moment, admiring the fit across his sturdy shoulders, before rotating around to face the vampire and mortal. “What do you think, Adam?”

Adam takes a long sip of his champagne, mulling over his reply for so long that it sparks irritation in Harry’s stomach, which is only soothed by his long awaited comment. “It looks good.” He nods, squinting his eyes as he tilts his head to the side. “A little plain, compared to what you normally wear, but it’s nice.”

“I don’t know if it’s proper to call this plain.” Blair scoffs, looping the tape measure in her hands around her neck as she approaches Harry, her heels clicking against the lacquered floor. “Mr. Styles usually has a preference for something more patterned, true, but there’s something to be said for a sleek, simple suit.” Harry watches the way her eyes flicker down his body, pausing at his inseam with a look that’s less than professional. “And that black stripe along the inside of the pant certainly...draws the eye, does it not?”

Although her words are laced with implications, Harry directs a smirk at Adam as he rakes a hand through his curled locks. “It’s alright, Blair. Adam’s right, it is a little plain compared to what I normally wear, but every man needs a nicely tailored formal suit in his closet.”

“Exactly.” Blair nods in earnest response as she begins to circle Harry, her detail oriented eyes sweeping over every aspect of the suit. In the reflection of the mirror, Harry catches the way her eyes settle over the fit of his backside, her heartbeat increasing for just a moment until Harry clears his throat.

“The cufflinks, love?” Harry prompts, raising his arms as he begins to fiddle with the cuffs. “These sample ones are horrid. You said something about gold…?”

The attendant snaps from her objectifying stupor, her eyes meeting Harry’s in the mirror as a light blush settles over her cheeks. “Yes, I, um, picked some out for you here.” Her heels click again as she retrieves the velvet lined tray that’s studded with jewelry, bringing it to Harry for him to examine. “We have a few variations of the Gucci logo— interlocking G’s, some embossed onto gold coins— but I think this pair we just got in might be to your liking.”

Harry reaches for the cufflinks Blair points to, pinching one between his fingers and lifting it close to his eye to examine it. It’s a pair of interlocking G’s, but instead of a smooth finish similar to the other pairs before him, these have textured engravings all around the letters. It takes Harry a moment to realize that the engravings are scales, and the G’s are actually—

“They’re engraved to look like snakes, with black Swarovski crystal eyes.” Blair begins her infomercial-like spiel, holding up the other cufflink for her own examination. “They’re 18K gold with an aged finish, and the attention to detail is just extraordinary. Even the back is engraved with an Arabesque motif.” She twists the cufflink around in her fingers as Harry does the same, examining the engraving with an approving nod.

“They’re lovely.” Harry murmurs, wrapping his fist around the cufflink to secure it before removing the sample cufflink from his own sleeve. With one swift motion, he’s swapped one piece of gold hardware for another, fiddling with the fit of the sleeve as he sets the new cufflink amongst the fabric. “S’a nice fit, I think.”

“It’s a wonderful fit.” Before he can reach for the other cufflink, Blair snags his sleeve in her grasp, replacing the sample in a motion nearly as swift as Harry’s. “Beautiful, really. It’s such an understated suit, which works to its advantage, but the pop of gold on the cuffs will really make everything stand out so much more.”

Harry nods seriously, a pensive look on his face as he examines the sleeves once more before raising his arms. “What d’you think, Adam? Look alright?”

Adam offers a passive nod as he becomes distracted by the rack of watches again, his fingers draping over another platinum band. “Looks good, man. But you know that.”

“I know.” Harry flashes a blinding smile at his friend, dropping one emerald eye into a wink as he fiddles with the cufflinks. “But I like hearing you say it.”

“It really is a perfect fit, Mr. Styles.” Blair nearly coos the words as she circles him again, her careful fingers tugging and adjusting the lines of the suit just enough that it can be considered appropriate for her job. “Gorgeous. The best we’ve done, I think.” Her fingers dance over his lapel as she adjusts the fall of his open neckline, and a flash of warning ignites in Harry’s stomach as her skin grazes the ink of Harry’s chest. “But the suit is only doing half the work, you know. The rest is all—” Her touch travels up the lapel and across his shoulder, her body taking a step behind his own as her touch settles on the nape of his neck. “You.”

Although her skin barely brushes the back of his neck, the pin-prick touch bursts into a shudder that paralyzes Harry’s entire body, tensing his every limb. When it releases, his frame spasms one single time in reflex, yanking itself away from the human’s touch.

The shudder doesn’t go unnoticed by Blair or Adam, although each has their own response based on what they know of Harry. As his jade eyes harden to stone, Harry catches the cautious movements of Adam, who is slowly pulling himself into a tense and careful posture in the corner of Harry’s eye. Blair, on the other hand, is merely frozen with her hand still hanging in midair, a confused and bewildered expression painted onto her features.

“Is everything alright, Mr. Styles?” She questions, her self-preservation betraying her as she takes another step forward with her outstretched fingers once again reaching for Harry’s shoulder. “Is something in the suit bothering you?”

Harry gives a rough shake of his head as he leans back from her touch once again, forcing himself to take a deep breath through his nose to collect himself. When he speaks, his voice is low, raspy, and filled with a quiet fury that exceeds the intensity that would accompany a scream. “I think I’ve mentioned before,” He enunciates each word clearly, his delivery cold in every aspect. “I prefer not to be touched there.”

Despite the tense undercurrent of Harry’s voice, Blair’s expression relaxes once she realizes the cause of it. “My apologies. I was just trying to adjust the fit.” When she places her hand on Harry’s elbow and tugs at the sleeve, her brow creases at the taut joint, but her voice remains as smooth and slick as ever. “I’ll make sure to keep my hands to myself— or at least, wait for your direction on where to put them.”

The smile that curves over her lips begins to fall as Harry’s face stays as stony as ever, his own mouth dragged down into a frown as the implications of her words settle around him. Part of him wants to snap right there, to give into the instinct to bare his teeth, swell his chest, and show this emboldened employee what she’s really touching, but Adam’s eyes over her shoulder urge him not to.

His friend knows how sensitive Harry can get when his guard is at full throttle, especially when that issue stems from anything vaguely related to that particularly haunted place the young woman had carelessly touched. Watch it, Adam’s gaze seems to say as he shakes his head just enough for Harry to notice. It was an accident. You’re fine.

Harry inhales deeply once again, grounding himself in his human persona with each rise and fall of his chest. “That would be wise, I think.” He finally responds, straightening his back and turning to face himself in the mirror once again. “Just be a bit more careful.”

It seems that Blair has finally gotten the hint, because every touch of her fingers over him for the rest of the fitting is calculated and precise. Her hands do drift a little further on his body than what’s necessary, but she makes sure she doesn’t graze against his icy bare skin again. What Harry finds most curious, however, is that every swipe of her fingers against the fabric grates on what seems to be his last nerve.

They’ve played this cat and mouse game before, always teasing, always touching, and just barely staying out of reach. But it seems Harry has gotten too lax in his ways, he thinks, as his cold eyes watch the movements of the girl in the mirror, because she’s never been this blatant before, especially in front of another customer. Does she actually think something could happen between the two of them? Does she really believe that Harry would drag her behind the curtained partition, meticulously remove the suit he’s just paid thousands for, and trace his own fingers over her supple flesh as if he’s fitting her for himself?

The thought nearly pulls a ridiculing laugh from Harry’s chest, but that laugh is replaced with a pondering thought that irks Harry the moment it flickers into his mind. He could do that, yes. He’s certainly done worse, and Blair can probably sense that. If Harry were in her position, of being the mouse that believes it’s the cat, he would probably think that something was going to come out of all their chasing eventually. And why hasn’t it?

The answer, of course, comes to Harry a moment after the question does. Even though Blair is, by society’s standards, objectively attractive, and obviously willing to follow any direction he gives her, Harry is smart enough to not draw attention to himself by hooking up and feeding from a consultant that works at his favourite store. It had been Niall, he thinks, who summed up a simple yet effective rule wonderfully for him once: Don’t shit where you eat. Plain and simple.

But there’s a second answer that grinds at the back of Harry’s mind, festering inside every thought as Blair makes final adjustments, blathers on about accessories and additions, and tries to raise her commission by once again showing Harry watches. Harry doesn’t want Blair, because Harry has Y/N. Being touched by Blair feels wrong because Harry’s so used to being touched by Y/N. And Blair grazing over his neck bothered him so much because he can, apparently, only stand someone’s fingers grazing there if Y/N is the one doing it.

And perhaps festering isn’t the right word, Harry muses, because the warmth that’s spreading through him with that realization feels a lot more like blossoming than anything else. It flowers within him, lavender weaving through every limb, letting him know that maybe— just maybe— he’s not as selfish as he thinks. He could be a complete monster, and fabricate a relationship for Y/N while still pursuing other people, but he has, at the very least, one shred of decency hidden within him. Although he indulges his base desires whenever he’s with her, he at least has the power to resist one of them.

With that in mind, Harry finds it easier to pay less mind to Blair’s lingering touches and sly compliments, and instead focuses on cherry-picking the suggestions he wants to take from her.

“Y’think I should change the shoes, then?” Harry steps down from the platform, drifting closer to the full length mirrors to examine the black leather loafers adorning his feet. “Something more colourful?”

“Not necessarily colourful, no— after all, we’ve worked hard to create a cohesive look. We wouldn’t want to interrupt that with a sudden burst of fuschia.” Blair laughs once, brushing her hair behind her ears as she hums in consideration. “But something with a bit of gold, maybe? To match the cufflinks? We could add some gold hardware to those loafers, or just find a new pair for you…”

“New is always better.” Adam chimes in from the couch, tilting his half full glass to Harry with a wry smile. “Isn’t that right, Mr. Styles?”

Harry points a ringed finger at him, winking once in confirmation. “Right you are, Mr. Prendergast.” He begins scanning the room, his eyes catching every pair of shoes displayed and comparing them in his mind. “Do you have some selections we could look at, Blair?”

“If you give me a few moments, I could certainly run to the back and pull some—”

As Harry’s keen eyes settle onto a pair of boots on display in the corner of the room, he raises a hand, cutting the girl off in one swift motion. “That may not be necessary.” He murmurs, walking over to the pedestal and examining the newest object of his fascination.

The boots are made of matte leather with polished snakeskin over the toes of the shoes, both fabrics shining the darkest black Harry has ever seen. The leg of the boot is relatively short, and would probably only come to Harry’s ankle, with a black heel that would add an inch or two to Harry’s already tall frame. But the pièce de résistance that draws Harry’s eye the moment he sees them are the embroidered gold dragons that adorn the outer sides of each boot, their bodies coiled in such a way that Harry almost swears he can see them breathing.

He slides one finger around the toe of the boot, nearly shivering in how pleasurable the silky surface feels against his skin. “How much?” He mumbles the phrase with a reverent look in his eyes, his voice as delicate as his touch.

Blair’s smile twists into one of apology as words Harry has never heard from her before fall from her mouth. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Styles, but those are actually a custom order for another client. They’re not for sale.”

Harry hums low in his throat, his fingertips dancing over the gold embroidery. “I’ll add another thousand onto whatever they’re paying.” He says, earning a breath of hesitation from Blair and a sigh of exhaustion from Adam.

“Christ, Harry,” The latter groans, rubbing his eyes in a frustrated manner at Harry’s familiar antics. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re bad at sharing? Did you skip that part of kindergarten?”

“Kindergarten wasn’t really a thing where I grew up.” Harry reminds his friend, shrugging indifferently before turning his attention back to the torn consultant. “So? Another thousand? I think that adds on quite a nice percentage of commission for you, doesn’t it?”

“I— Mr. Styles, I’m not really sure if—” Blair stutters over her words as she quickly strides over to him, the clicking of her heels against the marble floor punctuating each pound of her heart in her chest. “I don’t really think we can do that.”

A short laugh echoes from Harry’s ruby lips as a grin dimples his cheeks, the humour of her words apparent only to him. “You know I don’t take no for an answer, Blair.” He raises his eyes to hers and locks their gazes, lowering his voice to a smooth and convincing octave, pupils dilating as supernatural magic flows into his irises. When her own eyes respond the same, her face falling slack for just a moment, Harry knows he’s alright to continue. “You didn’t answer my question. How much?”

“Just under four thousand.” The consultant replies immediately as the compulsion settles into her brain. “They would be around five if you wanted to add on the thousand you mentioned before.”

The smile on his face twists into something more conceited, and Harry steps back from the boots with a satisfied sigh. “I’ll take them, then.” Confidence weaves itself through his voice as he meticulously removes the suit jacket from his body. “Call Mara to wrap them up, won’t you? While I’m changing, I’ll need you to start pulling some more selections for me.”

Blair blinks the compulsion from her eyes as Harry’s stare dips from hers, her tone thick with confusion as she sleepily takes the jacket from Harry’s hands. “More selections, Mr. Styles? Of what?”

“Yeah, Harry.” Adam’s words are tinged with trepidation as he subtly checks the time on the watch now hanging off his wrist. “Of what?”

“Cocktail dresses, I think. Although I’m not opposed to a cute little romper, as long as it has a bit of sparkle and shows off some leg.” Harry says thoughtfully, rubbing over his pillowy lips as he ponders the thought. “But I think a cocktail dress would work best. Black, maybe. To keep it classy, but not too classy.” He says, shooting a wicked grin at Blair. “I’d like to see a bit of skin.”

“I’m— I’m sorry,” The befuddlement in the human girl’s voice finally begins to clear up, leaving curiosity-tinged jealousy in its place. “What sort of event is this outfit for?”

Harry’s loafers echo around the marble room as he makes his way back to the changing area, a plan already forming in his head as he speaks. “A dinner. Semi-formal, so no floor length gowns or anything like that. Maybe bring some matching heels as well, although...” Harry pauses with the changing curtain clutched tight in his hand. “I think a quick trip to Christian Louboutin down the street may yield better results in that department.”

“Quick trip,” Adam quotes scornfully, downing the rest of his champagne and setting the glass down on the gold side table with a groan. “That’s what this was supposed to be, H, and we’ve been here for an hour! We were supposed to pick up your suit, and then head back to Niall’s for the barbecue—”

“So text Niall and tell him we’re running behind; he certainly has no problem doing that to us.” A snort sounds deep in Harry’s throat as Blair walks to the ornate desk in the back of the room and picks up the gold-plated rotary phone, dialing a short number with practiced speed. “And, with the amount of times he’s complained to me about my lack of punctuality, he should be used to it by now.”

The other vampire rolls his eyes again, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers with a groan. “Fine.” He relents, reaching into his pocket for his phone. “But you’re buying me this watch as payment.”

“Fine.” Harry shrugs as he echoes the word, his voice casual and without a care as he slips behind the curtain and finishes undressing.

Once he’s hung the suit back up on its hangers and redressed in his normal clothing, he retracts the plush curtain once more to find an annoyed Adam hanging up the phone, his newly purchased boots gone from the pedestal, and the heavy gold accessories that had been picked out for Harry being swapped for finer and daintier pieces.

Harry begins to examine the gold chains, humming in thought over the delicate pendants that swing from them. “How’d Niall take it?” He tosses the question to Adam over his shoulder, not particularly concerned about the answer.

“He told me to call you a wanker and rip off your ear, so,” Adam tucks his phone back into his pocket, shaking his head at the Irishman’s harsh words. “About as well as you’d expect.”

Another hum vibrates through Harry’s throat as he sets a mental note to make amends with his friend at a later date. “So do you want to rip off my right ear, or my left? I have to admit, my left is my prettier ear, so I’d be appreciative if you left that one alone.”

The laugh that leaves Adam is so genuine that Harry knows he can’t be too annoyed at him. When his friend joins him in overlooking the jewelry, Harry offers him an airy smile in return, pointing out a detail in one of the pendants to Adam’s interested gaze.

“Explain something to me.” Adam starts after a moment, his own hands grazing over a diamond bracelet. “Why go to all this trouble? A dress, shoes, accessories… what’s the point?”

If it were any of his other friends asking the question, Harry would take a defensive response, spouting off a justified reply about how he looks so good in the suit that it needs to be seen, and that he can’t wear it and have Y/N not match him in clothing that’s sufficiently up to par. But Adam’s eyes, albeit frustrated at times, have always been kind, and contain a depth of clarity that Harry can’t resist. He’s always been the most level-headed of the group, second only to Mitch, so the monster always feels safe trusting him with his innermost thoughts.

“S’nice, I suppose.” Harry replies with as casual a tone as he can allow, lifting his shoulder as the sound of a rolling cart heavy with clothing pricks his ears from down the hall. “I’m taking something from Y/N, so… it makes me feel nice to give her something in return, y’know? Makes me feel a little less guilty, at least, if she’s having a good time.”

Although Adam’s eyebrows raise at the mention of guilt, he makes no other comment on the surprisingly candid confession from his friend. “I get that.” He says slowly, settling down the gold necklace in his hand with a gentle touch. “I’m surprised you get it, but I get it.”

“Yeah, well,” Harry huffs as Blair rounds the corner and enters the room with a rack laden with black garment bags. “Don’t tell Niall I said that, alright? He’ll never let me hear the end of it, and if he thinks I’m going soft— which I’m not—” Harry tacks on quickly. “He’ll start trying to fuck with me, and then I’ll have to rip off his ear, and it’ll be a whole thing.”

“My lips are sealed, man.” Adam laughs, gesturing over his shoulder to the clothing cart. “Shall we pick a dress for the lucky lady, then?”

A smirk paints its way onto Harry’s face. “Mhmm. As long as you’re the one modeling it.”

///

A package arrives the next afternoon.

Like any Saturday when she isn’t working or with Harry, Y/N is home alone, trying to unwind from the previous week’s trials and tribulations. Although she’s worked customer service jobs at home, working a customer service job in Los Angeles is a whole other demon, and she finds herself more exhausted than she’s ever been more often than she’s not. It’s probably a good thing, she muses to herself over a cup of tea and her new copy of Sense and Sensibility, that she doesn’t have many friends in L.A., because she wouldn’t have the energy to go out with them anyways. And honestly, she prefers it that way. She’s learned to get along with her coworkers enough at her job that she doesn’t feel isolated, and sees Harry enough outside of work that she feels she has a shred of something resembling a social life. Her quiet afternoons at home by herself are really a godsend, in a way. They give her an opportunity to recharge to be present enough for social interactions during the week. Being lonely can be a challenge, yes, but being alone is an entirely different thing, and it’s something that Y/N quite enjoys.

Which is why she’s so confused when her doorbell rings at 2:13 P.M. on a Saturday afternoon.

The moment the sound pricks her ears, Y/N pauses her reading, setting her book down on her lap as she sends a confused look towards the front door. Her eyes slide to her phone next to her, tapping the screen to make sure she hasn’t missed any messages from anyone. Harry, surely, would at least text her before showing up unplanned, wouldn’t he?

When her phone screen is found to be predictably blank, and the doorbell rings again, Y/N stumbles her way from her couch to the front door, her chain clanging against the frame as she unlocks it and pulls the door open.

A man she doesn’t know raises an eyebrow at her as she looks up at him, and a spark of fear flickers in her stomach before she realizes he’s wearing a UPS uniform and holding a large brown package in his hands.

“Are you Miss Y/N Y/L/N?” He asks, glancing down at the tablet in his hands.

“Uh— yeah. Yes, I am.” Y/N replies slowly, tugging the patchwork cardigan she’d stolen from Harry around her frame. “Hi?”

The UPS delivery man gives her a quizzical look. “Hi.” He repeats back to her in a monotone voice, extending the tablet in his hand. “Sign here, please.”

The urge to argue that she wasn’t expecting anything bubbles up in Y/N’s throat, but she tamps it down as she accepts the tablet, using the pen attached to the device to sign her name. It’s probably from her mother, she thinks, scrawling her signature quickly before handing the tablet back. Even though L.A. is famously a city without seasons, her mother has probably knit her two new blankets for the winter months, or sweaters, or some other woolen article of clothing that Y/N will have no use for.

The UPS delivery man swaps the tablet in her hand for the package in his, barely sparing Y/N another glance before retreating back down her hallway.

“Um, thank you!” Y/N calls after him, shifting the surprisingly heavy package in her palms as she nudges the door shut with her socked foot.

She carries the box to her living room, setting it down on her coffee table before pausing for a moment to double back and relock her front door (although she’s adjusted to living alone, the fear that’s been implanted in her from a young age about living in a big city still has a hold on her).

The box, she discovers upon further examination, has no return address, but it does sound like there’s multiple items inside when shaken. And then Y/N remembers that she’s an adult, and should probably not be shaking a box when she doesn’t know what sits inside, so she sits back on her couch with a confused pout— until she once again remembers that she’s an adult, and can open a package addressed to herself.

It takes a moment of struggling to tear off the thick tape lining the seam of the box— a moment which would probably have been shorter if Y/N had retrieved a knife from the kitchen, truth be told— but the opening of the package makes the contents no more clear. When she pulls back the top of the box, she finds sheets of packing tissue paper, which she tosses onto her living room floor without care to reveal the surprises inside.

And what a surprise the black and white box with Gucci stamped on top is. Nearly as much a surprise as the second larger black and white Gucci box underneath, or the red and black box next to it labeled Christian Louboutin.

Y/N’s not quite sure how long she sits there staring at the packages in shock, but when she finally manages to unfreeze her limbs to take a sip of her tea, the liquid is considerably colder than it had been when she set it down to open the door. The packages are so unexpected that it takes her a moment to realize that designer boxes typically contain designer items inside them, and maybe unpacking those will bring her greater insight into what the fuck is happening right now.

Of course, that’s not the case.

Beginning with the smaller Gucci box, Y/N carefully extracts it from the brown container and sets it on her lap, untying the black ribbon encircling it as if she were dismantling a bomb. When she lifts off the lid to find a matte black leather clutch purse with a gold Gucci emblem as the clasp, she almost thinks that a bomb would be preferable, because surely, there’s been a mistake. Y/N certainly hasn’t purchased a Gucci clutch for herself, so it’s entirely likely that this was a gift for someone else, and the UPS man had just gotten the address wrong. Yes, she thinks to herself, ghosting her fingers over the supple leather in shock, that must be it. It’s a mistake. And because it’s a mistake, she should back this all up and call UPS to have them fix it.

And then she remembers the UPS man had said her name, and that’s enough motivation to open the Christian Louboutin box next.

Based on the brand, Y/N suspected that the box would reveal a pair of shoes. It’s still a shock, however, when she finds a pair of black satin heels that shine even in the low light of her apartment, with a satin ribbon death trap of an ankle tie, and signature red lacquered bottoms.

By the time Y/N reaches the third box, she’s moving on autopilot, her fingers robotically untying the black ribbon and lifting the lid without her instructing herself to do so. The only words she can manage upon seeing the black cocktail dress is a gentle but emotive “What the fuck?”

The dress, she finds as she cautiously lifts it from the box, is made of satin, and is nothing she would ever purchase for herself in a million years. The neckline dips into a low V, supported by off the shoulder cuffs, and Y/N can already tell by the cut of the fabric that if she were to slip it onto her body, the knee length dress would cling to her form. And— Y/N shifts the dress into the light as her eyes widen in shock— as if that weren’t enough, there’s a leg slit that runs so high that Y/N flushes at the mere thought of her thigh peaking through.

It’s that detail, coupled with the suspicion that a single item of the package— let alone all three together— costs more than her rent that leads Y/N to the realization that only one person she knows could have sent all of this.

Folding the dress carefully back in the box and setting it to the side, Y/N fumbles to retrieve her phone from where she had left it earlier. After unlocking it, she flips to her contacts and clicks on the familiar name, raising the device to her ear with a slow motion.

The phone rings four times before Harry’s voicemail crackles through the speaker. “Hi, you’ve reached Harry. I can’t talk right now, but if you leave a message at the beep, I’ll try to get back to you.” There’s a moment of hesitation in the recording, and Y/N almost thinks she’s missed the beep before Harry’s accented voice returns. “Unless you’re Niall.”

The expected beep finally sounds, and Y/N swallows hard as she tries to find the words she needs. “Hey, Harry, it’s, um, it’s Y/N. I just received your package— I mean, I think it’s from you, because I don’t know who else would send me a Gucci dress— which I can’t accept, by the way. That’s why I’m calling. So, um,” She sucks in a harsh breath to give pause to her rambling before continuing. “Just— just call me back, alright? Thanks.”

While Harry is usually attentive to every call and message from Y/N, her voicemail receives no reply, nor does her second phone call, or her third, or the four texts she sends to Harry in between. By five P.M., she’s given up on hearing back from Harry at all, and is nearly resolved to pack up the box again and march it to Harry’s apartment when his signature sharp rap echoes on her front door.

Despite her frustration at receiving no reply from him, there’s an air of relief running through Y/N as she tightens the cardigan around herself and strides to her front door. She unlocks it quickly, her greeting already falling from her lips before the door is even open.

“You better have a good reason for ignoring me all afternoon, Harry, because I’ve been wracking my brain to figure out why—”

And then Y/N’s frantic eyes finally settle on the man before her, and the rest of her beration dies before it can leave her throat.

Harry is leaning casually against her frame with his arms crossed over his broad chest, as usual, and he’s dressed in a grey suit that clings to his body in a way that is so attractive, Y/N didn’t even think it was possible for a man to look this utterly flawless. The suit fabric looks soft to the touch, more luxurious than anything Y/N could ever dream of, and the black silk shirt that lies underneath looks even softer. The human tries to not let herself focus on the way the shirt is slightly unbuttoned, showing off the inked swallows that decorate Harry’s muscled chest, as well as his usual cross necklace. However, letting her eyes drift lower proves to be a mistake, as her gaze is immediately drawn to the black stripe that runs down the inseam of Harry’s pant legs, highlighting the muscles of his thighs in a way that makes her mouth water. Even his shoes, black leather boots embroidered with gold dragons, are attractive in a way that Y/N doesn’t understand.

“Hello, darling.” Harry’s charming voice and dimpled smile pull the girl’s eyes back to his face just in time to see his lips drop into a discouraged frown.

Although Harry is usually greatly fond of seeing Y/N clad in cozy clothes with her hair in a messy ponytail (especially when his own cardigan is part of the ensemble), the look isn’t necessarily welcome at the moment. Yes, she looks adorable in her pastel blue pajama pants with cartoon sheep scattered all over the fabric. And yes, she looks incredibly cute swaddled in an oversized The Nightmare Before Christmas tee along with his patchwork coat. However, given the premise of the plans he’s drawn for tonight, her outfit is far from appropriate. Especially because he’d expected her to be wearing the dress he’d bought her along with the heels and clutch, dishing out a sexy but classy aesthetic rather than the ever-present lonely couch potato one.

He gives her entire body a quick, judgmental sweep, brows cinching. “I— why aren’t you ready?”

The confusion bubbling in Y/N’s mind molds into indignation at his words, albeit a hint of bewilderment lingers. “Ready for what?” Y/N demands, crossing her arms over her chest as she stares at Harry expectantly. “I’ve been trying to call you all day about the dress, and you didn’t answer a single time, so I don’t know what—”

“The dress?” Harry’s brow draws together deeper, his easy going demeanor twisting to match Y/N’s within a moment. “Why were you calling about the dress? Does it not fit?”

Y/N’s mouth gapes open at the question. “I haven’t tried it on, Harry, I—”

“What? Why not?”

“Because I can’t accept it!” Y/N exclaims, the suffix of obviously unspoken between them. “It’s way too expensive by itself, let alone with the shoes and the purse!”

Taking a deep breath through his nose, Harry responds in a slow and careful voice. “Why don’t we step inside, love, and continue discussing this while you get ready, yeah?”

Y/N scoffs at the condescension in his voice, but does as he says, stepping back from the doorway and allowing Harry to walk inside before locking the door behind him. “Ready for what?” She demands again, following Harry’s path down the hallway to the living room. “You still haven’t told me!”

“Christ, Watson, I thought if I sent you a dress and heels, you’d figure it out!” Harry replies with a half-joking sigh, a degree of annoyance beginning to work its way into his tone as he touches the ribbon of one of the Gucci boxes. “You’re losing your touch, huh?”

“Okay, well, apparently I’m a little slow tonight, so fill me in, Sherlock.” Y/N matches Harry’s snippy remark with ease, pinching the bridge of her nose as her head begins to throb in irritation. “What’s going on? What obvious clue have I missed?”

“I sent you the outfit for you to wear—”

“I figured that much out, thanks.”

Harry’s emerald eyes snap to hers in an exasperated flat glance before continuing. “—to dinner. I made us a reservation at my favourite Italian place, and I thought that the dress and the shoes would be enough of a hint that I could keep the rest a surprise.” He gathers the ribbon with his fingers again, rubbing the fabric between them as his face drops its usual haughty front. “You really didn’t...you didn’t try it on? Do you not like it?”

The disappointed hesitation threaded through Harry’s thick accent stops Y/N short, worming its way into her aggravated chest and leaving a spark of guilt behind. When she speaks again, her voice is dulled by genuine warmth, less sharp and pointed and more soothing and grateful. “I...I do like it. It’s a lovely dress; a little more body-hugging than what I would’ve picked, truthfully, but it’s beautiful.” Y/N offers Harry a soft teasing smile before continuing. “I just...I can’t accept something so expensive from you.”

“Why not?” Harry’s brows re-furrow in sheer confusion as he drops the ribbon from his grip, turning to face her fully. “It’s just a dress, Y/N—”

“It’s a Gucci dress. And purse. And Louboutin shoes.” Y/N states with a disbelieving laugh, crossing her arms over her abdomen as she drops her gaze to the rug she’d picked out from IKEA. “It’s too much, Harry. I know you meant well, but I can never...I could never pay you back for this, or give you something as nice, or…”

A disheartened pout tugs at the corner of Harry’s lips as he registers the mortal’s words. It hadn’t occurred to him that his gift could be perceived negatively; he’d just thought she’d like it. He likes to think their friendship is in comfortable enough territory now that gifts wouldn't be a turnoff, especially because of how much more time they’ve been spending together outside of the bedroom. However, as he stands here now watching her hug herself in the living room of the tiny apartment she’d told him she was so proud to afford, he can see how wrong he’d been in that assumption. Y/N is independent, and has been from the moment he met her. A gift like this— so extravagant and expensive— could come off as him mocking her financial status, almost, even if it had originally been bought with good intentions.

Harry worries his bottom lip between his teeth as something that feels a lot like embarrassment begins to boil in his stomach. She’ll feel like she owes him something, when that’s the farthest thing from the truth. If anything, it’s long overdue payment for everything Harry has unknowingly taken from her.

“I don’t care about that.” Voice dropping quieter, Harry takes a step forward, his cool fingers wiggling their way between hers and pulling her arm from her tummy. Once her hand is within his grasp, he squeezes it gently, his thumb brushing over the back of her knuckles. He talks slowly, keeping his tone level and honest to communicate the real innocence behind his prestigious present. “I don’t need you to pay me back, and I don’t want you to feel bad. The money thing— that’s not an issue for me. And I understand if...it makes you uncomfortable…” His gaze flickers to the ground as well before meeting hers again. “I can take it back if you’d like, if it bothers you that much. But I was hoping…”

He rubs his finger over his cherry lips pensively, taking a moment to clear his throat before continuing. “Well. The reservation is already made, I’m already dressed— and looking like a proper stud, if I may say so myself—” He laughs once in an attempt to lighten the mood, his eyes glued to Y/N’s face to see if she takes to the joke. He feels cool relief flood his veins when she scoffs slightly, the edges of her mouth ticking upwards humorously. “And you’ll match me so well in that dress that it’ll probably put me to shame, dove.”

Y/N glimpses up at him hesitantly, squeezing his fingers with a playful air. “You’re really good with words, y’know that?”

“I like to think I’m good at quite a few things.” Harry grins suggestively, cheekily squeezing her grasp right back. “And I hope I can add ‘getting you all dolled up and convincing you to come along to dinner with me’ to that list. So...what do you say?”

Y/N chews on her bottom lip as she mulls over the suggestion, her fingers grazing over the lionhead ring on Harry’s hand. He has gone to a lot of trouble, she thinks, glancing over his appearance one more time. His curls are carefully coiffed, his skin is practically glowing, his trusty cross necklace glints alluringly in the buttery lighting, alongside a small gold hoop on his pierced ear, and the way the suit fits over his body, hugging every flexing muscle and annunciating every hypnotizing curve…

“What time is the reservation?” She finally asks, eyes flickering to the clock on her wall that reads ten after five.

Harry’s eyes follow hers. “Seven.” He says immediately, licking his lips once as he grips her hand in anticipation again. “We have plenty of time to make it, if— if you want to.”

It could’ve easily been the money Harry spent on the clothing that sways Y/N to say yes. It could’ve been the humiliation of not realizing what he was planning and ruining his surprise. But in reality, the thing that causes the next sentence to fall from Y/N’s mouth is the quiet weariness in Harry’s tone— a certain shyness that she hasn’t seen in him before, paired with a specific type of subtle raw hope that makes her heart absolutely melt.

“Alright.” She murmurs, nodding her head once as she draws away from his touch. “I’ll go shower, then, and get ready. Are you alright waiting out here?”

A relieved smile jolts at the corner of Harry’s lips as he easily nods in return. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. I’d offer to hop in with you, but…” He gestures to himself vaguely as his grin widens with conceited teasing, shrugging one shoulder offhandedly as if what he says next should be obvious. “We wouldn’t want to ruin perfection, now would we?”

The jesting response pulls an eye roll from the human girl. “Uh huh.” She snorts, snatching her phone from the coffee table as she begins to make her way to the bathroom. “I won’t be long.”

“Take all the time you need, sweetheart.” Harry calls after her, slipping his own phone from his pocket. The click of the door lock pricks his ears, but he waits until he hears the shower running to unlock his device and dial the restaurant number.

“Bella Vita Ristorante, how many I help you?”

Harry exhales hard as he rubs a hand over his eyes, his head falling back to hang off his shoulders as his mind recalculates the evening’s plans, shifting things out of place to mold everything around this minor hiccup. He tries to keep his voice as steady as possible, swallowing down the instinctive bothered bite threatening to elbow through. “May I speak to Vincenzo, please?”

“Yes, of course. Just a moment, please.” There’s a shuffling on the other end of the line, and Harry’s gaze slides to the Rolex on his wrist as he waits, not nearly as patient as he knows he should be.

“Hello?” A familiar rough Italian accent echoes through the phone speaker, followed by a light clearing of the person’s throat. “This is Vincenzo.”

“Ciao, Vincenzo, é Harry.” Hi, Vincenzo, it’s Harry. He answers in Italian on reflex, gliding his hand over his lips once more as he fights the urge to tug on his styled hair. “Come stai?” How are you?

Friendly excitement breaks into the man’s voice the second the vampire makes his identity known. “Signor Styles, sto bene, grazie! Non vedo l'ora di vedere te e la tua ospite stasera.” Mr. Styles, I’m well, thank you! I’m looking forward to seeing you and your guest tonight.

Harry glances at the bathroom door symbolically, exhaling curtly through his nose. His tone comes out apologetic and unsure. “Sì, chiamo di stasera. Abbiamo riscontrato un piccolo problema. C'è un modo per spingere la prenotazione da sei a sette?” Yes, I’m calling about tonight. We ran into a little problem. Is there any way we can push the reservation from six to seven?

There’s a pause on the other end of the line, and Harry waits with bated breath for Vincenzo’s reply. The waiter’s response flows through the phone with a rueful heaviness that makes the immortal’s stomach plummet. “Siamo molto impegnati stasera, Harry… È un sabato, dopotutto.” We’re very busy tonight, Harry… It’s a Saturday, after all.

A frustrated sigh falls from Harry’s lips as he scratches at the nape of his neck, once again itching to yank at his curls but forcing himself to refrain the impulse. “Lo so, Vincenzo, e mi dispiace chiederti il favore, ma devo. Sai che te lo devo e ti lascio una generosa mancia.” I know, Vincenzo, and I’m sorry to ask you such a favour, but I have to. You know I’ll owe you, and I’ll leave a generous tip.

When Vincenzo replies, the hesitation in his voice is gone, replaced by reassurance and familiar fondness. “No, no, Harry, non mi devi niente. Per te, non è un problema. Gli amici aiutano gli amici per gentilezza, lo sai. Mi assicurerò che il tuo tavolo sia pronto per le sette.” No, no, Harry, you don’t owe me anything. For you, this is no problem. Friends help friends out of kindness, you know that. I’ll make sure your table is ready for seven.

Harry heaves a grand sigh of relief, a wide smile cracking his face in half. His head swings forward as a light laugh falls from his ruby lips, all tension washing out of his strong shoulders in one swift wave. “Grazie mille. Ti devo, lo fare.” Thank you so much. I owe you, I do.

His friend’s casual demeanor filters through the phone with a dismissive click of his tongue, and Harry can practically see the older man waving his hand passively. “Senza senso. Ci vediamo più tardi, sì?” Nonsense. I will see you later, yes?

“Sì. Grazie ancora. Ciao, Vincenzo.” Yes. Thank you again. Goodbye, Vincenzo.

As Harry hangs up the phone, he feels a weight lift off his chest. He knows that it wouldn’t have been a problem if Vincenzo had been unable to move the reservation; all it would’ve taken is a few words of persuasion at the host stand, and Harry would’ve been able to waltz right into the restaurant. But Vincenzo has been kind to him— has been such a good friend, really— and Harry would hate to tarnish that relationship.

With the new reservation secured, Harry tucks his phone back into his suit pocket, turning his attention to the gifts he’d brought Y/N that are still in their boxes. He removes the satin dress from its packaging, meticulously folding it over his arm as he snags the clutch and heels with his hands and carries them to Y/N’s room.

Harry nudges the door to the bedroom open with his foot, hesitating in the door frame as Y/N’s familiar honey and lavender scent fills his senses, and the vampire’s gaze slinks over a place he’s spent countless hours in as she’s slept soundly next to him. There’s been a few changes, he observes— warm satisfaction begins to bloom in his chest when he sees the tapestry on the wall has been replaced with the framed Monet print from the antique mall, her half emptied overnight bag is lying on her chair still from her last overnight stay at his condo, and the comforter on her bed hasn’t been fixed back in its usual place. Harry sets the Louboutins on the ground before tugging the comforter back into order, draping the dress onto the bed and smoothing the creases that formed. After he lays the clutch down next to the dress, Harry steps back and admires his choices. It was good that he’d gone with the black satin, he thinks, brushing a hand over the shining fabric with a fulfilled expression. It’s simple, yet elegant, and matches him perfectly, which brings a flutter of pleasure to his dormant chest like nothing else.

With the dress sufficiently laid out, Harry turns on his heel to leave, and his quick movement blows an unfamiliar scent around the room. Harry inhales deeply, wrinkling his nose in response to the thick fragrance of carnations and cedar that settle into his senses. While cedar isn’t one of his favourite scents, he doesn’t usually mind it, but the overpowering presence of carnations nearly gags him, and Harry twists back around to find the source of the offensive stench.

It only takes a second for his eyes to settle on the cause, a new addition to Y/N’s bedroom that he hadn’t noticed when he first walked in. He takes one stride across the small room to her bedside table, picking up the object with a gentle grip.

The picture frame is made entirely of glass, but has a decorative gold edge lining the small rectangle as both decoration and protection of delicate hands from sharp corners. In the center of the frame is a photo of three girls dressed in navy blue caps and gowns with red and white sashes around their necks, their arms thrown around each other as their posture curves, and bright smiles on all of their faces. Although she looks years younger, her hair is longer, and her eyes more naive, Harry recognizes Y/N on the left right away. The identities of the other two girls, however, stump him.

Of course he wouldn’t recognize them on sight, as Harry has never met any of Y/N’s hometown friends, but his ruby lips drop into a frown when he realizes that he can’t even conjure a name for either of the girls. No first initial, no general idea— just nothing. They’re ghosts to him.

Harry traces a finger down the younger Y/N’s face, searching for any part of the woman he knows now in the girl who existed then. The acne on her cheeks that she’s covered in makeup for the photo match the pattern of light scarring she has on her face, small marks that Harry’s traced in the dead of the night as he listens to her breathe. Her eyes, while younger, do show a faint glimmer of that stubbornness that he’s been so prone to witnessing. But it’s her smile, Harry realizes, that is the most different. While the size and shape of it are the same, there’s a dullness to it that digs into his mind, scraping against his every perception of her. This is around the time she’d have been with her ex, he remembers, dragging a finger down the edge of the frame. But what else was life like for her there? She had friends, obviously, friends who still care about her enough to send her this framed photo drenched in their carnation and cedar scent. Life couldn’t have been all that bad.

He sets the framed photo back down on her bedside table, scanning the room with a keen eye more closely than he had before. If he tore through every book on her wall of shelves, would he find any inscriptions written to her from a person in her past? Notes that had been slipped between herself and others in high school science class, still pressed between yellowed pages as bookmarks? What if he dug into her bedside table drawer? Would he find more pictures, letters from those she’d left behind? It’s strange to think that with all the time Harry has spent in this room, there’s still so many secrets buried within its four glossy walls.

Harry settles his gaze onto the silk dress once again, worrying his bottom lip between his sharp teeth as he does so. Y/N had been worried that a Gucci dress wouldn’t be a good fit for her, and while Harry had thought she meant she couldn’t wear a designer brand, maybe she’d meant she didn’t want to. Maybe her hesitation didn’t lie in just the cost of the outfit, but in her not wanting something so extravagant.

Sucking in a short breath through his teeth, Harry clears his mind of the thought. Y/N wouldn’t have said yes if she didn’t want to, he assures himself, quickly adjusting the hem of the dress on the bed. And besides, it’s just for a few hours. She’ll be out of the dress soon enough, and into…

Harry turns back to her vanity, swiping the overnight bag from where he’d spotted it on the chair. A pair of sweatpants already lies inside, but Harry still tugs open Y/N’s dresser and snags another pair, as well as a comfortable t-shirt for her to sleep in. He packs two pairs of fresh panties as well, one high-waisted cotton and another a cheeky pretty lace (the latter is definitely for selfish reasons, if he’s being honest) along with Y/N’s favourite pair of fuzzy slipper socks, because he knows how her feet get cold on the tile of his kitchen floor in the mornings.

The image in his head brings a smile to his face as he grabs a few hair ties from her vanity and throws them into the bag, along with her half empty bag of makeup removers. She always gets a chill in the morning in general, so she normally emerges from his bedroom with one of his sweaters tugged around her tired body, half mumbling incoherently until Harry slides a cup of coffee into her hands. In truth, sleeping next to his icy body probably does nothing to help the mortal, but Harry just tries to wrap her in an extra blanket to help remedy the situation.

Just as he’s tugging the zipper on the back shut, he hears the creak of the bathroom door, followed by the soft steps of Y/N’s feet against the runner rug down her hallway. Harry straightens up just as the bedroom door is nudged open, and whatever sharp comment was on the tip of his tongue dies away as he sees Y/N.

She’s already done her hair, having styled it into soft curls that are pinned back from her face with two gold clasps on either side of her head, and if Harry were in a more comprehensive mindset, he’d be pleased that the gold will match the adornments on the clutch. But Harry isn’t in a comprehensive mindset, due to the fact that Y/N’s body, still damp from her shower, is wrapped in only the smallest blue towel Harry has ever seen.

After Y/N shuts the door behind her, she turns around and sees Harry standing in her bedroom with a bag in his hand, and she clutches the towel tighter to her chest in surprise. “Harry—” Her heartbeat stutters as she locks eyes with the creature before her, her cheeks immediately flushing with heat. “What are you doing? I said to wait in the living room!”

“I know.” He licks his lips slowly as his eyes flicker down her figure and back again, the bright emerald darkening to jade when he meets her gaze once more. “I was just laying out your outfit. Although now that you’re here, wearing only that—” He gestures to the towel with his free hand as the edge of his lips curl. “Why don’t we just cut out the middleman and have a quick shag?”

Y/N scoffs in response, pushing her way past her lover to her dresser drawers. “I already showered, H, and I even put effort into my hair, so we have to go out. Can’t waste it, y’know?” With her hand wrapped around the handle of her dresser, the human girl pauses, her gaze drifting curiously from Harry’s face to the bag clutched in his grasp. “What’s that?”

It takes a moment for Harry’s attention to turn from Y/N’s glistening cleavage to the object she’s nodding towards. “Oh, I— uh— I packed an overnight bag for you.” He clears his throat as he sets the bag on the bed, taking a step back from the item like it’s a ticking bomb. “It’s not— I’m not insinuating that you have to stay over if you don’t want to, of course. And you don’t have to use it, but I just thought that if you decided to, you’d want something comfy to sleep in.”

“How is it,” Y/N laughs softly, her curls bouncing as she shakes her head in disbelief. “That you can go from saying you want to fuck me to telling me you packed me an overnight bag, all in the span of one minute?”

Harry presses into the inside of his cheek with his tongue as he chuckles, dimples winking awake and eyes glimmering all at once. “S’easy, really, when you look like that. It makes me horny—”

“Everything makes you horny.”

“—but I’m still a gentleman.”

A low hum echoes from Y/N’s throat as she opens her underwear drawer, surveilling the contents before she begins to rummage for what she’s looking for. “Alright then. Would the gentleman be so kind as to step outside so I can finish getting ready?”

Y/N hears two quiet footsteps behind her before she can feel Harry’s cool breath on her neck, her damp skin prickling at the sensation.

“Do I really have to step outside?” He groans lowly as his lips graze the shell of Y/N’s ear temptingly, and she shivers when his teeth follow behind. “S’nothing I haven’t seen before.”

There’s a nagging temptation in the back of Y/N’s mind to twist around on her heel, drop her towel to the ground, give into Harry’s half-hypnotic seduction, and let him drag her back to her bed to take care of the heat that’s beginning to swell between her thighs. But she knows she’s already pushing the seven P.M. deadline, and if she allows herself to take that detour, she’ll never make it on time.

“Yes.” She mumbles, suppressing a whine as Harry’s lips move to the pulse point on her neck, smudging open kisses down her heated skin. “I just need to do my makeup and get dressed, and then I’ll be ready to go.”

A disappointed sigh rustles across the shell of her ear. “Alright.” Harry murmurs defeatedly, smudging one last kiss to her jugular before stepping back from her intoxicating cloud of flowers and sugar that, if the burn in the back of his throat is any indication, is doubly intense from her shower. “I’ll just be outside then, doll. Take your time.”

Y/N keeps her back to Harry, clutching her towel with a clenched hand until she hears the click of her bedroom door shutting behind him. She knows that if she looks at him again, and sees that stupidly suggestive smirk on his face, she’d give him whatever he wants— which, considering she’s already trying to do that by going to this dinner, is a bit of a problem. Once he’s gone, however, she’s free to heave an exhale of relief as she searches for the undergarments she’s pictured in her mind.

While Y/N was in the shower, she’d been trying to picture what she would wear with the expensive dress that Harry had purchased for her. She only has one strapless bra— a nude coloured cotton contraption, which she’d purchased at a Target last minute for a dinner party a neighbour had thrown back home a few years ago— and she didn’t think that pairing the cheap article with a Gucci dress was going to work. Some of her friends back home, however, had just mailed her a little care package earlier in the week, and one of the things they’d included was a strapless bustier with a note reading “Here’s to getting L.A.’d!” tucked inside. They’d meant it as a joke, of course, but as Y/N extracts the lace garment from her drawer, she sends a silent thank you to her friends and their strangely omniscient humour.

Y/N releases her grip on her towel, drying the rest of the dampness from her body quickly before tossing the fabric over the back of her closet door. After selecting a matching pair of black lace panties, Y/N slips the undergarments on, fidgeting with the bustier to get it to sit right.

A gentle knock echoes from the other side of her bedroom door just as she gets the clothing settled. “How’s it going in there, love?” Harry’s voice floats through the crack in the door, half muffled through the barrier. “Have you got the dress on yet?”

“Not yet,” Y/N calls back, sitting down at her vanity as she analytically surveys her makeup. “Patience is a virtue, Holmes, don’t you know that?”

On the other side of the door, Harry lets out a long sigh, crossing his arms and tapping his fingers along the inside of his elbow. “Yeah, well,” He leans his back against the door, sliding one ankle over the other as he lets the wood support his weight. “‘M not very virtuous, Watson. I think you can attest to that.”

Harry glances over his shoulder at the wooden door, a smug smile peaking onto his lips as he hears the blood rush to Y/N’s cheeks from inside the room. “What?” He taunts, satisfaction laced into his accent. “Cat got your tongue?”

Pressing his head back against the wood to hear better, Harry is met with the sound of a makeup brush sweeping against Y/N’s silky skin, so quiet that human ears could never detect it. He focuses his attention a little harder to try and picture the steps of her getting ready routine as she performs them.

A rustling of fabric that sounds a lot like lace pricks his ears, taking his attention with it as Y/N grumbles a reply. “You’re such an ass.”

“Ah, nevermind, then. Tongue’s still there, and as sharp as ever, I see.” Harry chuckles lowly as he listens to the nearly silent stroking of mascara over Y/N’s lashes.

He likes that, he realizes, as he raises one hand from its crossed position to rub over his pillowy lips while he waits. He likes hearing the muted sounds of Y/N getting ready— the bristling of makeup brushes against her skin, the hushed hums that leave her mouth as she debates over what colours to use on her eyelids, the muffled spritz of her perfume bottle against her neck. The notes of poppies and vanilla mix with her natural scent of lavender and honey, and Harry’s eyelids flutter when the fragrance rolls under the door and envelops him completely.

It takes a harsh bite of his tongue and digging his fingernails into his clenched palms for Harry to restrain the moan fighting to break through his tightened jaw. Months ago, when he first smelled Y/N in that club, he’d sworn that she smelled more delicious than any aroma he’d ever encountered, but now… Harry wants to laugh at the naivety of his past self, and probably would, if unclenching his jaw didn’t mean letting a growl fall from his throat. Now, he’s convinced Y/N’s scent is an aphrodisiac created just for him. All it takes is one small inhale, and his entire body responds. Even now, as he presses his pounding head back against the panel, he can feel his mouth flooding with venom, his abdomen tightening, and a subtle throb beginning to bulge his—

“Harry?” Y/N’s voice breaks through the cloud of arousal dulling Harry’s senses. “Can you help me zip up the dress?”

The vampire swallows the excess venom in his mouth in an attempt to clear the lump in his throat. “Uh, yeah.” He replies, his voice strained as he struggles to regain control of himself. He clutches the door handle in his icy hand, pushing the barrier open with restrained strength. “Yeah, I can.”

When he steps into the room, he expects to see Y/N facing the door, her hands clutching the loose dress to her chest the way she’d clutched her towel earlier. For a moment, there’s a flicker of excitement in Harry’s belly that beats back the desire rolling around inside him. He’s been waiting to see her in his dress for only a day, but it feels like an eternity, and he pastes a charming smile onto his face as he lifts his eyes to meet Y/N’s.

What he’s greeted with, however, is the smooth expanse of the girl’s exposed back, a clear line of tantalizing skin running from the nape of her neck to the curve just below her backside, only broken up by a thick band of black lace with satin ribbing.

While he was able to control himself in the hallway, the inside of Y/N’s bedroom— with her mouthwatering scent surrounding him and her exposed skin in his line of sight— is an entirely different story. Harry can feel the way his canopy green eyes darken, and it’s a good thing Y/N is facing the wall, or else she’d see the shards of crimson that he can’t stop from flitting across his irises. With every step he takes towards the human, he becomes more aware of just how mortal she is— how her heart pounds louder with each passing moment, the shallowness of her breathing as he gets closer, the heat radiating off of every inch of her skin. Even with his centuries of experience behind him, it’s nearly too much for Harry, whose every instinct is screaming at him to lock the door and ravage the girl in front of him in every way he can.

Harry doesn’t stop walking until the front of his chest brushes against Y/N’s back and his breath is hitting her neck. He unhurriedly skims his palms over her bare shoulders, feeling the goosebumps that form underneath his icy touch as his hands run down her arms and back up again.

“This…” His voice is thick with desire as one hand travels down the trail of Y’N’s spine, eliciting a shiver from her before grazing the edge of the black lace. “This is new. I haven’t seen this before.”

“I…” Y/N’s speech falters as she feels Harry’s freezing digits trail down the small of her back as his other hand continues to stroke across her shoulder, barely touching the base of her neck with each movement. “I got it from my friends back home. They, um—” She sucks in a harsh breath as Harry’s hand inches its way towards her throat. “They sent me a package.”

Harry hums low in her ear, the sound vibrating throughout her body before settling in her warming tummy. “Did they? How thoughtful.” With his palm finally at her neck, he squeezes it once, applying the slightest bit of pressure to her jugular as his lips brush against the top of her ear. “I should send them a thank you note.”

The feeling of Y/N swallowing beneath his grip sends another wave of desire crashing over Harry, and he bites back a low growl as the fingertips of his other hand find the golden Gucci emblem zipper at the back of her dress. When he does, he tugs the metal tag up slowly, the sound of the zip barely audible over Y/N’s ragged breathing.

“S’a shame, really.” Harry murmurs in her ear, letting his teeth graze her earlobe just hard enough to catch her breath. “A crying shame.”

“What—” Y/N’s heart pounds out of her chest as Harry squeezes her neck once more, applying just a smidge more pressure than he did previously. “What’s a shame?”

Harry’s lips trail down her jaw, smearing a single kiss along the dip where it curves to meet her neck. His fingers squeeze her one last time before releasing. “That this pretty little piece your friends sent you is going to end up ripped to shreds on my bedroom floor.”

The blunt reply incites a squeak of surprise from Y/N as Harry tugs the zipper completely to the top of the dress, settling the seam flat against her flushed back before stepping away.

“Fits like a glove.” Harry murmurs as his hands return to his sides, fixing the fall of his own suit that was disturbed during his previous actions. He raises a single finger and makes a twirling motion as he dimples a smirk the human girl can’t see. “Give me a twirl, will you, dove?”

Y/N inhales a deep breath as steadily as she can, using the moment to calm her racing pulse before turning around to face Harry with a flustered complexion.

The dress, made of black satin, has a sweetheart neckline that sits off her shoulders, and hugs tight to the curves of her body all the way down to the hem, which sits just above her knees. It could be considered conservative, really, if it weren’t for the leg slit running so far up her thigh that Y/N is a little worried about flashing her underwear every time she takes a step.

Harry, however, seems to share none of those concerns, as he hungrily drinks in the sight of her with a satisfied grin and lust swirling through his jade irises. She’s kept her makeup fairly neutral, save for the bold red lipstick adorning her lips, and while Harry feels a prick of sadness at the realization that he’ll have difficulty kissing her throughout the evening, the idea of smearing said lipstick across her face afterwards erases the feeling completely. And the dress… “Y’look so fucking gorgeous in that dress, angel.” He hums lowly, rubbing his thumb over his lionhead ring absentmindedly. “So much better than Adam did, and without all the complaining, too.”

Y/N stares at her lover with a blank expression “What—?”

“Does it feel alright?” Harry strides around the mortal girl, examining the fall of the fabric with a keen eye. “I took a guess on your size, though I think I did pretty well. I've licked every inch of your body to the point where I practically have it memorized, so it was relatively easy.” He gives her a cheeky grin as his hand grazes her waist. “But Gucci sizing can be a bit tricky.”

“It— yeah. It feels alright.” Y/N tugs on the hem of the dress as she feels heat crackle across her ears, shooting him an accusing stare as she touches the thigh slit. “This is a little much, but other than that…”

“That’s my favourite detail, actually.” Harry laughs lightly as he walks to her bed, taking a seat on the edge before reaching for the Louboutin box. “But it’ll feel a lot more natural once you have the heels on.”

“Uh, yeah, about those…” Y/N eyes the offending shoes as Harry extracts them from the packaging, doubt painting itself all over her face. “Those look like six inch deathtraps, and I don’t really trust something that uses a ribbon to attach itself to my ankle, so I think I’ll take a raincheck on the heels. I have some flats I can wear instead.”

Harry scoffs, a snort echoing from the back of his throat as he shakes his head. “You’ll be fine, love. I wouldn’t let anything happen to you. You may not trust the shoes, but you can trust me, can’t you?” He unravels the ribbon from one of the shoes and pats his knee expectantly. “C’mere. I’ll make sure I tie them nice and tight, yeah?”

Y/N nearly chews on her bottom lip before she remembers the lipstick she’d carefully applied earlier. “Alright.” She relents, walking over and lifting her foot to rest on his bent knee. “But if I snap my ankle in half, you’re paying my hospital bill.”

“And I would do so gladly, except it won’t be necessary.” A quiet chuckle rolls out of Harry’s lips as he grips her calf gently, fitting her foot into the sole of the heel with one smooth motion. Once it’s sitting nicely, Harry diligently wraps the satin ribbon around her ankle, stopping midway up her calf before tying it tightly into a neat bow. “See? Nice and secure, darling. You’ll be alright.”

Y/N’s cheeks boil as Harry presses a single kiss to the slope of her knee before setting her foot gently on the ground. “Next one, please.” He smiles up at her with a twinkle in his sea glass eyes.

That twinkle, however, darkens the moment Y/N hikes her other bare foot onto his knee, gripping his shoulder for support as she teeters on one heel. The leg that she’s lifting is the side of the dress with the thigh slit, and she can tell from the expression on Harry’s face that he has quite the view.

Just like he did previously with the zipper, Harry takes his time slipping Y/N’s foot into the second stiletto. He trails his fingers all the way up her calf and back down before reaching for the ribbon, and is more meticulous in his motions as he ties the satin around her calf.

Y/N swivels on her other foot as she tightens her grip on Harry’s shoulders, fisting the fabric of his suit between her fingers. “Thanks, H.” She clears her throat as Harry’s cool hands keep their grip on her lower leg, massaging the muscle beneath his fingers with careful and concise motions. “That’s, um, that’s good, I think.”

Harry hums in response, letting her know he’s registered her words, but he doesn’t release her from his grip. Instead, he bends at his hips, making sure that Y/N can still grasp him for support as he connects his lips to the smooth skin of her calf.

He smudges his mouth all along the area up to her knee, each kiss sloppy and open-mouthed as he inhales more and more of her intense fragrance. His nose nudges along the tender and dimpled flesh of her thigh, her scent growing stronger the higher Harry gets, and it burns his aching throat with lust and thirst. He can feel the heat radiating from her core, and he wants nothing more than to burrow his face between her legs and lose himself completely in her taste. But he’s already come so far, and put so much work into this night; he can’t let it all go to waste because his self-control is particularly weak at this moment.

With that in mind, he sucks in another long breath, sponging one last kiss to the top of Y/N’s kneecap. “Does it all fit nicely?” He asks, voice gravelly with desire as he squeezes her calf. “The dress, the shoes… is it all alright?”

“Y-Yeah.” Y/N whispers, releasing the fabric of Harry’s jacket before it creases, smoothing it with her palms. “It all fits good.”

“Mmm. Perfect.” His lips twitch against her skin as he drags another searing breath into his lungs. “Anything I give you always fits so fucking good.”

Another flash of heat rises to Y/N’s cheeks, and she nods weakly in response, not trusting her ability to form words. A quiet hum is the only comprehensible noise she can manage. “Mhmm.”

Harry straightens up the slightest bit, giving her an expectant look as he releases the grip of one hand on her calf to lightly touch the shell of his pierced ear. “Sorry, pet. Didn’t hear you quite clearly.” He says, his voice taking on a sterner tone. “Did you agree?”

Although embarrassment begins to crawl up Y/N’s spine, it quickly mixes with irritation. She knows what he’s getting at, and she can’t afford to let herself give in. “Yeah.” She mumbles, keeping her response as short as she can.

Despite the edge beginning to creep into Y/N’s voice, Harry can’t stop himself from pressing the matter. He never can, really, when he’s in a mood like this. When his mouth is filled with venom, when his head is throbbing so much that he can hear a steady drumbeat vibrating through his skull. He can’t stop.

“M’gonna need to hear you say it, I’m afraid.” He raises his ringed hand to the human girl’s chin, gripping it between his thumb and forefinger as he regards her with a firm and conceited gaze. “Speak up, minx. I know you have no issue with being loud.”

All it takes is that one reminder for all of Y/N’s resolve to fall away, her entire body flooding with warmth as she lets out a trembling sigh. She swallows the weight in her throat down as much as she can, pinning her eyes to where Harry is gripping her calf with a strong hand. “Everything you give me always fits so good.” She whispers, her voice higher than it was a moment before.

Harry squeezes the backside of her knee once. “Look me in the eyes when you say it.”

Y/N’s entire body feels as if it’s on fire as sweat begins to bead across her forehead, but her mouth is as dry as a desert. She swallows thickly once more, gathering all the composure she can muster. “Everything—” Her voice cracks once, and she clears her throat as Harry’s thumb sweeps across her chin in an encouraging manner. “Everything you give me always fits so good.”

When she completes the task, Harry gropes her knee once more, but this time the action is a show of satisfaction rather than demand. He trails his fingers up her bent leg to her thigh, only stopping to dig his fingertips into the crease where her backside begins to plump. “That’s my good girl.”

Delicately setting Y/N’s heeled foot back on the ground, Harry rises from the bed, both of her hands grasped in his own to help her remain steady. Once he’s eye level with his lover once again, he leans forward and stamps a chaste kiss onto her forehead, his lips already tugging into a small grin before he pulls away.

“Y’ready to go, then?” He questions casually, smoothing the thumb of his right hand over her knuckles as his left hand snags the Gucci clutch from the bed, along with Y/N’s phone. He unclaps the clutch and settles the phone into its silk lining before handing the bag to the human girl.

Y/N clears her throat once more as she takes a shaky step towards her vanity, grabbing the lipstick she’d applied before and tossing it into the bag, clasping it shut with a final snap. “I suppose so.” She chews on the inside of her cheek as she shoots Harry a nervous glance. “I might need you to carry me down the stairs of my building, though.”

Harry laughs once as he grabs the overnight bag he’d packed with one hand and reclaims Y/N’s left hand in the other. “Don’t worry, pet. I’ll make sure Cinderella doesn’t lose a shoe. Or break an ankle.”

“Thanks, Prince Charming.”

“Considering I’m the one that got the dress, I think the Fairy Godmother role fits just a smidge better.”

///

Although it takes careful steps, more than a few stumbles, and Harry’s hand wrapped securely around her waist, Y/N manages to make it down the multiple flights of stairs in her apartment building to Harry’s car waiting below. After the ten minute car ride into downtown L.A., the majority of which is spent with Harry’s hand sitting perfectly still on Y/N’s exposed thigh, the vampire pulls the car in front of a large restaurant with a line of well-dressed parties winding down the sidewalk.

The restaurant itself, Bella Vita, is one that Y/N’s heard of in passing, but has never experienced firsthand herself, probably because it holds a reputation for being the premier Italian restaurant in all of Los Angeles. Shock covers her features as she stares out the car window at the grand glass double doors, but only for a moment; after all, could she have expected anything less from Harry, who seems to indulge in luxuries the way most people do chocolate?

When the passenger side door swings open, the surprise returns as Y/N glances up and sees a blonde man she doesn’t know dressed in a suit holding the door open. The breast of his outfit is embroidered with the restaurant name, but it’s not until Harry, who has already vacated the driver’s side and is behind him, flips the valet his keys.

“Thanks, mate.” Thinly veiled irritation works its way through Harry’s voice as he steps in front of the valet, clapping his large hand over the employee’s shoulder. “I got it from here.”

The valet nods curtly, releasing his grip on the door as Harry extends his hand to Y/N. The mortal girl grasps it within her own, eager to receive the help he offers as she swings her exposed legs out of the low car and onto the ground.

“There we go, love.” Harry’s voice softens as he pulls her to stand, giving her a moment to find her balance on her own before sliding his arm around her hips. “Y’alright?”

“I’m fine.” Y/N nods in confirmation as she folds her arms in front of her body, grasping the Gucci clutch in tight hands while she appraises the packed high-end restaurant. “I see why you insisted on the dress now.”

A low laugh rumbles from Harry’s chest as he shuts the car door with his free hand. “I told you, you need to trust me more. Have a little faith.” He extends his palm towards the valet, shaking his hand quickly and smoothly while sliding him a bill. “Thanks, Leo.”

Leo retracts his hand from Harry’s icy grasp with another respectful nod of his head, slipping the bill into the inside pocket of his suit. “Of course, Mr. Styles. Enjoy your dinner.”

Y/N watches as the valet hurries to the driver’s side of the car, sliding in and starting the engine with ease as Harry begins to lead Y/N to the door.

“So…” She quirks an eyebrow as Harry confidently bypasses the long line of people waiting to be seated. “You’re Mr. Styles here, are you? Do you come here that often?”

Harry lifts one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug, releasing his grip on Y/N’s waist to open the large glass door for her. “Every once in a while, I suppose.” He quips, the answer as non-committal as most things Harry says. Once Y/N steps into the restaurant, the vampire follows closely behind, clutching her warm hand in his own as he leans down to whisper in her ear. “But I wouldn’t say it’s too often—”

“Harry!”

An older man that looks to be in his mid-seventies emerges from behind the corner, dressed in a fine suit and with an animated grin on his tan, weathered face. He waves off the host at the stand who had been about to approach the two new guests, his arms already outstretched towards Harry.

“Vincenzo!” Harry responds with equal enthusiasm as he lets go of Y/N’s hand to clutch Vincenzo’s between his palms. He leans forward and pecks two air kisses onto the employee’s cheeks as the older man does the same. “È così bello rivederti. Come stai?” It’s so nice to see you again. How are you?

Y/N’s eyes widen in utter shock at the fluent Italian that easily slips from Harry’s ruby lips, watching as Vincenzo takes a step back from him with the same excitement as when he first turned the corner.

“Sto bene, grazie. È meraviglioso anche vederti.” I’m well, thank you. It’s wonderful to see you, too. Vincenzo’s attention lists over Harry’s shoulder to Y/N, who is still standing behind him with her mouth half open in bewilderment.

“Grazie ancora per aver riorganizzato la prenotazione per noi.” Thank you again for rearranging the reservation for us. Harry reaches back and intertwines his fingers with Y/N’s again as another Italian phrase slips off his tongue with practiced ease. “Ti devo un favore.” I owe you a favour.

“Te l'ho già detto, non mi devi niente. Gli amici aiutano gli amici.” I’ve already told you, you don’t owe me anything. Friends help friends. Vincenzo raises an eyebrow as he gestures to Y/N, who’s still a half step behind Harry as he carries out the conversation. “A proposito di ... chi è questo, Harry?” Speaking of… Who is this, Harry?

“Perdonami, sono stato scortese.” Forgive me, I’ve been rude. Letting go of Y/N’s hand, Harry drifts his palm to the small of Y/N’s back, rubbing his thumb over the satin of her dress as he gently guides her forward for a proper introduction. “Vincenzo, sono Y/N, la mia ... amica. Y/N, questo è Vincenzo, il titolare del ristorante.” Vincenzo, this is Y/N Y/L/N, my… friend. Y/N, this is Vincenzo Genovesi, the owner of the restaurant.

Y/N’s ears prick up when she hears her name, and she smiles shyly in greeting at the older man. “Hi.” She wants to offer a more formal presentation, but is unsure if he speaks English or not, so she simply extends her hand to shake his.

Vincenzo’s smile grows as he grasps her hand in his own, bringing it to his lips and planting an innocent kiss to her skin before taking a polite step back. “È così bello conoscerti. Sei così bello!”

With a gentle squeeze to her love handles, Harry lowers his mouth to Y/N’s ear, his lips barely grazing her sensitive skin as he speaks. “He says it’s lovely to meet you, and that you’re very beautiful.” He translates, and Y/N can feel the way he’s smiling into her hair.

A shiver rolls down her spine as his cool breath meets her neck, but she manages to ignore the sensation, and instead sends a grateful smile in Vincenzo’s direction. “Oh… Thank you. Grazie.” She tacks on, and although she tries her best to mimic Harry’s Italian accent, the way the immortal’s body tenses against her side as he represses a laugh tells her that she didn’t pass the test.

Vincenzo, however, waves off Harry’s amused expression, flipping his hand airily in his direction before taking Y/N’s again. She finds out that he indeed does speak English, and it comes out with a thick accent that holds so much genuine kindness, she immediately takes a strong liking to the aged gentleman. “Wipe that grin off your face, cretino, at least she’s trying!” He pats Y/N’s hand reassuringly, shaking his head with a disappointed scoff. “The last time he brought someone here, they spent the entire time doing a Godfather impression. And it wasn’t even a good one!”

“How many times do I have to apologize for bringing Niall until you let me forget it?” Harry sighs in exasperation, his hand snaking around Y/N tighter than before. “I’ve already forbidden him from coming back.”

Shaking his head with a hearty laugh, Vincenzo pats Y/N’s hand once more before stepping back to the host stand and grabbing two leather-bound menus from the shelf. “I will never forget, Harry. But don’t worry; I’ve still reserved your favourite table in the back of the restaurant. Come, bella donna,” He tucks the menus underneath his arm as he gently loops Y/N’s arm through his own, tugging her from Harry’s grasp as he begins to lead her away from the entrance. “Let me escort you to the table, yes?”

Y/N allows Vincenzo to lead her, but glances over her shoulder to meet Harry’s amused gaze as he trails behind them, large hands tucked into the pockets of his slacks as his eyebrows poise teasingly. The table in question, she discovers, is tucked away in a private corner of the restaurant, framed by a plethora of flora and candles that reflect back on the stone walls.

Although Vincenzo releases her arm to retract Y/N’s chair, Harry beats him to it, pulling the seat out smoothly and waiting until Y/N is seated comfortably to push the back of it in. He brushes his cool hand over her shoulder, nudging a loose curl away from her bare neck while offering her a dimpled smile.

As Harry takes his own seat across from her, the older Italian man gives him a knowing look, his eyes glinting with mirth. “Solo un amica, eh?” Just a friend, eh?

The vampire half rolls his eyes, nodding his head slightly as he lays the cloth napkin over his thigh, voice stubbornly flat. “Sì. Solo un amica.” Yes. Just a friend.

Vincenzo sets a menu down before each of them, clicking his tongue in unconvinced disbelief. “Non guardi un amica come l'hai appena guardata.” You don’t look at a friend the way you just looked at her.

Flipping his menu open with disinterest, Harry makes a bored sound in the back of his throat, waving off Vincenzo with a leisurely gesture. “Vorrei la carta dei vini, Vincenzo, non la tua opinione non richiesta.” I’d like the wine list, Vincenzo, not your unsolicited opinion.

A laugh echoes from the older man’s belly as he shakes his head in amusement, taking a step away from the table. “Certo, Signor Styles. Lo farò portare subito dal cameriere.” Certainly, Mr. Styles. I’ll have the waiter bring it right away.

Turning his attention back to Y/N, Vincenzo takes her hand and kisses it once more. “Bella donna,” He begins, heaving a long sigh. “It was lovely to meet you. And if this one ever gives you trouble,” he gestures to Harry with a nod, giving her a playfully wink, “I have five grandsons that would die for the opportunity to dine with a woman as beautiful as yourself.”

Harry’s face hardens at the comment, but Y/N laughs at the joke, squeezing Vincenzo’s hand before releasing it. “Thank you, Vincenzo. It was so nice to meet you… Next time I come, you’ll have to teach me some Italian.” She adds, glancing at Harry as the curiosity of what they discussed before burns a hole in her belly.

The moment Vincenzo leaves the pair to their own devices, the mortal girl leans forward, the inquiry already falling off her lips. “Speaking of Italian…” She runs her finger around the stem of her empty wine glass, cocking her head to the side. “What were you and Vincenzo talking about?”

Harry waves off her question just as he did Vincenzo’s comments. “Nothing important. Don’t worry,” a sly grin works its way onto his lips as he smoothly changes the subject, “he wasn’t offering to set me up with his granddaughters, if that’s what you were worried about. It seems he only wants you in the family.”

“Who wouldn’t? I’m a delight.” Y/N remarks, a wry smile raising the corners of her lips. “But seriously, Harry— where did you learn to speak fluent Italian?”

The answer rolls off his tongue as easily as the language did. “Italy.” He states simply, as if it should be obvious.

And it’s not a lie; he really did learn in Italy. It just happened to be during the early 1900s, when he had been bouncing around between Florence, Venice, and Rome. He’d liked Italy, actually, and would’ve stayed there longer, but then an Archduke was assassinated, and Harry had to return to Britain to fight in what was then called “the War To End All Wars.” Harry had figured that he might as well, given that he could shrug off bullet wounds as easily as a knick, and could use his blood to help heal other soldiers when travesties struck. The Italian, it turned out, had come in handy as he fought his way through Europe, but considering the bloody conditions under which he did so, Harry much prefers using it to woo a lovely girl in an expensive restaurant.

“Italy.” Y/N repeats the word in a deadpan voice, crossing her arms over her chest as she leans back in her chair, kinking an eyebrow stubbornly. “When were you in Italy?”

Ah, Harry thinks, habitually rubbing his thumb over his ruby lips. It seems a little white lie is necessary. “During uni. I did a semester abroad.”

For a moment, he thinks that Y/N doesn’t buy the fib. Her other eyebrow quirks upwards to meet its partner, but her gaze remains as suspicious as it has been since she first asked the question. When she finally opens her mouth to speak, there’s a small, irrational part of Harry that thinks she might prod for more.

“What do you mean, ‘a semester abroad’?” She questions, and Harry is about to over-explain when her posture suddenly relaxes, her arms returning to her sides as an easygoing laugh falls from her mouth, a seemingly entertaining realization dawning on her. “Wait, you grew up in England! You already lived abroad!”

A breathless and relieved chuckle rolls out of Harry as his shoulders drop, the tension rolling out of him as he leans forward. “I suppose that’s true, hm?” He hums, reaching for Y/N’s warm hand and tugging it onto the table to intertwine her fingers with his own. “I really just went a few doors down the neighborhood, didn’t I?”

“You really did.” Y/N sighs wistfully, drifting her thumb over the back of Harry’s knuckle without a second thought. “I’m jealous, though. I wish I had gone away for school, even just to a different state. I could’ve been living in Washington, or Oregon, or New York. It would’ve been so nice.”

The corners of Harry’s lips weigh down into a frown as he considers the possibilities laced into the comment. “I suppose, but…” He casts his gaze towards their knitted hands. Hers looks so much smaller wrapped inside his. “If you did, then you might not have moved to L.A. And then we wouldn’t have—”

“Good evening, Mr. Styles, Miss Y/L/N.” A waiter that Harry hasn’t met before appears beside the table with a wine menu clasped in one hand and a basket of bread in the other.

The server is younger than others Harry has seen before, but Harry knows Vincenzo hires his staff carefully, and that he wouldn’t send anyone too inexperienced to take care of Harry. From the sweat beading his brow, the vampire can tell that Vincenzo has given the waiter a speech about Harry’s status with the restaurant owner, and the thought brings a small spark of satisfaction to him. However, that satisfaction disappears the moment he sees the waiter’s eyes linger on Y/N a moment longer than needed. He nods kindly to both of them, but the immortal can’t evade the small spark of irritation that zips down his spine at the employee’s subtle interest in his companion. Shifting in his seat, Harry tightens his grasp on Y/N’s hand, but keeps his demeanor neutral and polite. It’s not like he can blame the poor boy, really. Not when Y/N’s silky lips are sheathed in such a breathtaking shade of red.

“My name is Luca, and I’ll be your server for tonight.” He shifts his attention back to Harry as he sets the bread basket on the table before extending the small leatherbound menu to him. “Here’s the wine list you asked for, Mr. Styles. I’ll give you some time to look it over, and then I’ll be back in a few minutes to take your order.”

Although his right hand is closer to the server, Harry reaches for the menu with his left in order to maintain his grasp on Y/N’s. “Thank you, Luca. I appreciate it.”

Luca nods once as he takes a step back from the table, clasping his hands behind his back. “Prego, signore.” You’re welcome, sir.

Harry’s eyebrow jolts up in mild surprise. “Oh, parli italiano?” Oh, you speak Italian? He asks, the flip in language gliding down his tongue without so much as a second thought. Harry hadn’t expected it, given that the young man’s natural accent is as American as can be.

Pausing on the ball of his foot, Luca nods as colour begins to rise to his cheeks. “Sì, signore, la mia famiglia è italiana. Mia nonna mi ha insegnato a parlarlo quando ero giovane.” Yes, sir, my family is Italian. My grandmother taught me to speak it when I was very young.

“Tua nonna è una signora molto intelligente, allora.” Your grandmother is a very smart lady, then. Harry’s mind drifts back to his own upbringing, when his mother would gather him and his sister around the table on Sunday nights, reading them Latin passages by candlelight. The memory brings a sad smile to his face. “Grazie per il menu. Lo daremo un'occhiata.” Thank you for the menu. We’ll take a look at it.

Luca nods again, but there’s hesitation in the motion as his eyes drift to Y/N once more, flickering from her own gaze back down to her crimson lips. “Is there anything I can get you before I go, miss? Some water, perhaps?”

Y/N sends a bright smile to the young man, nodding her head as a strand of her curled hair loosens from its pin. “Yes, please. And thank you.”

“Due acque, Luca.” Two waters, Luca. Harry interjects, clearing his throat quietly as he catches the human boy’s eye, giving a curt jut of his chin that signals he’s done ordering for the time being. “Grazie.”

Y/N reaches for the basket of bread the moment Luca has scurried away, her eyes lighting up as she hears the first slice crackle open. “Ooh, garlic bread.” She thrums happily as she takes a small bite while being mindful of her red lipstick, setting the rest of the bread on her side plate as she chews slowly and indulges the flurry of delicious flavors. She talks lightly over a semi-full mouth, careful as to not give Harry an unpleasant eyeful. “So what’s on the menu for drinks? I’m assuming you’re, like, an expert on wine, right?”

Harry’s lips twitch as he bites back a laugh at the hint of annoyance in her voice. “What makes you say that?”

“You shop Gucci like it’s Target, you speak Italian, you’re a regular at this place…” Y/N’s eyes sweep over their private corner of the restaurant before sending a teasing glance to Harry. “Being a sommelier on the side just seems like something to add to the list of things you’re infuriatingly good at.”

Despite the small jab, a satisfied smile settles on Harry’s lips as he squeezes Y/N’s hand. “You really are good at stroking my ego, aren’t you, dove? I suppose we can add that to the list of things you’re infuriatingly good at?”

The familiar comment brings Y/N back to the night the two of them met, in a dark and deafening club that’s the complete opposite of their current location. She twists her fingers within Harry’s, flipping their hands to examine his palm as memories float through her mind like movie scenes. How Harry had looked when he first walked over, the soothing and seductive tone of his voice, how she’d done her best to match his flirtatious compliments… how he’d kissed her in his car before taking her back to her apartment. She should’ve known then, Y/N thinks, that she wouldn’t have been able to let someone like Harry be just a one night stand.

“I guess I’ll allow you to add it.” Y/N murmurs teasingly as she clasps their hands together once more. “But, unfortunately for me, wine knowledge is not on that list, so… you pick something. I trust your taste.”

“Alright, then. No pressure for me.” Harry jokes, snapping his gaze from her hypnotizing irises to peruse the menu once more. “Would you like red, white, or rosé?”

The human hums as she considers the question, pursing her lips in thought, as if the answer she gives is life or death. “Red, I think.” She replies, watching as Harry’s brow furrows in thought while shifting his eyes to the red wine list.

A moment later, Luca appears again with two glasses of ice water balanced on a tray, which he sets down on the table before each of them. While both of them offer a murmur of thanks, it’s only Y/N’s show of gratitude that incites a darkening of his cheeks.

Another thread of irritation flares down Harry’s spine, but he forces himself to dampen it down with a reminder that if he were the one waiting on Y/N— rather than being the one sitting across from her— he’d probably be doing the exact same thing. “Penso che abbiamo preso una decisione, Luca.” I think we’ve made a decision, Luca. He says with a tight smile, snapping the wine menu shut and handing it back to the young man. “Prendiamo due bicchieri del tuo cabernet sauvignon, per favore.” We’ll have two glasses of your cabernet sauvignon, please.

Luca nods as he accepts the menu, his eyes flickering to Y/N’s ruby lips yet again. That’s three times in the last ten minutes...not that the vampire’s counting or anything.

“Ovviamente. Li prendo per te che scrivi.” Of course. I’ll get those for you right away. The server answers politely before tucking the menu under his arm and hurrying off.

“Okay, I’m sorry,” Y/N says the moment the waiter is gone, her eyes alight with amusement as she pulls her hand from Harry’s to take a sip of her ice water. “But I can’t ignore it.”

Clearing his throat as he reaches for a slice of garlic bread, Harry slinks his head to the side before answering. “Ignore what?” He asks offhandedly, taking a bite of his bread and chewing it slowly. Had Luca’s fascination with her crimson smile not gone unnoticed? Or had Harry’s aggravation begun to show on his face?

“The Italian.” Y/N admits, setting her glass down and sitting forward as she rests her bent elbows on the table, propping her head upon her interlocked fingers. “I feel a bit left out, and, truthfully, a little jealous. I want to learn.”

A playful laugh echoes from Harry’s throat as he taps a ringed finger against the table. “I can’t exactly teach you an entire language over one dinner, sweetheart. I’m good, but I’m not that good.”

“Hm. I know. It’s tragic.” Y/N sighs, giggling quietly at the way Harry’s laughter cuts off completely and is replaced with a wounded sound of protest. “But what about some important phrases? Just so I’m not in the dark all evening while you play Roman Holiday?”

Harry prods the inside of his cheek with his tongue. “Alright. Why don’t we start with Mi dispiace?”

“Mi dispiace.” Y/N repeats slowly, trying her best to wrap her red lips around the Italian diction. “What does that mean?”

“It means ‘I’m sorry’, which one could say in reference to, oh, I don’t know…” Harry shrugs lightly, matching the motion with a theatrical dejected sigh. “Insinuating that your date is without certain… talents?”

Although Y/N laughs again, she reaches across the table and wraps her hand around Harry’s, trying to tamp down the mirth in her voice when she replies. “Mi dispiace.” She repeats again, giving Harry her best attempt at puppy dog eyes.

“That’s passable, I suppose.” Harry props his chin up in his palm, rubbing his thumb over his pillowy lips in thought. “And then we have ti perdono— I forgive you.”

“How kind of you, Mr. Styles.” Y/N simpers, biting her tongue between her teeth to hold back more sounds of glee. “Give me another one.”

Harry regards her with a thoughtful air, his hand sliding from his mouth to his hair to tug on his styled curls before traveling back down to rest on the table. His voice comes out a tad deeper, a vein of sultriness running beneath it that she just barely detects. “Sei molto bella con quel vestito.”

One of the words tweaks Y/N’s memory from earlier, but she still traces a finger over Harry’s initial rings as she locks eyes with him expectantly. “What does that mean?”

Swiping his tongue over his lips, Harry peers at her through his thick lashes as he encircles his free hand around the stem of his water glass. “You look very beautiful in that dress.”

A pleasurable flush rolls through Y/N’s belly at the compliment. No matter how many times Harry pays her a positive comment, she somehow always still feels a rush with each word that falls from his soft lips. “Thank you.” She mumbles shyly, tucking her thumb between Harry’s ring and pinkie finger. “I mean— grazie.”

“Try saying it back to me.” Despite the encouraging words that are said under the guise of teaching, there’s an undercurrent of command that turns the satisfaction in Y/N’s tummy to anticipation. “Molto bella.”

The mortal’s eyes flicker between Harry’s own emerald irises and his mouth as he curls a ringed finger over her hand, stroking the icy digit over her heated skin. “Molto bella.” She repeats, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Fantastico, tesoro.” The praise slips easily from his lips as he lets himself bask in the warmth her flesh brings to his.

“‘Tesoro’,” Y/N repeats, a tinge of confusion settling onto her face. “What does that mean?”

“It’s, uh,” Harry scoffs to himself in realization, unaware he had even let the term fall from his mouth. “It— well, it means ‘treasure,’ but it’s kind of the Italian equivalent of ‘darling’.”

The vampire can hear the way Y/N’s heartbeat spikes, sending a new wave of blood to warm her cheeks. “That—” The human girl mimics the way he’d cleared his earlier as she reaches for her water glass. “That’s pretty.”

“It is, yeah. You’ll probably be hearing it often.” Harry continues to drag the pad of his finger down the ridges of his lover’s knuckles as a fond smile crescents his Cupid’s bow. “And here’s another one you’ll be hearing often— piegarsi.”

Y/N pauses with her water raised halfway to her lips. “And what does that one mean?”

Harry waits until her mouth has reached the rim of the glass and she’s taken a sip of ice water. “Bend over.”

The response is instantaneous, just as he’d imagined. The mortal chokes on her water, coughing up a storm as she quickly lowers the drink from her mouth, half bending over the table and yanking her hand from his as her cheeks light with fire. “Harry!” She gasps once she regains her breath, glancing over her shoulder to see if anyone else at the restaurant overheard his lewd statement.

“What?” He asks innocently, but quickly gives into snickering, his body curling over the table as he cackles. “I’m not wrong! You really will be hearing it often, so you should know what it means!”

“That doesn’t give you the right to say it in public!” Y/N exclaims hotly, shooting him a look of irritated disbelief that’s exaggerated to hide the boiling that’s working its way into her stomach.

Still chuckling every few moments, Harry reaches for her hand once again, interlocking their fingers and bringing her palm to his mouth. “Alright,” He kisses her heated palm while gazing at her through half lidded eyes. “Alright, I’m sorry. Mi dispiace, tesoro.”

Y/N purses her painted lips, but sighs in defeat after a few moments of Harry’s moony eyes boring into her own. “Fine. I forgive you. Ti perdono.”

Although the annoyance has faded from Y/N’s complexion, Harry still keeps her hand flushed to his lips, stamping kisses to a new area of skin with unpatterned frequency. He’s not certain if her warmth is just her or the residual embarrassment, but he doesn’t care. It’s just nice, he thinks, his eyes crinkling in the corners as he smiles at Y/N from across the table. It’s comfortable.

“I have your glasses of cabernet sauvignon, Mr. Styles.” Luca interrupts from beside Harry, who had been so focused on the feeling of Y/N skin against his that he hadn’t noticed the waiter’s return.

Harry gently lowers Y/N’s hand from his mouth, setting her palm down on the table with care. “Grazie.” Harry says casually, straightening his posture to allow Luca to set the glasses down.

Y/N does the same, offering the young server a thankful smile once again. “Grazie.” Her voice rings sweetly from behind her lips, her confidence more stable thanks to Harry’s miniature Rosetta Stone lecture.

“Prego, signorina.” Luca matches the Italian easily, his eyebrows raising in hopeful shock. “Parli anche italiano?” Do you speak Italian, too?

The human girl’s eyes flick to Harry as her mouth falls open without sound, and the immortal reads the distress signal easily.

“No, lei non—” He cuts himself off in the middle of the address to Luca when he remembers that Y/N doesn’t like being spoken for. Harry redirects his attention back to her questioning eyes. “I mean— he asked if you speak Italian.”

Y/N gives Harry an appreciative smile before turning back to Luca, the expression turning apologetic. “No, I don’t. I wish I did, though.”

“It’s a fairly easy language to learn.” Luca tucks his tray underneath his arm as he regards the girl timidly. “And your accent is wonderful already.”

Harry hides his smirk behind his wine glass, stifling the laugh that’s threatening to sound. The server must be entranced by her beauty, he thinks, because that’s the most blatant lie Harry has heard in a long time.

Y/N, however, accepts the compliment with ease. “Thank you. It’s not true, but I appreciate the effort to be kind.”

The tips of Luca’s ears redden as he laughs breathlessly. “Are you, um, ready to order?”

“Oh, uh—” Y/N drops her gaze to the unopened menu in front of her before offering an rueful glance at the waiter. “I still need a few minutes, I think.”

“That’s alright, take your time. I’ll be back shortly.” Luca assures her, turning to Harry and giving one last nod of acknowledgement before leaving them again.

Despite already having the menu of the restaurant memorized, Harry slides the leatherbound cover open, dragging a ringed finger down the smooth pages as he feigns searching for a dish. “You know…” He flits his gaze to Y/N’s face as an amused grin begins to tug at the corners of his mouth. “That’s really not fair of you.”

Y/N looks up from her own opened menu the moment Harry speaks, a bemused shadow falling over her face. “What’s not fair of me?”

Harry reaches for his wine glass as he laughs gently, shaking his head before taking a small sip of the smooth cabernet. “Being so charming to Luca. The poor boy looks like he’s going to pass out each time you speak to him.”

Her cherry lips curve into an exasperated smile as she rolls her eyes. “I have no idea what you mean.” She states, turning her attention back down to the cursive menu.

“Oh, you don’t, do you?” Harry replies dryly, quirking an eyebrow as he sets his beverage back down on the table. “So you’re not noticing how his eyes are glued to your mouth every time you say something?”

“Nope,” Y/N pops her lips on the last consonant sound of the word as she reaches for her own wine glass. “Because it’s not happening. We’re just talking, H. He’s the waiter; he has to look at me.”

“Right.” Harry drags the word out, completely unconvinced. His own eyes glue to Y/N’s lips as they wrap around the edge of her glass, his throat growing slightly parched as he studies the way they curve in a manner that he deems practically flawless. “So do you think the way he’s staring at your tits is also in his job description, then?”

Y/N snorts at the snarky remark, lowering her glass to rest just in front of her chest. “You’re the one who picked out a dress with such a low neckline.” She unwraps her index finger from the wine glass to point it at him in an accusatory manner. “Why did you get it, then, if you didn’t want my tits out on display?”

Harry takes a swig of his own wine as he fights back a laugh at her bold statement. “Let me fill you in on a little secret, mi amore.” He says, lowering his voice and setting down his delicate glass with a muted thud. “The main reason I got it…” The vampire watches the way Y/N’s breathing hitches when she feels the snakeskin tip of his boot brush against the back of her bare calf beneath the table. “Is because I’m curious to see what it would look like as a crumpled heap at the bottom of my staircase.”

The toe of his boot travels higher up her leg, circling around the bend of her knee before just barely grazing the soft flesh of her lower outer thigh. Y/N does her best to control her breathing, but the effort is in vain when the cold metal zipper presses against her dimpled skin.

“Harry…” His name leaves her crimson lips in a warning tone as she glances around the restaurant, eyeing the closest couple five tables away.

“‘M excited to see it later, y’know? Been thinking about ripping it off ever since I zipped you into it.” Harry drags the toe of his boot back down her leg, coasting it lightly against her ribbon-wrapped ankle in small and concise motions. “But I suppose I’ll just have to be a bit more patient. At least I’ll be seeing you like that; poor Luca could only dream of it.”

The human girl clears her throat quietly, taking another measured sip of her wine as she wills herself to steady. “The only thing poor about Luca is that he’s going to come back to the table and I still won’t know what I want.” She shifts her attention back to the open menu, ignoring the eye roll she receives from her lover across the table as she looks over the Italian in front of her. “I don’t know what any of this is.”

“Let me help, cara— which means, ‘dear,’ by the way.” Harry says in an amused voice, dropping his gaze to the cursive menu. “Do you want fish? Pasta? Red meat? Chicken?”

“Maybe pasta.” Y/N murmurs in reply, running a finger down the booklet page as she reads over the Italian descriptions. Her eyes catch the prices next to dishes, and she nearly gasps, but bites back the sound of surprise at the last moment.

“Alright…” Scanning down the pasta list, Harry bookmarks a few dishes he thinks Y/N may like. “You’d enjoy the ‘Spaghetti Cacio e Pepe’, I think.” He muses, rubbing a finger over his chin in thought. “Or the ‘Gnocchi al Vostro Gusto’. That’s kind of like pasta— it’s a potato dumpling, and you can choose if you want a meat or gorgonzola sauce.”

“That sounds good.” Y/N finds the mentioned items on the menu, her eyes sweeping over the Italian descriptions to try and pick out the words Harry mentioned. “I think I’ll go with the last one, with the gorgonzola sauce.” Taking a sip of her wine to seal her decision, Y/N poses a question to Harry. “What are you thinking of having?”

“I’m not sure…” Harry lifts his shoulder in a careless shrug as he continues to scan the menu. “I have a few favourites, and those are always solid choices. The lamb is quite good here; I haven’t had that in a while.”

As Harry peruses his decisions, Y/N begins to chew on the inside of her cheek, narrowly avoiding her habit of biting her lips and ruining the raspberry lacquer she’d painted on earlier as an idea forms in her head.

“Harry,” She begins, waiting until he raises his jade eyes to meet hers before continuing. “When Luca comes back over…” The girl chooses her words carefully, doing her best to voice her question in the most understandable way. “Could you order for me?”

Just as she suspected he might, Harry rests his menu back down against the table, giving his whole attention to Y/N as his brows furrow. “You want me to order for you?” He asks, confusion threaded through his accent as his mind flips back to their first date, when Y/N had nearly skinned him alive for attempting to do just that. “Why?”

She shifts in her seat under his hot gaze, her own eyes dropping to her lap as her cheeks sear. “It’s— It’s in Italian, so it’ll probably be easier if you say it.”

Harry shakes his head in disagreement as he tries to reassure his date. “No, doll, it’s alright if you say it in English. Luca will get it. And if worse comes to worse—” He cracks a smile, tapping a bejeweled finger against the booklet. “Y’can just point. He’ll get the gist.”

Despite the solutions offered, Y/N continues to shift around, her foot bumping against Harry’s boot as a soft sigh falls from her lips. She’d hoped Harry would’ve just accepted the request on her first try, but he seems determined not to repeat his mistake from their first date, which means Y/N has to get a lot more honest.

“No, H, I want…” She purses her lips as she twists her fingers around the stem of her wine glass, gently swirling the dark liquid inside. “I want you to order for me.”

The smile on his face darkens into a befuddled expression. “I mean, I can,” Harry says slowly, closing the menu and sliding it onto the table as he appraises the girl across from him. “But I’m a little confused on your reasoning. Last time I tried to order for you, you said I was trying to make decisions for you—”

“And you were,” Y/N can’t help but to defend herself, flashing a stormy look at Harry from beneath her lashes. “That’s why I’m telling you what I’d like now.”

Harry’s mouth gapes open as he stares at Y/N with a blank expression. A scoffing laugh finally falls from his lips as he shakes his head again, reaching for his wine and bringing the glass to his lips. “You are the most confusing woman I’ve ever met, d’you know that?”

Y/N lets a beat of silence fall between them as she rethinks her question and how best to phrase it in a way that still lets her feel like she’s living in the twenty-first century. “I mean I— you said that it was polite, right? At that brunch. Your mom taught you it was a sign of respect.” Her eyes fall to the opal ring sitting on his pinky, sparkling in the candlelight like it always does.

Harry lowers his glass, watching Y/N with a guarded gaze. “Yeah.” He murmurs, licking his lips once as he places his cup back on the table. “She did, yeah.”

“And you’ve gone to a lot of trouble tonight— the dress, the reservation, everything— and I just— I wanted to—” The more Y/N tries to articulate her thoughts, the more tangled her thoughts become, and she sucks in a harsh breath of frustration. “I don’t know what I’m trying to say.”

Although Harry has a suspicion about her meaning, he doesn’t try to finish her sentence. The last thing he wants to do is make Y/N feel like he’s trying to speak over her. “It’s alright.” He says instead, snaking his hand across the table to weave her fingers through his. “Take your time, tesoro.”

Heeding his advice, Y/N takes a moment to just focus on the feeling of Harry’s cool fingers wrapped around hers, and allows her thoughts to gather themselves together on their own. When she tries again, her speech is hesitant, but less frustrated than before.

“I think I… understand you more now.” She mumbles the words, keeping her eyes glued to the shining stones that adorn Harry’s rings. “When you do things that I’m not used to… I know you’re doing them out of kindness, and not because you think I’m incapable.” Raising her stare to meet Harry’s entrancing emerald eyes, Y/N takes a deep breath before continuing. “You’ve done a lot to make me comfortable, and I appreciate it, so… I want to do something for you. It’s no Gucci dress—” Y/N laughs breathlessly, her cheeks flushing again as her intent flickers away from Harry’s own for just a moment before— to his relief— returning. “— but you were taught it was a sign of respect, like opening a door, or pulling out a chair. So if you want to order for me… you can.” She finishes in a quiet voice. “If you’d like to.”

A slow smile spreads over Harry’s strawberry lips as Y/N wraps up her speech. “Really?” He asks, his voice hushed with delight. “And you won’t accuse me of treating you like you’re incapable?”

Y/N’s eyes flash to him in a darkened glare, but her tone holds a jesting bite. “Not unless you piss me off.”

A soft exhale of air leaves Harry’s nostrils, the beginnings of a laugh. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He quips in return, catching Luca’s eye over Y/N’s shoulder as the waiter approaches the table again.

Although his body is turned towards Harry, Luca’s eyes canvas Y/N once more, the action bolder this time as his irises spend longer resting on her cleavage after observing her tinted pout. The lengthened look grates against Harry’s nerves, and he clears his throat in a slightly irritated manner to call the young man’s attention back his way.

“Oh, uhm—” Luca’s ears redden as he turns back to Harry, clearing his throat as he steadies himself. “Sei pronto per ordinare, signor Styles?” Are you ready to order, Mr. Styles?

“Sì,” Harry replies curtly, tapping his thumb against Y/N’s soft hand. “Y/N vorrebbe gli Gnocchi al Vostro Gusto con la salsa al gorgonzola, e io prendo il filet mignon, cotto raro, per favore.” Y/N will have the Gnocchi al Vostro Gusto with the gorgonzola sauce, and I’ll have the filet mignon, cooked rare, please. He says smoothly, and he can’t deny the satisfied pleasure that curls inside his belly when he sees the gentle eyes Y/N gives him across the table.

Luca nods once as he takes the menus from the two of them, careful to keep his eyes away from Y/N’s mouth as he gathers her leatherbound copy and scuttles off to submit their orders to the kitchen.

“Okay.” Y/N says reluctantly, squeezing Harry’s hand within her own with a sigh as she watches the waiter disappear. “I will admit, I did notice his eyes drifting a little low there.”

“Sorry, what was that?” Harry asks, eyes widening in dramatized disbelief. He wills himself to keep a triumphant grin off his face, but knows he doesn’t quite succeed. “Did you just admit I was right? Did that just happen?”

“Oh, shut up.” Rolling her eyes, Y/N shakes her head as she takes another bite of garlic bread, her tongue poking from her mouth to catch a crumb at the corner of her lip. “If you’re going to act like such a child, I’ll take it back.”

Harry brings her knuckles to his mouth, brushing them against his lips in a tender motion. “I’m just trying to savour the moment, angel.” His cool breath crawls over her skin, eliciting a shiver from the human girl that he adores. “Who knows when I’ll get to experience it again.”

“Never, if I have any say in it.”

“Should we ask Luca to weigh in on this little debate, too? You know, since he’s practically as acquainted with you as I am.”

“Bite me.”

The monster’s dimples wink at the irony of her insult, and his voice carries a knowing edge that only he can decipher. “Don’t I always?”

They fall into their usual rhythm after that, easily discussing what each of them had been up to throughout the week during their gaps away from the other. Those gaps, Harry realizes as he listens to a work story from Y/N, are becoming shorter and shorter. He’d swung by Y/N’s cafe for lunch on Thursday to order a mediocre at best sandwich, and indulge in a far from mediocre makeout session in the back of his car. And watching Y/N hurriedly tighten her ponytail while she stumbled away from his Cadillac, cheeks flaming as she nearly ran to the employee entrance around the back of the building before her break ended, had prompted Harry to call her that night for a long overdue phone sex session.

Even after they had both helped the other reach climax, and post-orgasm photos had been sent (Harry had received a picture of Y/N stretched out on her bed, her face visibly heated and chest sweaty as she wore nothing but his “enjoy health” t-shirt, and in return, he’d sent a snapshot of his cum-covered abdomen, fingers resting delicately at the edge of his butterfly tattoo), the vampire and human had stayed on the line as they both caught their breath. Harry had followed the nude photo with a picture of him posing with a glass of water and a thumbs up, smiling grandly amidst his colored cheeks and sweaty curls, captioning it “Make sure to hydrate after a workout!” The energy it took to take the self-timed photo was worth it when he’d heard Y/N’s laugh tumble out from the opposite end of the line.

It’s the same carefree laugh that she’s trying to stifle now, her hand pressed over her mouth and nose as her eyes send an apologetic glance at Luca setting her plate of gnocchi down in front of her.

“Thank you, Luca,” She manages to choke out, wiping her eyes with the edge of her thumb to stop the saltwater threatening to rush down her heated cheeks. “It looks delicious.”

Harry nods in agreement as the waiter sets his own dish in front of him, his mischievous smirk still shining at Y/N from across the table. “Grazie.” He says as he curls his lips around his newly topped off wine glass.

Y/N bites her tongue to hold back the continuous laughter that’s on the verge of bursting from her chest like a dam. With every moment Harry keeps his eyes locked on hers, the human girl has to press her lips harder and harder together, and barely manages to wait until Luca has left them again to release the wave of giggles that crest out of her chest.

“Something amusing?” Harry raises an eyebrow as he sets his glass down, hardly able to hold back his own laughter as couples seated away from them begin to take notice of the boisterous sounds.

“You—” Y/N sucks in a ragged breath, half snorting once more as she manages to calm herself enough to take a small sip of wine. The liquid soothes the raw ache in her throat that is practically raw from the convulsed snickers. “You did not say that to him!”

“I did.” Harry answers smugly, adjusting the napkin covering the light grey fabric stretched over his lap before picking up his knife and fork. “He was too certain that no girl had ever faked it with him just because of a leg shake. I couldn’t let him live in that delusion; it’d be a crime, really. Just plain cruel.”

“Oh, right, like telling your friend that all the girls he’s been with have been faking it isn’t cruel?” She gently sets down her wine glass at the edge of her plate as she voices the retort, shaking her head in disbelief. “Poor Niall.”

“Not Poor Niall! I was trying to help him!” Despite the claim, Harry can’t stop himself from chuckling out the words. “How’s he going to fix his ways if he doesn’t know anything is wrong?”

“Alright, so riddle me this, then, Dr. Phil.” Y/N picks up her fork, spearing a piece of gnocchi and holding the chunk above her plate as she issues her challenge to Harry. “How did you become the expert in whether or not a girl is faking it? Do you have a lot of experience with that?”

“Not in the slightest. I think you know that much.” Just as he did before, Harry begins to slide the tip of his boot up Y/N’s calf, relishing in the slight hitch in her breath and stutter of her heart. “If I’m an expert in anything, it’s how to make someone cum until their legs actually shake. That’s why I can tell the fake from the real.”

Y/N takes a deep breath through her mouth, closing her eyes for a moment as she forms a coherent reply. “I guess I do know that.” She relents, opening her eyes just in time to see the simper that’s growing again across Harry’s face as he continues to rub up and down her leg with his shoe. Y/N lifts her fork, carefully slipping the sauce-covered gnocchi into her mouth. “But Niall doesn’t— holy shit.” The mortal gasps as the flavours burst across her tongue, the perfect mix of savoury and salty and drenched in decadence.

“It’s good, innit?” Harry pokes his cheek with his tongue as he slices off a corner of his steak, checking the rarity of the meat before bringing it to his mouth. “There’s a reason this is my favourite restaurant, and it’s not just Vincenzo.”

“It’s fucking delicious.” Y/N can’t think to censor herself as she meticulously chews and swallows the bite, savouring every second before poking another gnocchi onto her fork. “I understand the price now. It’s still outrageous, but I get it.”

Harry watches the way Y/N’s lashes flutter as she chews her bites, and the satisfaction growing in his belly increases. “High quality is worth paying for.” He states, slicing off another portion of steak.

Y/N nods slowly, swallowing the food before pointing the prongs of her fork at Harry’s plate. “How’s your filet mignon?” She asks, spearing another bite of gnocchi onto the utensil. “Worth the price point?”

Dragging the bite on his fork through the sauce that’s pooled on his plate, Harry beckons her forward as he extends the piece towards her. “Open your mouth and find out.”

There’s something about the way that Y/N immediately obeys the command— setting down her own fork and leaning across the table to wrap her lips around Harry’s— that sends a shiver down his spine. With her mouth closed, she slides the cut of beef off the silverware and leans back in her seat, chewing thoughtfully with a contemplative look on her face.

A drop of sauce is smeared from the bite, dripping from the edge of her mouth, and although it goes unnoticed by Y/N, it’s all Harry can see as he watches her savor the bite of food. He leans forward more, collecting the droplet on the pad of his thumb, which he brings to his mouth and licks off casually before settling back in his chair.

“Like it, tesoro?” He asks, an expectant look glinting in his eye as he slices off another bite for himself.

Y/N cocks her head to the side as she swallows, trying her best to focus on the flavour and not the way Harry had been so careful not to smear her lipstick as he touched her. “I like the sauce. It’s sweet, but has a bit of a kick to it. The steak, however…” She wrinkles her nose the slightest bit. “It’s a little too rare for my taste, I think. I’m not really a fan of anything bloody.”

Harry curls his tongue inside his mouth as he allows himself a single laugh. “No?” He questions, spearing a piece of meat and sliding it past his lips. “I can’t say the same. I like my steaks cooked rare. The bloodier, the better.”

“I bet you’re one of those weirdos who orders blue steak, huh?” Y/N asks, taking a gulp of her wine to wash out the taste of the meat. “Like, still cold in the middle, and looking practically raw…”

“Oh, no. Not at all.” Harry’s chuckles increase, and he has to hide them behind a false cough to stop himself from drawing more attention. “It tastes much better if the meal is warm.”

Although Y/N doesn’t grasp the full meaning behind his words— and thank God she doesn’t, Harry thinks, because she’d probably run screaming from the restaurant— she hums in acknowledgement as she swirls the wine around her glass.

“But you’re enjoying your meal, right?” Harry changes the subject swiftly, deciding he’s indulged his one-sided humour long enough. “I have no problem sending it back if it’s not to your liking.”

The human’s eyes widen as she swiftly sets down her glass, shaking her head at the question. “No, no, it’s delicious! Probably the best thing I’ve ever eaten, honestly.” She collects another bit on her fork, twirling the potato dumpling through the gorgonzola sauce before motioning to Harry. “Wanna try?”

When Harry nods in response, they slip back into their former position, both of them leaning forward in their seats to meet in the middle of the table. Y/N slips the fork into his mouth, feeling the resistance as Harry’s white teeth meet the strong metal of the cutlery.

Just as had happened to her a few moments prior, a small droplet of sauce gathers at the corner of Harry’s mouth as she pulls her fork away. Y/N collects the sauce with her thumb as Harry had as well, but before she can sit herself back in her chair, Harry captures her wrist within his cool hand.

Keeping his canopy green eyes locked with hers, the creature slips her thumb into his mouth, licking the remnants of the bite off the digit with his slick tongue. His boot continues its climb up her leg, just barely reaching her thigh again before traveling back down to plant itself firmly onto the floor of the restaurant.

A quiet gasp leaves Y/N’s mouth as Harry lulls his tongue around her thumb one last time, and the barely audible sound raises his strawberry lips into a hint of a grin as he extracts the finger from his mouth. With his hand still wrapped around her wrist, Harry brings her open palm forward and plants a delicate kiss to the center of her hand.

“That’s quite good.” Harry finally says nonchalantly, attentively setting Y/N’s hand back down on the table and releasing her wrist from his grasp. “I’ll have to try it the next time we come.”

Y/N struggles to regulate her breathing as she retracts her hand from the table, setting it down in her lap as her fingers involuntarily clench into her heated thigh. “Um, yeah.” She wisps, clearing her throat once as she reaches for a slice of garlic bread. “Yeah, it’s, uh, it’s really good. The sauce is— it has a nice balance to it, I think, with the thyme…”

“I agree.” Harry wipes his wet finger off on the napkin laying over his thigh. “You’ve got quite the mouth on you, don’t you, pet?”

“You would know.” Y/N huffs snidely, cheeks blazing as she reaches for her wine again to extract a heavy gulp of the liquor.

In the moments of silence that fall between them, Y/N allows herself to canvas the restaurant, observing the interactions of those around her. True to Vincenzo’s promise of a private spot, the couples nearest to them are all at least five tables away, and partially hidden from view because of the positioning of their corner booth. However, Y/N’s sharp eyes don’t miss how every formally-dressed staff member, from servers to busboys and hosts, cast their eyes in Harry’s direction each time they pass by. Some even whisper to their coworkers as they turn the corner, their gazes always lingering on Harry with a mix of awe and wonder.

“Have you noticed how all the staff here watch you?” Y/N asks as she catches the eye of a passing waitress, who offers her a tense smile before sliding her stare towards Harry.

“Do they?” Harry replies curiously, raising his wine glass to his lips as he lightly shrugs. “I’ve never paid much attention to it.”

“I think Vincenzo’s given them all the update on the prestigious British bachelor, Harry Styles.” Y/N pokes fun, tilting her head to the side thoughtfully as she contemplates Harry with an observant eye. “Or maybe they’ve all just noticed the ridiculous amount of designer labels you insist on wearing.” She teases him with a playful grin, tapping a finger against the Gucci cufflinks on his sleeves. “I feel a bit like a celebrity.”

A modest laugh breaks past Harry’s lips as he lowers the glass, keeping his ringed fingers twisted around the stem. “In my experience, I’ve found you’re treated best when you treat the staff best. I tip well, so I receive better service. When I receive better service, I tip more. It’s a bit of a cycle, isn’t it?” He asks rhetorically, the tip of his boot once again exploring the soft skin of Y/N’s bare leg. “But I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself. I thought I’d test the waters tonight and see how well you like the high life before I arrange anything more… extravagant.”

“More extravagant?” Y/N laughs at the idea, propping her elbow on the table and plopping her chin in her hand as her eyebrows raise. “What could possibly be more extravagant than a Gucci cocktail dress, Loubotin heels, and a fifty dollar pasta dish?”

The answer rolls off Harry’s tongue immediately, slathered in a jesting, matter-of-fact tone. “A trip to the Bahamas, obviously.”

Although Y/N’s eyes widen slightly at the comment, it’s not long before she giggles softly, the wine beginning to twist its way through her system. Harry can smell the way her lavender and honey scent is intertwined with the dark, fruity notes of the liquor, but even if he couldn’t, it would be obvious in the way she draws towards him with a tender smile on her face. Despite the dewy appearance of her skin amidst the lulled candlelight, it’s the genuine warmth behind Y/N’s eyes that makes Harry feel like her gaze could thaw the ice from his long-frozen limbs.

It’s that warmth that brings Harry to reach over the table after Luca has cleared their bare plates and refilled their glasses, dragging his hands across the linen tablecloth with his palms turned upwards. He just can’t ever seem to stifle the need to touch her.

The motion is a quiet question in itself, and Y/N gives the desired answer when she fills his empty grasp with her own palms, automatically tangling her bare fingers with Harry’s jeweled digits. For a moment, Harry just sits there, thumbing over her fragile knuckles in the way he’s grown so accustomed to doing, basking in the heat that congregates in his chest and gives him the feeling that he’s glowing. He almost hates to break the perfect silence between them, which is so understanding, but he’s been thinking about his words too carefully to swallow them back.

“Thank you for agreeing to let me take you out.” He says, his voice gentle and low, a far cry from his usual cocky drawl. “It’s…It’s been a really long time since I’ve done something like this with anyone, let alone had this much fun doing it.” He takes a quiet breath through barely parted lips. “It’s nice.”

His ears prick with the sound of Y/N’s hummingbird heartbeat thrumming in her chest, the pattern bringing an ache to his tummy in an entirely new way, but the ache is quickly soothed by the soft smile that adorns her crimson lips.

“It’s…It’s been a while for me, as well. Which you know.” She laughs airily, but is too entranced by the vivid color of Harry’s eyes to tear her gaze away. “I’m having fun, too. I’m glad— I mean—”

Harry continues to rub over her knuckles patiently, keeping his touch as gentle as she is, making sure to gift her an instance to collect her thoughts.

“I’ll admit, I was… worried at first. When we started to go on actual dates.” The mortal takes a deep breath through her nose, but it hardly calms her down as she inhales the vanilla and tobacco scent of Harry’s cologne. “We were doing so well with just sex, y’know? And I was worried that adding more would… ruin it.”

The faint grin playing on the edge of Harry’s mouth disappears, and a chill runs through his bones at the possibility of what they have dismantling at the seams. “But it hasn’t… Has it?”

The seconds Harry spends waiting for an answer is agony, but the relief is instantaneous when Y/N replies in a bashful voice. “No.” She whispers, her gaze faltering down to her lap before raising back to him. “It hasn’t.”

“I feel like…” Harry worries his bottom lip between his teeth, nearly forgetting to be mindful of his strength so as to not break his skin. “I feel like it’s made things better, even. Like… like we work better together, yeah?” He clears his throat gingerly as nerves begin to dip into his dormant veins. He knows he’s treading on dangerously thin ice, and he’s never been more at risk of plunging into the freezing depths below, but he can’t make himself return to shore. Not now. “Not that we weren’t working well before, because we were. We were working really well— incredibly well. But I just feel like tacking on this little bit of extra stuff makes everything more fulfilling.”

A wry smile breaks across Y/N’s face. “Right, because who doesn’t love getting wined and dined before getting their back done in?” She jokes easily, and Harry snorts in spite of himself, grateful for how she always manages to save him from making an ass of himself.

“I just really like spending time with you, I guess.” He squeezes her hands within his own before the sincere moment disappears. “It feels natural. Really natural.”

“It does. And while we’re confessing our innermost confessions over garlic bread…” The mortal purses her lips as a sparkle appears in her eyes, glinting at Harry like the North Star. “I want you to know how grateful I am for what we have. I was feeling really lonely and out of place when we met, and running into you…” Y/N hesitates for a fraction of a instant, just long enough for Harry’s own breathing to catch. “It really helped me get back on my feet. It’s just nice to have someone who I mesh with so well, especially after such a big move and everything, so…” A new wave of heat works its way over the apples of her cheeks. “I suppose this is a bit of a ‘thank you’. Thanks for coming up to me that night at the club.”

Harry’s lips quirk at the corners as the tender confession settles into his chest. “Thank you for letting me chat you up. It was a two way street, love. Although—” His signature smirk begins to make a reappearance. “It’s not like I had to try very hard— you practically drooled the second you laid your eyes on me.”

Y/N’s mouth drops open indignantly as she yanks her hands back from his, rolling her eyes heavily while smoothing the hem of her dress. “Alright, that’s enough. Moment over, dickhead. Go back to sipping your wine and looking hot in your suit in silence.”

Although Harry obeys her order and picks up his wine glass with nimble fingers, his eyes grow teasingly large over the rim, accent dripping with faux shock. “You think I’m hot?”

“I’d hope you know that,” Y/N says cooly as she grasps the stem of her own glass. “I don’t let just anyone choke me.”

It’s Harry’s turn to cough on his liquor as he registers the comment, and he struggles not to spill the dark liquid down the front of his brand new suit as he barks out a laugh.

“Well, for what it’s worth,” he says after he swallows the drink, setting his glass back down on the table firmly. “I don’t let just anyone use my jacuzzi whenever they want.”

“Right, right, because you allowing me to use your hot tub is equivalent to me letting you wrap your fingers around my throat.” Y/N snorts, drumming her digits against the table top. “Practically identical.”

Harry snakes his hand across the table and cards their grips once more, squeezing her fingers playfully as he taps against her knuckles. “It’s not like you complain while it’s happening.”

“Only because it’s hard to talk when my air flow is restricted.”

“Really? Because you still manage to moan just fine.”

Harry delights in the way her eyes hurriedly dash to the other diners, her heartbeat stuttering in her heaving chest. He likes that he can still get a rise out of her with his crude jokes, even after all he’s said to her.

“Christ, Harry, lower your voice! Don’t let anyone hear you!” Y/N protests, cupping a hand over her sizzling cheek.

“No one can hear me, love.” He chuckles lightly as he reassures her with another squeeze of her fingers. “S’why I always request a private table.”

“Oh, so you have a pattern, then?” She quirks an eyebrow at the comment. “Do you bring women here that often to discuss choking? So much that you need a private table?”

Although there’s a mocking air to her words, Harry’s laugh cuts off. “No. I don’t.”

Y/N hums in the back of her throat as she raises her wine glass to her lips. “I don’t believe you. I think I’ll ask Vinzenco on our way out. He seems like an honest man.”

Cool relief flushes through Harry’s body, but he hides it behind an incredulous gasp. “So what I’m hearing is that you’re interested in him. Do you want Vincenzo to choke you instead?” His face breaks into a look of exaggerated disbelief tinged with fake disgust. “He’s married, you tramp!”

Y/N can’t help but laugh when Harry yanks his hand away from hers, pretending to wipe it on his napkin while gagging, as if touching her is a horrendous act.

“I hate you.” She giggles, shaking her head slowly.

“I promise you that no matter how much you hate me, Vincenzo’s wife would hate you tenfold.” Harry shakes out his hand before setting it back down on the table.

“Don’t worry.” Y/N rolls her eyes at the exaggeration. “I don’t plan on breaking up a marriage tonight.”

“How gracious of you.” Harry murmurs, but he leans forward with a mischievous glint in his eye as he shamelessly canvasses Y/N’s body. “You could, you know. Vincenzo is only a man. Look how you had Poor Luca drooling tonight. You in that dress…” He settles his eyes on her prominent cleavage. “Y’look like Aphrodite, almost.”

Despite the heat that flashes over Y/N’s entire body, she keeps her voice dry when she responds. “I don’t know about that; this isn’t much of a grecian look.”

“Well…” A grin creeps onto Harry’s face, igniting his jade irises with humour. “You look like Aphrodite if Aphrodite was a twenty-first century sugar baby.”

Y/N’s mouth drops open before she spits out an indignant reply. “I’m not a sugar baby!”

“Sorry, who bought you that dress?”

“That doesn’t count—”

“And who do you call ‘daddy’?”

Harry can hear the way blood rushes to her cheeks, and it sends a delicious shiver down his spine.

Y/N, however, glares up at him through her thick lashes, her hands twisting the cloth napkin in her lap. “You’re a prick.”

“I’m simply stating facts, darling.” Harry sighs lightly, ducking one of his hands underneath the table and reaching to give her bare knee a squeeze. He revels in the way she jumps at his touch. “And I’ve got videos of you whimpering that over and over to prove it.”

“If you keep this up,” Y/N says, forcing her voice to stay steady as she nods to his grasp on her skin. “You won’t be getting any more of them.”

“Is that so?” Harry’s hand travels further up her leg, the metal of his rings icy against the heated flesh of her inner thighs. “Guess you won’t be getting any more videos of me playing with myself either, then. Fair’s fair.”

The whimper that falls from Y/N’s lips is so quiet that if Harry were human, he wouldn’t have been able to detect it. “Harry—”

“You don’t like that, do you?” He taunts lowly, continuing to rub over her thigh as he leaves a trail of goosebumps in his wake. “The idea of me taking that away? Of never seeing me lose myself for you on video ever again?”

Y/N clears her throat thickly. “N-No.”

“I didn’t think so.” With his free hand, Harry lifts his wine to his lips, taking a long sip as his darkened eyes stay locked to hers. “So you’d better behave for me then, hm?”

Despite the electrifying way her entire body is starting to fizzle, Y/N still manages to choke out an amused scoff. “You’re starting to sound like a cheap porno, H. Be careful.”

“Careful? You want to be careful?” Harry asks, eyebrows poised as he digs his fingertips into the meaty flesh of her thigh. “Alright.”

In one fast motion, Harry snakes his hand completely up Y/N’s dress to cup over her lace-covered cunt, running the pads of his fingers over the dampening cloth. He hooks one finger into the side of the lace and gives a sharp yank, and although Y/N’s not sure how he does it, or how Harry attained the sudden rush of strength needed to do so, she feels the delicate fabric rip right down the center.

Before she can even process what’s happened, the act is over as quickly as it started as Harry settles back into his seat, eyebrows cocked in a conceited fashion as he watches her assess the new issue.

“You’ll have to be careful now, won’t you, minx? Gonna have t’keep your legs closed like a proper good girl— which I know is hard for you whenever I’m around.” He teases, his hand still clenched under the table as the other raises his glass to his strawberry lips. “Otherwise we might have a little mishap, hm?”

Y/N’s breath stutters in her pounding chest as she clenches her thighs as tight as she can. “You didn’t.”

Raising his hand from beneath the table, Harry opens his palm for just a moment, flashing her the scrap of black lace that had once been her panties before coasting his hand beneath his jacket and tucking the article into his pocket. “Didn't I?”

“Harry!” Y/N hisses, her voice dangerously low as she leans over the table.

“Yes?” He replies innocently, wrapping his hand firmly around his glass. “Something the matter?”

Y/N gapes at the man across from her in disbelief. “You’re such a dick, you know that?”

“I promise you, I’m well aware.” Harry laughs lightly as he polishes off the last of his wine. “But it’s not like you don’t like it. You wouldn’t bounce on my cock if you didn’t.”

Sucking in a harsh breath through her teeth, Y/N clenches the tight satin of her dress in her fists. “God, I’m going to fucking kill you.”

“Yeah?” Harry quirks an eyebrow with a cocky smirk. “Good luck trying to catch me without flashing your entire arse to the kitchen staff.”

“I swear on my life, I’m going to rip off your—”

“Ciao, Harry! Bella donna!” Vincenzo’s voice cuts over Y/N’s thinly-veiled threat as he approaches the table with arms wide and a smile pasted onto his face. “Come trovi tutto? Possiamo portarti dell'altro vino? La carta dei dolci?” How are you finding everything? Can we get you more wine? The dessert menu?

“È tutto delizioso, Vincenzo, grazie.” Everything is delicious, Vincenzo, thank you. Harry drawls, his grin growing as he turns to Y/N with a condescending tilt of his head. “What do you think, tesoro? Are you in the mood for dessert? Or have you had enough?”

Y/N’s mouth is too dry for her to answer, especially with the way Harry’s irises twinkle suggestively at his own words, so she finishes the last dregs of her wine before shaking her head tightly. “No— no dessert for me, thanks.”

Vincenzo heaves a dramatic gasp as he turns his full attention to her. “Bella donna, what is this? Surely you want to try our dessert? Even just some homemade gelato?”

“Oh, no, Vincenzo, thank you, but I don’t think I could squeeze any more food into my stomach.” Y/N fights to keep herself from sounding flustered, but she knows it’s a losing battle when she hears Harry mutter something about how wonderful she is at squeezing under his breath.

Vincenzo clicks his tongue with a shake of his head, twisting his astonished gaze back to Harry. “Harry, per favore, sicuramente puoi convincere il tuo appuntamento a mangiare un boccone di dessert? È sulla casa.” Harry, please, surely you can convince your date to have a bite of dessert? It’s on the house.

The vampire presses his tongue into his cheek as he appraises Y/N again, the clenching of her abdomen drawing his eye more than anything else. Harry uses the tip of his boot to once again trail up the back of her calf beneath the tablecloth, giving her a wicked grin. “You’re sure you don’t want anything else, tesoro?”

Y/N jerks her head once more as a shadow crosses over her eyes. “No, thank you.” She reiterates in a strained voice.

With a casual shrug of his shoulders, Harry twists to face Vincenzo again, voice surrendered. “Grazie per l'offerta, Vincenzo, ma sembra che stiamo bene. Accettiamo solo il conto, per favore.” Thank you for the offer, Vincenzo, but it looks like we’re fine. We’ll just take the check, please.

The restaurant owner sighs in disappointment, but nods in acceptance. “Va bene, va bene, solo l'assegno. Ma la prossima volta che torni, mi amore,” Vincenzo shifts his attention back to Y/N, who meets his smile as best as she can. “Dovrai provare due dolci per compensare la mancanza di uno stasera, vero?” Okay, okay, just the check. But next time you come back, my love, you’ll have to try two desserts to make up for the lack of one tonight, yes?

Harry leans across the table and whispers the translation low in her ear, his cool breath sending a shiver down her spine as it rolls over her body.

“Yes, Vincenzo. Next time.” Y/N promises quickly, clasping her hands tightly around the hem of her tight dress as the thigh slit begins to ride up.

Vincenzo motions over his shoulder for Luca to bring the check, chatting happily to Harry in Italian throughout the whole transaction. Y/N stays quiet the entire time, instinctively hiding her boiling cheeks behind her hands each time one of them casts a glance her way. Despite the nerves wreaking havoc in her belly, Harry continues to make casual conversation as he swipes his credit card, laughing and joking with Vincenzo like he has all the time in the world. By the time the restaurant owner bids them both goodbye, Y/N’s certain she’s sweated well through the thin fabric of her dress from her nerves.

Harry, however, looks perfectly at ease as he tucks his wallet back into his suit jacket. “You handled that well, doll. ‘M proud of you.” He says easily, rubbing a finger down the condensation dotting his glass of ice water.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying this.” Y/N hisses at him, clenching her thighs together as another waiter passes dangerously close to their table. “How am I supposed to walk out of here without anyone noticing?”

“Like this.” Harry rises from the table and extends a hand to Y/N, who eyes it warily from her seated position. “C’mon, love, you’re going to have to trust me.” He goads her with a sigh, wiggling his fingers until Y/N gives in and settles her palm inside his.

Making sure his own body is hiding Y/N from the line of sight of anyone else, Harry helps pull his lover from her chair before removing his jacket with one swift motion. He settles the rich grey fabric over her bare shoulders, draping the article in such a way that it covers the deep thigh slit that exposes her bare skin.

“How’s that?” Harry asks lowly, voice tender as he fixes the collar of the jacket around Y/N’s delicate neck. “S’that better?”

The moment Harry’s familiar and intoxicating cologne fills her senses, all the irritation evaporates from Y/N’s veins, leaving behind only the quiet thrum of attraction that’s intensified by the man’s fragrance.

“Yeah.” She whispers, the cadence of her voice nearing shyness as Harry tugs a lock of hair from underneath the collar of the jacket. “It’s a bit better.”

“Good.” The vampire leans down and stamps his lips to the girl’s forehead, letting his mouth linger for a few seconds before straightening up. “I promise I won’t let anyone see anything. And even if someone does see something, as long as you’re with me, nobody will say a word.”

Y/N nods gently as Harry grasps her hand in his own to lead her out of the restaurant and back to his car. “Alright. I trust you.”

That warmth from earlier begins to spread through Harry’s chest again the moment she utters the words. “I’m glad to hear that.” He snakes his hand inside the jacket, brushing his fingertips against her breast before dipping his hand into the pocket. When he withdraws it, the lace of her ripped panties is visible for only a moment before he tucks it into the back of his slacks with a smirk. “These are mine now. A little spoil of war for my trophy case.”

Despite his protective stance around her as he begins to weave the two of them through tables, Y/N scoffs at the action. “I still can’t believe you did that, you asshole.”

“Oh, I’m an asshole?” Harry glances over his shoulder as he quirks an eyebrow teasingly. “Alright, then. I can just drop you back off at your apartment, if you’d like. Go back to my place alone tonight. Gonna have to unbutton my trousers on my own, and peel this nice shirt off by myself, and crawl in between my sheets rather than in between your thighs. Such a shame.”

Y/N can’t stop the whine that echoes the back of her throat. “No, H—”

“That’s what I thought.” Harry steps back from her just enough to tug open the glass front door of the restaurant, his eyes already settling on the valet. When he speaks, however, it’s just for her to hear, and her alone. It sends a current of anticipation through her veins as it washes across the shell of her ear, his breath smelling of sweet grapes and notes of cherry from their wine, thick with the tangy scent of liquor and cooler than usual from the chilled beverage. Despite that coldness, his next promise settles into her exposed core with a familiar heat that she knows only he can resolve.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’m not done with you just yet. It’s gonna be a long night.”

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

1K notes · View notes

aiiwa · 4 years

Text

BEAUTIFUL IN BLUE — IWAIZUMI HAJIME.

— iwaizumi hajime.

⤷ genre: college au - fluff / smut

⤷ warnings: cursing, mature content and themes. smut: fingering (vaginal and anal), unprotected sex. kind of proof read but if you see a typo...no you didn’t.

⤷ word count: 6.4k

— a/n: set in the “FRESHMAN YEAR” universe, and is a continuation of “PRETTY IN PINK” - which i suggest reading before this. for those who wanted some real action after pretty in pink, this is for you <3.

a couple of weeks had passed since the incident. at least that’s what you had been addressing the day you had sent photos of you modelling your new lingerie to iwa, as. things had seemingly returned back to normal, photo unmentioned, and still your steady friendship continued with the oblivious brunette.

and now november had announced its arrival, with your boots beginning to disappear under crunchy oceans of cherry, merigold and bronze, and the potent, musky-sweet smell of browning leaves swirling around the air. it was the tell tale sign that fall was well and truly here, and what better of a time to drive out of town for the day, and celebrate momijigari.

at least that’s what you had told yourself before, what was meant to be a two hour drive, turned into over three hours spent in a car with the oversized toddlers know as your best friends.

“i’m hungry~!” whined toddler number one from behind you.

mattsun outstretched his long arms, reaching around the passenger seat you sat in, in an attempt to steal more of your snacks. you had made sure everyone knew to bring their own food and water, double- no, triple checked everyone was on the same page. but of course it was no surprise that mattsun was the only one to turn up empty handed. so when his grabby hands slapped against your cheeks for the nth time, you angled your face and snapped your jaw right on his thumb.

mattsun shrieks, jolting back away from you. “fucking hell, y/n!”

twisting around in your seat, you smirk, watching as he checked over the distinct bite mark on his red thumb.

“ha, serves you right.” pipes the figure slouched next to mattsun in the back seat. “ugh i need to take a leak.”

the peach-haired, number two toddler was none other than makki. he’d woken up cranky that morning, and it only seemed to worsen when he’d been shoved into the back with the chatty mattsun. within the first ten minutes he had tried to suffocate the latter with his pillow, and when that didn’t work, he took to blasting music in his headphones and facing himself towards the window for majority of the ride. only engaging with everyone when you began snacking, and he had decided to drink all of his juice just to spite mattsun.

“oi, iwa! control your gremlin!”

“shut up.”

“no, you shut up! you didn’t even want to share your juice with me!”

“i will literally piss on you right now.”

losing interest in the bickering duo behind you, your attention diverted to the third, brooding toddler beside you in the driver’s seat. you had spent majority of the drive admiring the way iwa handled himself behind the wheel; the flex of his arms under the fitted cotton of his blue long sleeve as he turned the wheel, and how the pads of his long fingers would tap against the worn leather to the beat of whatever tune began playing on shuffle. yet out of everything, it was when iwa took to mumbling the lyrics of whichever cheesy love song you were belting out to, that you found yourself falling even deeper into the pit of your affections for him.

throughout the drive, iwa had mostly managed to ignore the others’ antics - with your intervention of course. but with how tight his grip on the steering wheel had become from the squabbling in the backseat, and the dark look brewing under his cap; it was clear how close he was to losing his cool.

extending your arm out in front of him, you offer the hershey bar in your hand, brushing it against the pout of his bottom lip. iwa’s olive eyes glance questioningly at you from the side, to which you only offer a small grin.

“take a bite.” you order. the, ‘you look like you need it,’ is silent, but obvious in the way you prod the treat at his closed mouth.

“mmph-”

his eyes returned to the road before him as he parted his lips, pink tongue making a brief appearance before he took a small bite of your chocolate. you attempt to retract your arm, until iwa moves one hand to grab your wrist; bringing you back to him to take a bigger bite of the sweet, thumb rubbing against the inner side of your palm.

the corner of his mouth tugs upwards, as he mumbles a small, “thank you.”

heat floods your cheeks, and you catch yourself before you drop the chocolate on his lap. distracted by the deafening beat of your heart pounding in your ears, you don’t notice the silence that fills the car, or the not-so subtle click of mattsun snapping a photo of the two of you in the front and sending it to the group chat. you’re pulled out of your slight trance, by a flash of peach entering your field of view.

“that was disgusting...ly sweet. and now i suddenly need to puke, so hurry it up would you.”

as makki leans back, mattsun is quick to replace him, popping his head between you and iwa.

“don’t just ignore me, y/n, feed me chocolate too!”

rolling your eyes, you shove the bar in his mouth; the rest of you three laugh as he falls back into his seat, all the while he happily munches on the treat.

a little time passes before iwa’s flicking his indicator, signalling his turn into the free parking space outside the nature reserve. he shifts the gear into park before everyone piles out - makki walking over to wrap his thick, fossil grey scarf around your neck, the cashmere soft against your skin; while mattsun offers to carry your little backpack, only sending you a sly smile when you question his reasoning for taking the bag from you. you hug iwa’s offered arm to your chest, as the four of you start trekking along the uneven pathways leading towards lake kawaguchi. the walk isn’t necessarily long, but none of you are in a rush - strolling leisurely and enjoying the atmosphere.

and when you finally reach the end of your walk, you still yourself, awestruck by the beauty surrounding you. the glassy lake shimmering under the afternoon rays, crisp maple leaves painted red, swaying to the breezy flow of the cool wind, and the tinkling laughter from young children running about on the golden fields - filled your chest with warmth.

“it’s so beautiful here.”

your voice comes out as a whisper for only iwa’s ears to hear; with makki off to relieve himself and mattsun trailing after him, acting as if you didn’t see him rummaging through your snacks. iwa only hums in agreement, missing the way he hasn’t even acknowledged the view, his gaze set solely on you.

this is what the tradition of momijigari meant; taking time away from your busy schedule to spend a moment to enjoy this small piece of life. and of course, capturing the moment with some of your favourite people on camera. so when you busied yourself with taking photos with the towering men, it really shouldn’t have surprised you when your phone began to buzz with an incoming facetime call.

sliding your thumb across the screen to answer the call, you’re greeted by the sight of oikawa’s toothy grin; illuminated by a bright light you knew had to be artificial, since it was nearing two a.m. in argentina.

“yahoo, y/n-chan! you didn’t think i’d miss out on a photoshoot did you? i already missed out on you feeding me chocolate!” you shoot an embarrassed glanced at iwa, noticing the slight furrow between his brows and the faint dust of pink across his cheeks.

“photoshoot…?” a confused makki mumbles behind you.

mattsun leans over your shoulder, shoving his face in the camera. “oi, isn’t it late for you?”

you raise a single shaped brow as oikawa scoffs, brushing his fingers through his perfectly styled hair. “the pretty face of this group has finally blessed you, and that’s all you have to say?” mattsun scrunches his face in offence, as oikawa continues. “besides, i may be in a different country but i refuse to miss out!”

and it was because of his soft pout that you found yourself posing with your phone by your face, making sure to catch oikawa’s best angles; having long given up on questioning the setter and his antics. the so-called photoshoot came to an abrupt end later on when a tired and cranky oikawa yawned, apparently ruining another photo according to him, and iwa’s finger just so happened to slip and disconnect the video call.

“he’s stubborn.” was all he had said when you, makki and mattsun side eyed him. “we should head back home before it gets late.”

the drive back to tokyo seemed relatively faster than the journey to fujikawaguchiko. it was as if your body went into autopilot as you sat behind the wheel, this time taking responsibility as the driver while the boys napped; only coming to when you were parking iwa’s truck into their apartment’s parking lot, moments after the sun had set.

it was a silent and unanimous decision to order take out for dinner, the four of you seated around the black walnut dining table to dig in. meal times with the boys were hectic, and competitive for the most part - it was survival of the fittest. you were often being challenged by mattsun - tonight having lost the last few gyoza to him.

though it became obvious who the real loser was when mattsun flopped his head onto your lap, while you were lounging out on the settee.

“y/n~” mattsun drawled out. “rub my belly, it hurts!”

“no.”

“please, y/n~! my one and only best friend, the moon to my stars, the curry to my rice-”

he releases a satisfied sigh once you reach a hand out to press your palm against his stomach, rubbing soothing circles to stop his whining; and you catch makki roll his beady eyes at the two of you, as he flicks through suggested films to watch on netflix. iwa strolls into the living room, pillows and a comforter stacked in his arms; laying them neatly on the couch he shares with you on movie nights.

“oh, iwa, could you send me the photos please?” he nods his head once, barely glancing over at you and mattsun; pulling out his phone and dropping himself unceremoniously across the adjacent sofa. “thank you.” you call out once your phone pings with several notifications.

still rubbing mattsun’s stomach, your free hand casually scrolls through the pictures from today.

you snicker to yourself at the first series of chaotic images. a selfie with smushed faces pressed together and a phone-sized oikawa tucked right under your jaw, a blurry pic of the boys throwing vermillion leaves at each other, and even a timed snapshot where you, mattsun and makki had leapt on iwa’s back - your legs wrapped around his torso, while makki squished you from behind, and mattsun had flopped himself on top of the pile. there was even a shot of the aftermath, your phone and oikawa somehow surviving the tumble, and a deadpanned iwa staring straight at the camera as the three of you behind him cackled with your heads thrown back.

at least a few wholesome pictures had been captured. a sweet group photo with all of you huddled by each other in front of a vibrant maple tree; you and iwa were flanked by mattsun and makki respectively, as oikawa was held between you and iwa like a prized trophy. even a rare moment where makki and mattsun had their arms hooked around each other, with easy going grins on both of their faces, had been caught.

butterflies erupted in your tummy, fluttering about once you swiped to the next photo. it was a candid shot of you and iwa standing by the brilliant blue lake front. you were leaning into his side, holding two leaves at the top of your head to mimic cat ears, face tilted upwards. giggling, your eyes were shut, and only now can you see that you missed the soft smile iwa donned looking down at you.

it was almost painful to admit that together you looked like a couple, and it didn’t help that most times you even acted as such. sneaking a glance at the man in question, you watch him chatting quietly to makki, gripping your phone tightly in your grasp at the sound of him laughing at whatever snide comment escaped your peach-haired friend. you couldn’t help but sigh, being in love with one of your best friends only got harder each day.

unknowingly you had already swiped to the last photo iwa had sent, so when you return your gaze the screen, you shriek; dropping your phone flat on mattsun’s face.

“um, what the fuck, ow.”

iwa’s sharp eyes shoot towards you instantly. “what’s wrong?”

you only shake your head, warmth filling your cheeks and an itch you just can’t scratch prickling under your skin. makki only shrugs, shifting his attention back to the television. iwa is more hesitant, the feeling of his olive eyes giving you a once over does nothing to calm your nerves from being sent into overdrive. when he finally turns away, you release a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“ugh, what even had you going even more crazy than usual all of a sudden?” mattsun groans from your lap. as he reaches to lift your phone off of his face, you’re quick to snatch the device away.

“n-nothing!” he only raises a thick brow at your defensive tone, before grabbing your hand to continue your ministrations.

glancing around the room, you pull the screen close to your face; taking in the photo, you felt your mouth run dry.

there was no way this could have been sent to you on purpose - because the sight of a shirtless iwa at his second home, the gym, was definitely not taken at lake kawaguchi. anyone with eyes could tell how ripped iwa was under his fitted shirts. but over the past few months you had noticed that he’d run off to the gym more often; and it was obvious in the way his clothes struggled to stretch over his bulked up build these days.

it was a mid work out, mirror selfie; iwa’s dark, mocha coloured hair plastered to his forehead, bare chest glistening from the sweat dripping down from his neck. he was seated on the rubber floor, one long, tanned leg stretched out in front of him with the other bent at the knee, elbow resting loosely against his leg. your eyes greedily took in the defined dips of his toned stomach, dark snail trail leading downwards to the evident bulge of his grey shorts; the hem cutting into the flexed muscles of his thighs.

the heat pooling between your thighs as your imagination ran wild was just about to peak when-

“oi, y/n.” you almost jump, locking your screen, and blinking away the dazed look in your eyes. when your vision cleared, you found makki standing in front of you. “we’re gonna watch the movie now.”

“oh, right.”

mattsun rolls off your lap with a groan, complaining to makki about who is gonna rub his belly now, while you stand up. shuffling over to iwa, he stretches before shifting and making room for you to squeeze in next to him.

“c’mere.” he mumbles, throwing his arm around you and pulling you into his side.

the beat of your pounding heart is almost deafening in your ears, you’re near to hyperventilating, as your mind is sent into overdrive. the two of you were always cuddling platonically during movies, ever since the one time you had complained about being cold in their apartment. but this time was different. ‘is this how he felt when you had sent a picture of your new lingerie?’ you think to yourself. you spend the next hour deep in your thoughts, completely lost to whatever is happening in the sci-fi film makki had chosen, and when the end credits start rolling on the screen - iwa announces he’ll drop you off back to your dorm.

it’s close to midnight; so makki wishes you a goodnight, as a sleepy mattsun rests against his shoulder, making grabby hands for you not to go. you wave as you leave, following after iwa who opens the passenger side door of his truck, helping you jump up into the seat, before closing the door and making his way to the driver’s side.

your dorm isn’t too far from their apartment complex, so you’re not surprised at how quick the ride is. the street is unusually busy, yet completely void of any roaming students. and with no private parking for students, iwa’s forced to pull up near a secluded cluster of tall trees, a bit away from the dorm entrance.

“i’ll walk you in.” iwa says, leaving no room for argument. he reaches for his phone, as a message flashes across his screen. “oh, oikawa asked why you’ve been ignoring his messages.”

“huh?” you flip your own phone in your hand, watching as the facial recognition unlocks and suddenly iwa’s gym selfie is on full display for the both of you. it takes a moment for you to process the situation, and all you can manage is a simple, “oh,” as you resist the urge to fling your phone out of the window.

“nice photo.” iwa pipes up, you don’t even try to look at him, but the smirk in his tone is evident. “where’d you get it?”

his question throws you off, and you’re quick to turn your head to narrow your eyes at him. “what do you mean? iwa, you literally sent it to me?!”

“really? shit i must have done it by accident.”

“an accident?”

“yeah, like what you did to me. remember?”

you gasp, moving back almost as if you’ve been struck, while iwa simply laughs at your expression. a full on belly laugh that has him throwing his head back, illuminated by the glow emitting through his open moon roof. you should’ve been dwelling in the embarrassment that came with him turning your own words back on you - yet you found your own laughter mixing in with his. only when both of you had calmed down a bit, did an electrified silence fill the car.

fiddling with your phone in your lap, the strands of hair curtaining the sides of your face, is brushed aside and tucked behind the cuff of your ear. glancing at iwa, the corner of his mouth is pulled up into a fond smile as his thumb caresses the shell of your ear.

“sorry for teasing you, pretty lady. couldn’t help myself after you sent me that picture looking all pretty in pink.”

“i…” words escape you as his large hand trails down the side of your cheek. you’re suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to do something - it’s almost at the tip of your tongue, before you grab at his wrist and whisper a, “fuck it.”

leaning over the middle, you reach a hand to hold the back of his head as your lips press against his own. lips even softer than they appeared, the lingering taste of his wild cherry lip balm, the same one you owned, tasted sweeter than you remembered. after a moment, of the kiss not being reciprocated, you pull back.

“just had to do it once.” you murmur, lips still tingling.

iwa’s minty breath fans across your face as he releases an airy sigh. “then let’s do it a second time.”

this time his hand wraps loosely around your neck, pulling you towards him, and slanting his mouth over yours. you moan into the kiss as his tongue darts out to tease your lower lip. leaning into him, you almost keel forward as this time he pulls away. slightly breathless, you open your eyes to take in the barely restrained lust and adoration in his handsome features, mimicking you’re own.

“third time’s a charm, right?”

the devilish grin iwa gives you in response to your innocently posed question, has you climbing over the centre console. at the same time he’s rolling the chair back away from the leather steering wheel, making space for you to slide onto his lap and straddle him. molding your lips to his, the feeling of your tongue exploring his mouth and you grinding into him slowly; has him release a hiss as his hands grab at the fullness of your ass.

tugging at his collar, your words are muffled against his mouth. “take this off, now.”

he chuckles at your demand, pulling the hem of his shirt past the bulk of his shoulders and over his head - blindly throwing it to the backseat. you drag your eyes over the sight of his broad chest, taking in every delicious dip of his stomach; leaning forward, your tongue licks a tentative stripe along his neck, that has iwa’s breath hitch before peppering wet kisses along his skin. your hands roam around his toned body, while his own larger ones slide under your top; a searing hot trail following his exploration of your body. he draws small circles at your hips, leading up to hold your waist and bring your even closer against him.

“your turn, baby.” he whispers to you, fisting the bottom half of your top. “be fair to me, i wanna see more of you.”

sitting up straight in his lap, you slip the thin top over your head; following his suit in flinging it to the backseat. your hair brushed past your bare shoulders, exposed skin feeling the chill of the autumn night; but the look in iwa’s olive eyes, irradiated by the moonlight streaming in from the uncovered moonroof, was scorching hot. rough palms, flat against your smooth skin, slid over your tummy, teasing the sheer mesh of your bra, before playing with the baby blue ribbons on the straps.

“y/n.” iwa groans out, tracing the floral stitching and feeling the hardened nubs of your nipples under the fabric. with the moon haloing behind you, the way he stares up at you is so raw and intense, it has you frozen in anticipation. “you look so fucking beautiful in blue.”

he doesn’t wait for your response as he reaches behind you to unhook your bra, freeing your breasts from its confines. iwa’s quick to take a pebbled nub into his hot mouth, suckling as his fingers tweak the other. your fingers thread through his dark locks, when he moves and switches his focus; a lewd string of saliva dragging from your nipple to his pink tongue. stuttered grinding from his mouth distracting you, had you reaching a hand between each other to palm his erection - wanting to ease some of the tension. but iwa’s quick to snatch your hand away.

“iwa...let me touch you?”

releasing you from his mouth, he kisses the pout from your lips. “no, baby, don’t worry about me.”

“why not?” you whine.

“i wanna make you feel real good, gotta prep you for me first. is that okay with you, baby?” he only smiles softly as you start to relax against him. “i need to know if you’re okay with this. care about you so much, i just want you to be comfortable. let me know if you wanna stop right now.”

“no, h-haji...please, i don’t want to stop. i want you so bad. i need you, ah-”

your consent was all he needed before he pulls you back into him, kissing you so slow you feel dizzy; his hands travel low on your body, working the button of your jeans, as your fingers dig into his shoulders. when he breaks away from you, he helps you slip out of the dark denim, tugging each pant leg off until all you wearing is the stringy, baby blue panties that leaves little to the imagination.

“fuck, you’re gonna be the death of me.” iwa groans out, rubbing a hand across his face as you giggle lightly. while you hover over him, he quickly strips off his pants, kicking them off onto the floor before grabbing onto your hips. “flip around on me, baby. that’s right, face the front.”

settling down onto his lap, the thin cotton of his briefs does nothing to hide the print of his hard-on he’s sporting underneath. and with your back pressed to his warm chest, you roll your hips teasingly into him.

“come on, haji...let me help you.” you huff, continuing to grind against him.

“oi, cut it out.”

his grip on your hips tighten in warning, and you gasp as he manhandles you easily. shifting you around so that the heel of your left foot digs into his thigh, the other secured at the edge of the leather wheel; he has your legs wide open. before you can even think about any stragglers catching you so vulnerable; iwa hooks his arm under your thigh, pads of his fingers brushing over your clothed pussy.

“haaaa~” you breathe out, hips jerking into his touch.

“fuck baby, your panties are soaked.” he continues to tease you over the drenched crotch of your panties. iwa rubs lazy circles, casually sliding under the material to play with your silk folds. his touches have you yearning for more, as you feel yourself slowly going insane as he starts to coat his fingers in your slick.

“mmm...touch me, haji...properly.”

wriggling around in his embrace, you keen once he pulls his hand away from you; holding his fingers before you, showing off how they glisten so prettily in under the moon. and then you watch over your shoulder as he leads his hand to his mouth, and licks his fingers clean.

“you taste so fucking sweet.” he’s quick to bring his fingers back to your drooling pussy, coating his fingers once again, but this time bringing them to your own lips. “here, have a taste for yourself.”

opening your mouth, iwa wastes no time pressing his long digits flat against your tongue. sucking on his fingers, you savour the saccharine essence of your pussy; moaning at your own flavour sending your tastebuds into overdrive. iwa hums, heated gaze taking in the way you take his fingers in your mouth; he slowly pulls them back out with a pop - smiling softly at the way you stare at him, all wide-eyed and wanton.

“should we get you out of these messy panties now, baby?”

at your eager nods, iwa presses a kiss to your shoulder as he has you lift your hips up; slipping your soaked panties off, and placing them on the passenger seat side the two of you. sitting you back down against him, he hooks both arms around the undersides of your thighs, grabbing at your soft flesh and spreading you wide open for him. you whimper when a big hand cups your sex, rough palm brushing against your throbbing clit.

“shh.” iwa coos, entranced with how you’re rolling your hips to grind against his hand. “i got you.”

he presses his thumb against your clit, circling the sensitive bud peaking past your puffy lips; as his middle finger teases your slit. slowly he pushes his finger inside you, a heavy, relieved moan escapes your throat, as he easily slides in and out of you. through heavy lidded eyes you watch as fog clouds the windows of iwa’s truck, the glass steamy; while perspiration collects between your bodies. you’re brought back to focus on iwa, when he teases a second finger against your slit, dipping inside you and stretching you out even more. hissing, you clench around him; the lewd squelches as he fucks you with his thick fingers, has you digging your heels into his thigh and the steering wheel.

the way iwa’s fingers reaches deeper inside than you could ever on your own, and the added stimulation to your clit, has the tightening coil in your belly snap as you cum all over his hand.

“oh baby, feels good doesn’t it?”

“yeshhh...h-haji, mmph-”

he doesn’t stop pumping you with his fingers, letting you ride out your orgasm to the end. even when you feel the high descend, twitching at the slight overstim, you expect him to stop. but all he does is bury his face in the crook between your shoulder and neck, dragging his teeth across the sensitive skin as the hand not occupied with your pussy, fondles your ass. you lean into him, mewling at his touches when your breath hitches at a new sensation.

“haji, no! it’s dirty!”

the hand at your ass had moved to pet at your puckered hole - completely drenched in your cum, he was sure he could slide a single finger in with ease. and he was right. the feeling of your tight hole being prodded, stretched by the tip of his forefinger, before sucking the entire digit inside - had you throwing your head back in pleasure.

“f-ah-uck! oh shit, nghhh!”

“you gonna cum again for me, baby?”

the feeling of both your ass and pussy being stuffed full of iwa’s fingers is overwhelming. you’re a panting and moaning mess, writhing on top of him. and when the back of your head is thrown back into iwa’s shoulder, all you can see is hazy stars in the sky as you stare up, completely intoxicated by the feeling of his fingers moving inside you - brushing against the thin barrier of skin between your two holes. the familiar pressure in your tummy has you bucking your hips and crying out.

“you’re squeezing my fingers so tight.” he maintains the same steady pace, fucking his fingers into you nice and deep, while working your sensitive clit. its only a few seconds later he hits a particular spot that has you jolting forward, crying out at your sudden release. “shit, that’s right, i can feel you cumming all over my hands again, baby.”

you can barely think straight as your body trembles from the aftershocks of your second orgasm. still in a daze, iwa eases his fingers out of your twitching holes, and you groan at the empty feeling.

“you okay?” iwa asks, wrapping his arm around your waist. you nod, chest heaving as you attempt to steady your breathing. “you think you can cum one more time from my fingers-”

“no!” you grab at his wrists when he moves to play with you again. “i need you inside me, haji. please.”

whatever calm iwa had possessed while pleasuring you had vanished at your words. sticky hands lifted you up by your waist, turning you around to straddle him - while he slightly lowered the back of his seat. lip locked, your hands find themselves wrapped around the nape of his neck, while iwa’s hands grab at your body - stilling your wriggling form as he grinds up into you.

without breaking the kiss, you reach down and ease your fingers under the elastic waistband of his briefs; hand brushing against the tip of iwa’s cock. that earns you a muffled groan as he allows you to hover over him and slide the boxer briefs down his muscled thighs. your mouth salivates at the sight of his cock slapping against his toned stomach. he was easily the biggest you’d ever seen, with a thick vein on the underside, and a red, angry tip leaking pre-cum.

“fuck, you’re so big haji.”

he hisses when your hand touches him, you can barely wrap your fingers around him; and you start to question if he could even fit inside you. iwa notices the slight hesitation in your movements.

“we don’t have to.” he reassures, brushing the hair out of your lust filled eyes. “i can play with you some more, or i can eat you out in the back seat-”

“-haji.” you cut him off, stroke him before lining him at your dripping entrance, grinding the leaking tip across your slit. “i’ve wanted this for so long.” lowering yourself, you gasp at the delicious stretch of his tip entering you. “i’ve wanted you for so long. don’t hold back, give me everything.” and with that, you completely impale yourself on his cock.

“fuck, y/n, i can feel you clamping down on me- shit baby, you gotta move.”

lifting one leg at a time, you shift around off of your knees, steadying yourself on your tip toes; before grabbing onto iwa’s shoulders and starting to slowly ride him. his hands roam across your body freely, loving squeezes trailed in their path, as praise after praise is whispered out to you.

“you take my cock so well, fuck.”

your fingers dig into his shoulder blades as you quicken your pace. bouncing yourself faster on his fat cock, iwa’s attention is drawn to to the way your breasts move in front of him; massaging the soft flesh, and then leaning forward to smush his face between them.

“could stay right here forever.” his muffled voice croons.

you whimper at the feeling of his hot tongue dragging a wet trail down the valley between your breasts, and you’re certain plum love bites will have bloomed across your chest by sunrise. your arms shoot up to press against the foggy glass of the moon roof above you, palms pressed flat against the steamy window, handprints painted on the transparent screen - as you bounce harder and faster. the lewd sound of your ass slapping against his thighs and of your pussy sucking him in with each stroke; shows how desperate you are to cum again.

“you’ll cum on my cock, won’t you baby? i can feel how close you are, shit, you’re so close aren’t you?”

the way you ride him gradually becomes sloppier the closer you are to cumming, so when he holds your waist and helps you bounce on him, you cry out in relief.

“f-fuck, feels s’g-good, haji! nghh, yes, yes, yes-!”

only as he reaches a hand down to roll your sensitive clit between his index and thumb, do you fall apart on his cock. your velvety walls spasm around him as he continues to fuck you through your high in chase of his own, overstimming you even more as you cream all over him, tongue lolling out. the sheer intensity of your orgasm has you collapsing forward onto his heaving chest, a babbling mess, while he holds you to him.

“you made such a mess on me, baby.” he huffs out.

“h-haji.” you whimper into his neck, arms looped around his. “s’too sensitive, haaa~”

your knees are by his hips, the tops of your feet pressed against his inner thighs, as he rolls his hips into you. large hands slide down your spine, over the curve of your ass to knead the smooth flesh in his palms.

“just hold on to me baby. you got one last one for me, don’t you?” all you can do is nod, releasing an onslaught of mewls and moans. “that’s a good girl, fuck.”

iwa is relentless in pursuit of his own orgasm - fucking into you at a punishing pace that has your mouth jar open in a silent cry, his truck jolting with each snap of his hips. your juices completely drench his cock, allowing him to slide in and out of you with ease, and you’re sure by now your pussy has been shaped out by the imprint of his cock. you can feel him throbbing inside of you, close to his climax; while his fingers dig into your ass shoving you down on his cock, and hitting your sweet spot over and over that you can’t help but gush all over him yet again.

“h-ah-ji, hnghh!” you sob, your body spent and thighs slick with your cum.

iwa only lasts a little longer with the way you were clenching down on him; pulling out of your fucked out pussy, and setting you on his thighs. he fists his cock in his hand, jerking himself a few times before thick, white cum spurts out - coating his entire hand and painting his stomach.

“mmm baby, that was fucking amazing.” he growls out, leaning back into the seat to catch his breath. “d’you feel okay?”

you only hum, entranced by how much cum he spilled. or wasted, you thought to yourself.

“can you reach over to the back and grab the towel in my gym bag, gotta clean us up…” your lack of focus has iwa trailing off. “y/n?”

“we don’t need the towel.”

reaching for the hand covered in his seed, you bring it to your mouth. iwa tries to question what you meant by that, though he’s cut off when you lick a tentative strip across his palm. gathering his cum on your tongue, you swirl his essence around in your mouth, before swallowing. you make a show of taking each finger in your mouth, sucking his cum clean. once his hand is licked clean, you slide down his lap; ready to do the same over his abs.

“you’re so good to me, y/n.” iwa runs his fingers through your hair, and then pats your head. “y/n?” he calls out again, still petting your head just as your about to trace the dips of his stomach with your tongue.

“hmm?”

“y/n? y/n?”

you move back away from him. “what?”

“y/n? oi, y/n? wake up!”

iwa watches as you jolt up from where you had fallen asleep on his lap. makki, who had been hovering over you, moves away as you try to swat at him - a confused look on your face.

“huh?”

“you fell asleep.” makki informs her. “you were interrupting the movie. if you’re that tired, just sleep in one of our rooms.”

lazed out on the other couch, mattsun pipes up; “yeah, you were making these ugly noises and then iwa said you licked his hand, what a weirdo.”

he only clears his throat awkwardly, finding a sudden interest in the beige walls of their living room. he misses the horrified expression on your pretty face, scrunched up in utter embarrassment, before you turn to start arguing with mattsun.

iwa was grateful for the pillow resting over lap, hiding the evident hard-on he was sporting. he wanted to argue with mattsun too, because the sounds you made were definitely far from ugly.

#haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu smut #iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi smut #iwaizumi hajime x reader #iwaizumi hajime #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #oikawa tooru #matsukawa issei #hanamaki takahiro #haikyuu fluff

946 notes · View notes

13uswntimagines · 4 years

Text

Works Like a Charm (USWNT x Baby!Reader)

Request: reader with the team where r falls asleep any and everywhere and on everyone? just super cute friendship and stuff

Authors’s note: Special thanks to @literaryhedgehog cause without her this would not have happened! I hope you enjoy and totally feel free to hit me up with comments and questions or if you just wanna say Hi!

You were the baby of the team, and being the baby came with very special privileges. The team knew of your sleeping issues, and the various methods you and your therapist had implemented (including scheduling yourself to avoid all blue light sources for hours before bed and sleeping with a stuffed animal (the famed stuffed Triceratops, Roary) each night,) to help fall asleep and stay asleep at night. But it had only been a week since you had actually looked for help, so it was too early to expect results, as you told them (and yourself) repeatedly.

More often than not you found yourself sitting on a couch, Roary cuddled close to your chest, watching the rerun of whatever game had been on, desperately waiting for your brain to turn off so you could sleep. That was the exact scene Ashlyn had stumbled upon. She glanced at the clock, wincing at the bold 2:15 that blinked back at her as she rubbed her eyes.

“What are you doing awake kid? Thought you weren’t supposed to do blue light after 9?” She asked softly, plopping down beside you, throwing an arm over your shoulder. You shrugged, leaning further into her side. You closed your eyes, burying your head into her warm arm.

“I literally laid awake for three hours. I tried not to focus on anything, or to focus on breathing, but I kept replaying the game in my head. So I thought I would watch it, see if rewatching the ending would help my thoughts, Idk, end too?” You moved so that your head was on her lap and you looked up at her. “Did anything I just said make sense out of my head?��

She nodded sadly down at you, her hands, stroking your hair slowly. You closed your eyes again, enjoying the feeling. You always wanted to be a cat when you were little. Your thoughts became slightly fuzzier, interrupted slightly when Ashlyn spoke.

“Don’t fall asleep here kid. Ali will kill us both if we sleep on the couch,” The blond keeper

“Just a few more minutes please?” You asked softly, cracking your eyes open.

“Alright. Just a few,” she nodded.

Coincidentally that’s exactly where Ali would find you the next morning. Cuddled into Ashlyn's stomach, snoring softly. From that moment, it became a team rule. It didn’t matter where you slept, as long as you were sleeping.

*****

You were never going to live this down. Emily took a stealthy photo of you slumped against Alex’s arm, the climax of Black Panther’s fight taking place in the background. Kelley guarded your other side like a pitbull, just daring anyone to try and mess with you.

“How did you get her to fall asleep Alex? She was so hyped up when we got here!” Emily said way too loudly, shrinking slightly when the veterans shushed her.

“I literally just wrapped my arms around her while Kelley braided with her hair,” Alex whispered, glancing down to see that you weren’t moving before she continued, “she kept moving too much for Kelley to get the braid straight, so I just held her still like I do with my niece for family pictures. Once she stopped struggling, it was instant.”

“Works like a charm every time. Who knew the world’s most feared striker could be turned into a puppy with some cuddles and pets?” Megan laughed softly.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s hilarious. Now shush and watch the movie,” Kelley said, flicking Megan playfully. More softly she added, “you’ll wake her.”

That shut the group up quickly. No one wanted to get in trouble for interrupting the little amount of sleep you got.

****

You were sitting next to Alyssa on the bench during practice, bouncing your leg you waited for your turn to run. It had been a stressful week. Everyone was preparing for the first real game of the season and even the usual pre-practice locker room chat had been tenser than usual.

Stress usually meant one thing for you. No sleep. It was like your brain had a death wish and just wanted to make itself more miserable. The dark circles didn’t go unnoticed by your teammates, hence why you had been regulated to the bench with the keeper when you weren’t running drills.

Alyssa started humming absentmindedly. You looked over at her. She was biting the edge of her lip, watching Becky run drills. She stopped and looked over, seemingly realizing that she was making noise.

“Sorry,” she said sheepishly.

“No, it’s really pretty! Please don’t stop on my account,” You said smiling and looking back towards the team as Alyssa started singing under her breath. “MmmhummmM, mmmhummM, So this is love. So this is what makes life Divine.”

You swayed to the tune, closing your eyes, once. You opened them again, more slowly. Then you felt yourself blink twice more, more slowly this time. It took slightly more effort to open them again. You stared hard at the field, not noticing Alyssa scootch closer to you on the bench. Then you blinked again.

“Alright Naeher, you’re up,” AD called jogging over to the bench from where the rest of the keepers were practicing. She stopped short at the glare Alyssa sent her way.

“Don’t think I’m going to be practicing PK’s today,” She said softly, gesturing to you with her free arm. The other arm was wrapped around you, keeping you from falling off the bench like you had almost done when you fell asleep. AD smiled, but then ran back to the group, unwilling to disturb you either.

Maybe the pitch wasn’t the best place to fall asleep, but with the soft looks the team was sending you, they all knew it wouldn’t be the last time. Your health was important and they would help however they could.

*****

It was like a rule on the bus. One didn’t fall asleep unless they wanted to get mustaches drawn on their face, or their cleats stolen. The bus ride to the practice field was long and supposed to be a time for team bonding, though it almost always ended up with Alex and Kelley sharing earbuds to listen to Hosier or Haley Kiyoko, Krashlyn watching some weird reality show, Megan Christen and Tobin discussing Re-ink stuff and the youngins causing havoc on the back, while Becky and Alyssa did their crosswords and Carli watched the road, trying not to get car sick.

You and Sam had seats across the aisle from each other but would sit next to each other on trips like these, playing hangman or Super Mario bros on switch. Today was one of those days where you slid across the aisle, pen in hand, looking for entertainment to keep the boredom away.

“That’s not fair. Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious is not an acceptable word to describe winning the World Cup,” Sam snorted, shaking her head as you finished the hangman.

“You’re one to talk. Last time you gave me “jazzy” as a word to describe how it would feel to meet Mia Hamm. You realize that J and Z are like, some of the least commonly used letters in the alphabet?” You exclaimed, your hands waving wildly as you tried to prove your point.

“It was a response to the fact that you picked a word that doesn’t exist,” Sam rolled her eyes.

“Wacknut is totally a word,” you huffed crossing your arms.

“You know what ducky, I think,” Sam paused, covering her mouth as a giant yawn split her face, “You’re a wacknut.” She finished, exhaling and wiping a tear from one of her eyes.

“Stop that, I didn’t sleep last night,” you said, yawning unintentionally yourself.

“Told you not to watch that last episode of Game of Thrones,” Sam said, stretching her arms slightly in front of her.

“You were right, it was a terrible ending, and a disgrace to television, but I had to know” You mumbled, your voice growing soft, and trailing off towards the end.

“I know, we were all let down by that one,” Sam said, leaning her head on top of yours, comfortingly. “I should take my own advice more often, 6 hours of sleep is just not enough.”

“Hmm, I know why they call you the tower of power, you’re soooo warm,” You nuzzled into her shoulder, her heartbeat soothing you.

“Did anyone ever tell you the story of how I got that name?” Sam asked, stifling another yawn.

“No,” you echoed her yawn.

“Good, they never tell it right. Once upon a time, there was a badass named me. The end.”

“Hmm,”

****

“So I know that we’re never supposed to wake Y/N up unless there’s an emergency, but we have practice and there aren’t any rules pertaining to Sammy,” Emily said too loudly, staring at where you were cuddled into Sam’s chest. The bus had stopped a few minutes ago and had slowly unloaded.

“Yeah, they’re kind of impossible to separate without waking both of them up,” Lindsey nodded, showing Alex a picture she had gotten from above you. Not only was Sam’s head on you, the two of you were holding hands in your sleep, and your other hand was tangled on the end of her shirt like your dreaming mind had mistaken it for a blanket and tried to pull it up.

“I have no problem carrying ducky, but I’m not tall enough to get Sam too,” Kelley said, scratching her head.

Behind them, Dawn walked back onto the bus. “What’s the holdup people? We have a practice to get to! I’m not defending you to Vlatko if you’re late again Sonnett.”

You jumped at the noise, jostling Sam awake too. You blinked at the woman, eyes wide and suddenly alert, searching for danger. “What happened!”

“Whoa, slow down killer. You fell asleep on Sam and she fell asleep on you,” Emily smirked as your cheeks turned blood red.

“We just arrived to practice. You’re not late yet,” Lindsey said, punching Sam lightly in the shoulder and turning to grab her bag. “You’re lucky Sam that you had a sleeping meep meep to protect you, otherwise you totally would have been pranked for napping on the bus.

“There’s no way in hell that meep meep fell asleep before our favorite tower of power.” Emily bantered back, shoving Lindsey off of the bus.

“We better go,” You said softly, playing with the hand that was still intertwined with Sams.

“Yeah, probably. Remind me to sleep with you again sometime. That was the best nap I had in ages,” Sam said absentmindedly stretching her neck to each side. Your eyes went wide. Then she froze, realizing what she had said. “Wait. That came out wrong.”

“It’s fine Sammie, I know what you meant, and I’d love that,” you bumped her shoulder with yours, then grabbed your bag. “Race you to the pitch!”

Sam shook her head as if to clear it as you launched yourself off the bus. Then she grabbed her bag and followed you, sprinting to try and catch up.

Yep, the team would do everything they could to make sure their little meep meep got the best sleep she could.

#uswnt imagine #uswnt imagines #uswnt x reader #literalhedgehog

520 notes · View notes

buckyownsmylife · 4 years

Text

Every Part of me - Tom Holland smut

The one where you and Tom are ex-lovers

Warnings: smut, kinda dubcon? but maybe not really (Tom just steps in and makes sexual decisions without discussing previously with the reader, but she accepts it wholeheartedly), slight degradation (Tom calls the reader cockslut and greedy little whore and dumb little baby, but I think that’s it), face fucking that causes slight asphyxiation, breeding kink, rough sex, dirty talk, spanking and the likes

A/N: Day 2 of Kinktober! Today’s prompts were face fucking and breeding kink with Tom Holland. Hope you guys like it! And thanks for everyone who has sent me messages about my accident, I’m actually feeling a lot better, although still in huge pain.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

I knew he’d been watching ever since I stepped foot in the set. To be fair, I couldn’t say I wouldn’t do the same. It hadn’t been much over a month since we decided to call it quits, and despite knowing it was for the best, it didn’t change the fact that my body still felt perfectly tuned to him and his gaze, the way he’d lick his lips after his eyes caught mine. So I tried not to look, knowing it wouldn’t make much of a difference in the end.

At least my job was quick and easy and despite knowing he’d be around, we weren’t expected to be in a scene together. Still, two weeks felt fourteen days too long and the day before I was expected to leave, the exhaustion of being on the edge all the time had caught up with me. I was scared, constantly tense about the possibility that I’d find myself standing too close to him and one whiff of his cologne would make me lose all the control I was struggling to hold onto.

I couldn’t even predict what would happen, I just know it wouldn’t be good. Not for our intentions to stay away from each other. So that’s why when Anthony and Robert asked if I wanted to go out for drinks, to celebrate my last night on set, I politely refused, explaining how utterly drained of all energy I felt. Thankfully, they conceded, leaving me alone to sleep this last night before I could go back to the comfort of my own house. I guess the fact that they knew about our break up helped a bit. Robert had looked at me with kind eyes that let me know he was understanding of my situation.

Nonetheless, as soon as I got into my room, I grabbed a bottle of wine and unscrewed it, determined to finish it tonight. Perhaps the buzz would help me sleep, but what I needed the most, however, was a distraction, and since a night out with friends wasn’t possible, I decided to give myself a night of relaxation.

As I poured myself my first glass, I stripped down to nothing, leaving my clothes on the floor as I opted to put on one of the silk robes the hotel offered. Nothing says solo party like semi-nudity. Besides, I was planning on jumping in the tub any minute now.

My idea, however, was cut short by a strong knock on my bedroom’s door.

Raising an eyebrow, I approached the door cautiously. I wasn’t expecting anyone and I hadn’t even called for a meal yet. Another knock resonated and I sighed, quickening my step to open the door to the stranger.

“Tom.” The word came out more as a whisper than anything else. He, on the other hand, didn’t say a word. Instead, his eyes gazed hauntingly into mine with an intensity I hadn’t ever seen before. “What are you doing here?” I asked when I felt enough courage to break the silence, but my voice came out weak and hesitant. I hated myself for that. I wanted to sound strong, enthusiastic, even. Not like someone who missed the weight of his body over mine.

The same thought must have been in his head because at last, his eyes broke our connection to travel the extent of my body. Self-conscious, I tried to better adjust the robe around me, hoping to hide more of my skin from his view.

It didn’t take a genius to see that he didn’t like that.

Tom’s P.O.V.

Seeing Y/N wearing only a robe, not even a foot away from me, after only dealing with memories of her scent, was too much and yet everything I needed at that moment. I could smell her now. That vanilla body wash she always took with her wherever she’d go, lilies and wine. I guess she’d been drinking.

Maybe that’s why her lips were so red.

I wanted to lick it off of her, kiss her until she lost all the air in her lungs, bite her luscious lips until they were red for a completely different reason.

I subconsciously licked mine, eyes still fixated on her mouth before looking down to admire the skin that was available for me to look at.

She fixed her robe, trying to hide more from me.

I didn’t like that.

Before I could even realize what I was doing, I was pushing her inside the room, slamming the door behind us. To every step I gave in her direction, she gave one to distance her body from mine, but I was having none of it. I quickened my movements until I was able to wrap an arm around her lower back and pull her to me, my lips immediately finding hers.

It was like heaven and hell all at once. God, I knew I’d missed her taste, but having it in my lips again, being able to explore the inside of her mouth with my tongue brought me such a powerful exhilaration that I felt like my knees would buckle at any second.

Still, I couldn’t separate myself from her. Not even when she tried to push me away, to end our kiss - no doubt struggling with the memories of that terrible night when we decided to call it quits. But I was done going through the same reel again and again. I didn’t want to remember her anymore. I wanted her right here, with me.

So I chased her away, making sure our lips stayed connected until she had nowhere to run anymore. Pressed up against the wall, I had all the control I’d been wanting over her now. So I deepened our kiss, burying one of my hands on her hair so I could force her head back to accept my eager tongue, and when I was finally able to do so, my other hand pulled on the string of her robe until it fell open and I had all of her body exposed to me.

“Tom…” She managed to gasp as she struggled against my hold on her, but I was having none of it.

“Shut up,” I warned her, already prying her lower lips open with my index and ring finger as I inserted my middle one on her weeping hole. “Fuck.” The chuckle that I gave held no humor, only a mocking tone that I hardly recognized as mine. “For someone who’s so resistant to my touch you sure are wet, sweetheart.”

Perhaps I was still angry at her. Maybe that’s why I felt this overwhelming need to be mean, to make sure that she did just what I wanted. Perhaps then she’d know how I’d felt ever since that night.

She stopped struggling then, accepting my invasion of her space as I took her mouth on mine again, pressing her against the wall as I fucked her with a single finger, before adding another and another.

I could feel her struggling to accept me, the thickness of the three digits stretching her open and I had to laugh. “I can see you haven’t been properly fucked since I was last inside this little pussy, huh?” I teased, and she only whined in response, moving her hips to thrust back against my hand. “Gotta prepare you, love…” Kissing her, I made sure to leave a few bruises on her neck when I left her lips, my fingers never stopping their movements inside of her. “Gotta make sure you’ll be able to accept my cock in here again.”

Maybe it was what I said, maybe it was the fact that I finally relented and started to rub on her clit with my thumb, but I had her cumming around me in seconds, making me grin darkly as I continued to fuck her through her orgasm.

“Such a dumb little baby, thinking you could leave me. Saying all of those things and leaving me to pick up the pieces of my heart. Well, let’s see how you speak now, with my cock in your mouth.”

I pushed her on her knees and immediately she was reaching out for my jeans, but I slapped her hands away. “You get what I give you, nothing more. Now sit back and wait for my cock like a good girl.”

The sight of her with her bottom lip sticking out, those cute puppy eyes appearing from under her eyelashes made my heart grow twice its size. How did I think I could live without her? How did she so easily give up on me, leaving me behind after one single fight?

The ambers of anger rose high again, and I grabbed her hair in my fist, pulling her to meet my erect member. “Suck it up, little whore.” I allowed her to do as she pleased for a little while, albeit keeping my grip on her hair, relishing in the feeling of her talented tongue and warm mouth. But the feeling of despair was still threatening to cut me open, and before long I pulled her away by her hair.

“Open your mouth,” I barked. “Leave it open. I’m gonna fuck your face.” She didn’t fight as I pulled her on my dick until her lips were touching my navel, my cock hitting the back of her throat.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

It took every bit of concentration I had to control my urge to gag around his cock, but I knew by the way he looked down at me that it was a battle I was destined to fail. He wanted me to hurt. He needed to see the tears in my eyes as he constricted my need for air, and I could allow him this release.

Despite our break-up, I still trusted him with my life.

So I relaxed against him, allowing him to do as he wished as he guided my movements through his grip in my hair, and I found some new appreciation by the way I was a sputtering, whiny mess, tears and spit running on my face just like he wished to see.

“Fuck yes,” he groaned, throwing his head back in pleasure. “Take it. Take this fucking cock like the greedy little whore you are for me.” I couldn’t even find it in myself to care about the degrading nature of his comments, not when they were making me so wet I could feel it dripping down my thighs.

We’d never fucked like this before, but god, were we missing out. I was so aroused by our activities that I couldn’t wait anymore, I needed another release soon. So one of my hands ended up between my legs, while the other rested on one of his thighs, just for support.

At first, he was so wrapped up in the pleasure I was giving him that he didn’t even notice, but when I moaned around his cock after a particular tug in my hair that made my finger slip inside of myself, he opened his eyes to look down at me, finding me halfway through an orgasm already.

“You’re such a cockslut, aren’t you? Already gave you an orgasm, but the second my cock is in your mouth, you need another one.” I obviously couldn’t answer, but he didn’t really want a response, from the way he pulled his dick from between my lips with a pop before pulling me up by my hair and dragging me to bed.

“You’re not gonna cum if it’s not me giving you the pleasure, sweetheart.” It was the first time in the night he called me by one of the pet names he used when we were still dating, and even if the tone was still slightly colder and bossier than I was used to, I felt myself melting at the memories that it brought me, leaving me putty in his hands.

He was then free to easily manipulate my body how he saw fit, which was on my hands and knees, my head pushed down against the hotel’s mattress. “Fuck, I missed this ass,” he commented just before slapping me hard, making me yelp. The sound must have entertained him because he did it again and again until I was shaking from the ardor and dripping down on the bed from arousal.

And then he pushed into me, releasing one of those breathless little moans that I loved to hear and that I’d missed so much, and it felt like I’d blacked out for a second. Having him inside of me was everything I had been dreaming of for the last couple of weeks, and now that I was struggling to accept his thickness, it felt like the only thing in my mind was Tom, how Tom’s hands felt as he rubbed them all over my back before wrapping my hair around them again, the feeling of his thighs hitting the back of mine, the sound of his balls slapping my clit with each powerful thrust he gave.

It was enough to have screaming out his name with zero regards for the other people on this hotel floor. “Fuck yes, baby, let them know who’s fucking you this good.” There was no way anyone staying close to us didn’t know, and I could only pray none of our co-stars would be around to tease us about it.

Suddenly, just when I was about to reach that peak again, he pulled out, easily manhandling me onto my bed as he held my ankles spread out for me. I moaned out loud when I felt him spit on my pussy before he pushed into me again, immediately getting back into the same rhythm as before.

“I want to see your face when you cum again,” he whispered hotly in my ear, making me whimper as I pulled him closer to me, my sensitive nipples rubbing against his chest. It didn’t take me long to get back to the same state as before, and the second he sucked on my earlobe, I came all around him, hearing him curse against my ear.

When I opened my eyes after calming down again, I realized he’d been waiting for me, predatory gaze glued on mine as he found a way to pound me even harder against the mattress, so roughly bumping against my uterus that it almost hurt.

“I’m gonna cum,” he suddenly announced, still looking deep into my eyes, and all of a sudden, I was shaken awake from my reverie by the realization that we’d been fucking raw this entire time. But before I could even come up with something to say about it, he beat me to it, adding, “I’m gonna cum inside of you. I’ll fuck a baby into you. This way you won’t be able to walk out on me ever again.”

Just as he oh-so-casually mentioned his plans for our future, I felt him spill into me for the first time, the warm feeling eliciting another small orgasm that left me trembling in his hands as he continued to softly thrust into me, like he didn’t want to leave and let any of his cum escape my pussy.

“I mean it,” he randomly interrupted my attempt to gather my breath, still panting himself, still very much nested inside of me. When I raised an eyebrow in question, he simply shook his head before leaning down to drop his body weight over mine, just like I’d been dreaming about. “I want you forever. I’m not letting you go again. Baby or no baby.”

Snorting, I hugged him to me, relishing on the smell of his cologne as I hid my face in the crook of his neck. “We still have a lot to talk about, Tom… but it’s safe to say that I feel the same way.”

#tom holland #tom holland smut #kinktober #kinktober 2020 #my fics #tom holland reader #tom holland imagine #tom holland imagines #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland fan fiction #tom holland x reader #tom holland insert fanfiction

430 notes · View notes

ecoamerica · 1 month

Text

youtube

Watch the 2024 American Climate Leadership Awards for High School Students now: https://youtu.be/5C-bb9PoRLc

The recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by student climate leaders! Join Aishah-Nyeta Brown & Jerome Foster II and be inspired by student climate leaders as we recognize the High School Student finalists. Watch now to find out which student received the $25,000 grand prize and top recognition!

16K notes · View notes

kitazura · 3 years

Text

it’s the thought that counts, tendō satori

1.6k words of fluff; gn!reader

synopsis: tendō doesn’t understand the excitement surrounding valentine’s day until he decides to celebrate it with you.

notes: i haven’t finished the manga but i’m making timeskip content :D thank u rissie (@sugas-cookie) for beta-ing mwah <3

Tendō’s come to learn that Valentine’s day brings waves of purchases made by eager youth preparing to confess their affections, frantic lovers who’d completely forgotten about the occasion, and other last-minute shoppers looking for gifts to give their loved ones. This year is no different; the orders pile up so quickly he can barely keep up with them.

He’s not complaining—not when his bills are getting paid—he just doesn’t understand why everyone lets themselves get carried away by the Valentine rush. At the root of it all, it’s blatant commercialism, another scheme by society to run your bank account dry through obligatory benevolence, so why play into it? Well, as long as it keeps him in business, he supposes he’ll keep his critiques to himself.

“Don’t you think you’re being a little cynical?” you say when he shares his thoughts, the gentle smile on your lips showing you mean no harm. “I think the idea behind Valentine’s day is charming.”

He brushes his thumb over your cheek, humming in response. “Why’s that?”

“Isn’t it sweet when someone puts time and effort into something just for you?” you gush. Tendō watches your gaze turn dreamy as your mind wanders off into the clouds. “Like making chocolates for the person you like.”

“That’s what I do for a living, darling.”

“You like all of your customers?”

“Of course; they give me money, after all.”

You laugh, swatting his arm lightly. “I guess it’s hard to romanticize something you do as work.”

You’re not wrong. At some point, it’s expected for your job to lose its magic, no matter how passionate you are about it in the beginning. Chocolate has long lost its allure to Tendō, and now he spends day in and day out pouring it into molds and hurrying to shape it before it hardens beyond salvation. It’s become a chore for him, and even just catching a whiff of a candy bar sends his brain into the stress of work mode.

“What do you think about when you make chocolate, Satori?” you ask, interrupting his thoughts.

“What an odd question,” he remarks, clicking his tongue like a fussy mother hen. “I think about what I have to do to make it look presentable, of course. And then I count down the minutes until I come home to you.” He beams, proud of his response.

But pride turns to dismay when he catches a glint of disappointment in your eyes. His expression falls as he pulls you closer. “What’s the matter?”

You shake your head. “Nothing, nothing. Would you ever make me Valentine’s day chocolates?”

He tilts his head in surprise, then kisses your forehead. “I’d make you chocolate any day; all you have to do is ask.”

You seem to drop the matter, although he swears you sigh, “It’s not the same.”

He spends the next couple of days convincing himself he’d only imagined it, but something about your tone and attitude makes it stick in his brain. Whether you’d said it or not, there was clearly something behind your first question.

He asks you about it over dinner: “Is there a reason you want Valentine-themed chocolates in particular?”

“You’ve been thinking about that?” You laugh a little, surprised. “It’s not the Valentine theme I want; just the knowledge that you’re thinking of me on that day.”

He pesters you to elaborate—he’s always thinking of you, don’t you know that?—but you dodge his questions, leaving him in the dark once more.

Since you won’t give him any answers, he’ll just look for them on his own.

He texts Ushijima that night: “Why do you buy chocolate for the one you love?”

“Because they like it,” comes the reply. It’s simple, straightforward, but it’s not what he’s looking for.

He texts Semi the same question. The response is the length of a school essay, explaining the motivations of love in depths only a poet could reach, but it’s still not enough.

At work, your question echoes in his mind: What do you think about when you make chocolate, Satori?

What was he supposed to think about aside from the process? His customers?

He looks again at the order he’s making. It’s one he expects every year—it comes a week before Valentine’s, by a man whose wife adores chocolate covered strawberries. Tendō remembers it not only because of its consistency, but also because it’s always preceded by an order by the aforementioned wife, who asks for milk chocolate filled with raspberry créme that her husband is so fond of.

He wonders why they order the same thing at the same time every year. There’s no surprise in it, so what’s the point? Had he been in the husband’s place and you in the wife’s, he’d make sure to buy you something different every year, each present more extravagant than the last. He’d make sure that you’d always have something to look forward to in your married life.

A cheery little tune takes form beneath his breath as he pictures a life with you: silver bands around your fingers, lazy mornings on your days off, walks along the Seine.

He sweeps the excess chocolate off the molds in one clean stroke, sighing dreamily. You would buy a bigger, better apartment once you’d saved up enough, or even move to a quiet little cottage in the countryside.

His thoughts wander through the clouds as he mindlessly flits from one project to the next, forgetting to count the hours until his duty for today is through.

Lately, some of Tendō’s usual customers have been dropping by to say the same thing: there’s something different about his work these days. It’s not negative; on the contrary, actually, the quality’s spiked. But he can’t figure out what he’s been doing differently for the life of him.

It weighs on his mind from the time he clocks in to when he clocks out. He’s been using the same ingredients, the same equipment, so what was it?

His answer arrives in the form of the Chocolate Strawberry man, on the very eve of Valentine’s.

The man enthusiastically shakes Satori’s hand and thanks Him for his work, his hands warm and clammy from excitement despite the biting Parisian air.

“My wife would have liked to come along as well, but she’s preoccupied with the baby,” the man explains. “She wants you to know how much she enjoys your work, though. We look forward to it every year.”

“Then why not buy it off-season, when it’s cheaper?” Tendō asks. The man looks surprised, prompting him to continue. “With all due respect, you order the same thing every year, anyway, so why wait?”

The man laughs at the sincere look of curiosity in the chocolatier’s eyes, patting him on the shoulder, like a father to his son. “Why wait until birthdays to buy a cake? Why wait until Christmas to exchange gifts and set up the tree? It’s old advice, but it’s good: it’s always the thought that counts.” With one last pat on the back and an affectionate chuckle, the man wishes Tendō a good night—“Enjoy tomorrow with your loved ones.”

The stores are packed with the usual extremely last minute rush on Valentine’s morning, and for the first time, Tendō Satori is part of that crowd.

His arms are filled with the goodies he’d woken up early to buy: heavily discounted candies in tacky packages, a cheesy card, a bouquet, an offensively pink stuffed bear, crumpled foil balloons. (He’d made chocolates for you too; those were waiting in the fridge at home.) If it was an authentic Valentine’s experience you wanted, he decided, then it was an authentic Valentine’s experience you’d get.

He’d sent you out to pick up a cake across the city just before he’d left that morning, so the apartment is still empty when he returns. He checks his watch—only half an hour at most until you’d come back. Setting the bear on the counter, he gives it a determined grin.

“Think I can set everything up in fifteen?”

He’s just barely managed tying the balloons closed when he hears the knob on the front door jiggle as you unlock it.

“I’m home!” Your shoes thud to the floor, joined by Tendō’s footsteps as he hurries to help you with the cake. You thank him when he takes it out of your hands and leads you to the dining table while you chatter away. “Boy, did you see how many people are out there? It’s like all of Paris decided to run their errands this morning. It’s a miracle I got the cake here in one piece—what’s all this?”

Tendō grins, proudly motioning to his handiwork. The bouquet sits in the center of the table, surrounded by neatly arranged dishes of your favorite foods. The plush bear sits at the head, the card and candies tucked into its paws. Balloons reading “Happy Valentine’s” are tied to your chairs, gently swaying to and fro in greeting.

“Do you like it?” he asks. “I figured you wanted to do something for Valentine’s, but all the restaurants are booked so I had to improvise—”

You cut him off with a kiss, and another, then another. “I love it! I love you and I love”—you wave at the room—“all of this.” Another kiss to his cheek. “Thank you for thinking of me, Satori.”

He laughs as you hug him, squeezing as tight as you can. He thinks back to the strawberry man’s remark, “It’s the thought that counts.” And maybe, just a little, he’s starting to understand that there’s more to Valentine’s than business.

As you prepare the cake and gush over the bear, he pats the pocket of his jacket. The pretty little velvet box would have to wait until after lunch.

postscript: heyyy <3 i stopped writing for like three months srry LMAO but im back in business baby !! if i try hard enough and school stops kicking my ass maybe i’ll start posting twice a month ahaha ... unless?

#haikyuu fluff #tendou fluff #hq fluff #tendou satori #tendou x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader

100 notes · View notes

mentally-in-northern-italy · 4 years

Text

The Best Potioneer (pt. 1) — Harry Potter x reader

***not my gif***

Request: “Hii, I love your work! I was wondering if I could request a Harry x Slytherin!reader, maybe set during the last year at Hogwarts and enemies to lovers? Thank you 💚”

Summary: You despise Harry. Your Slytherin friends seem to have strong opinions of him already, but during your sixth year, you also seem to have found a reason to absolutely hate the boy. But when you’re forced to work on an assignment together and stay up all night, is it possible for those feelings to change?

Word Count: 2.6K

A/N: Thank you so much for the request @obsessedwithrandomthings ! Ahhh, I really hope I did it justice!! I’m sorry I had to split it up into two parts because it turned out *way* longer than I expected it to! It was so hard to come up with a valid reason to hate Harry, he’s such a sweetheart, but I tried my best lmao. Anyways, I had such a fun time writing this and I really hope you enjoy!! And stay tuned for part 2!

__________________

You crossed your legs as you nodded politely in agreement with something that Professor Slughorn had said. In all honesty, you had had no idea what he was rambling on about, no one did, really, but still your face held a bright smile as you nodded once again. Your head of house, Professor Slughorn had invited you, among with various others, to his newly formed club.

Your eyes briefly surveyed the others that were sat at the table with you, all listening -- or at least, pretending to listen -- to the Professor about some very rare ingredient that he skillfully was able to find in some remote region. To your right sat Blaise Zabini, a fellow Slytherin, and to your left, a Hufflepuff that you had never talked to before.

All of them were here for one reason, of course; they seemed to show that they were extraordinarily skilled at something. Or, they were related to someone who was. You hoped it was the former in your case.

You liked to believe that you were here not because of your extremely famous Potioneer father but because of the talent you, yourself, possessed when it came to Potions.

Potions had always been your favourite. You liked other things, of course, but none of them satisfied you like Potions did. The feeling of accomplishment as you gaze down at a finished recipe in your cauldron bubbling, to you, was exhilarating, and you couldn’t seem to get enough of it.

Evidently, this was also the case for your father, who after graduating Hogwarts, had gone on to become a Potioneer, brilliant in his field, and make a name for himself. You hoped that you would be able to do the same.

“But enough of me blabbering on,” Slughorn chuckled heartily, “I’m sure you’ll have plenty of opportunities to hear me talk about myself.”

You met his gaze and smiled politely, making sure that he knows you’re paying attention.

See, Snape had always been fond of you. Snape, as the Potions Professor, gave you brilliant marks (which you deserved, in all fairness) and didn’t even try to hide the fact that you were his favourite. While others got a cold and disapproving glare from him when they had made a mistake, you received helpful insight on where you went wrong. Snape gave others a monotone sentence of approval at their success, while he gave you… Well, he gave you the same thing, really, but you could tell it was more heartfelt. As heartfelt as it gets, coming from Snape and all.

You were determined to impress Slughorn as well. You had decided that sheer talent can only go so far; teachers were human, too, after all. It was with no doubt that you concluded that every teacher ought to have a favourite, someone they will always favour over the next. And, similarly, every teacher has one student they would never think twice about, someone they didn’t even notice. While you were certainly grateful that you weren’t the latter, you weren’t exactly pleased at your position in the middle. It had always been all or nothing for you. You wanted to be the favourite. The best there can be.

But, that was proving to be a little difficult and unexpectedly, it was because of a certain raven-haired, bespectacled, and utterly clueless -- in your humble opinion -- Gryffindor boy.

You had never paid much attention to Harry. He had always been insignificant in your life, having only shared a couple classes with him over the years. And, even in those classes, you had only exchanged a few occasional words. The bottom line was, you didn’t hate Harry and you didn’t like him. He was just… Harry. A Gryffindor.

It was almost as if the universe saw this and decided that this wasn’t enough. Just like you disliked your mediocre position in Slughorn’s class, the universe disliked Harry’s mediocre presence in your life. After all, you were always one to go big or to go home.

It was as if Harry had been pushed onto the stage that was your life, forced to play a role, as soon as your sixth-year Potions classes had begun. And, Harry might be a hero to some, but in your play, he was easily the opposite.

All because Harry had started doing exceptionally well in Potions. You didn’t know what it was. His potions always turned out perfect, capturing Slughorn’s praise. Praise that you wish you were receiving. Naturally, before you knew it, it turned into a competition, both determined to out-shine the other. You couldn’t let him beat you.

A recent occurrence annoyed you, in particular, just a few weeks ago, when Harry was able to brew a draught of Living Death perfectly, and in record time. You were close, of course, but Harry had managed to do it before you, resulting in him getting awarded with a vial of Felix Felicis and getting praised relentlessly by Slughorn. Harry, being aware of just how much you resented him doing better than you in Potions, sent you a small smile as he stood at the front of the class, holding up the vial of the luck potion. It was clear at this moment that you had to be better than Harry. There was no other option. Excelling at Potions was in your blood.

However, the sole reason behind your undying hatred for the boy was not just the fact that he had magically turned into a brilliant Potioneer. No, it was also because of your friends, who were mainly Slytherins, had told you all about their interactions with him over the years when you brought up how he seemed to have claimed your spot at the top of the class. Since you only got a one-sided testimony from your friends, you were always led to believe that Harry was in the wrong.

If Harry were being honest, he wasn’t exactly sure why you hated him and wanted to beat him so badly in Potions. Regardless of the reason, Harry certainly wasn’t one to back out from some (un?)healthy competition. A part of him only seemed to want to compete with you on principle; a typical Slytherin vs. Gryffindor feud. He certainly didn’t take this little competition as seriously as you did.

But this ‘competition’ for you meant a lot more.

“Ah, Ms. [Y/L/N],” Slughorn directly acknowledged you for the first time that evening, “how lovely it is to have you here!”

“It’s a pleasure to be here, sir,” you replied kindly.

“Tell me, how is your father doing?” Slughorn questioned with genuine curiosity, “I haven’t heard from him in ages! Correct me if I’m wrong, Ms. [Y/L/N], last I heard, he was running some sort of experiment trial with sleeping potions?”

Your heart sank. You couldn’t help but think you were only here because of your father. You despised the thought. You caught your smile from faltering and took a breath in.

“He’s doing well, Professor,” you nodded, “And yes, he is running an experiment with sleeping potions. Unfortunately, he hasn’t shared much about it with me just yet.”

“Oh, yes, yes,” Slughorn said to you, “He was always quite the expert at sleeping potions…”

He paused at this before smiling and turning his gaze from you to Harry, sat directly across from you, “But of course, we have another emerging sleep potion expert in the room!”

At this, you grudgingly turned your head to Harry as well.

Great. Just the thing you needed this evening; to be reminded of your failure to brew a sleeping potion, one that your father would easily be able to brew in his sleep.

You continued to try to smile politely as Slughorn once again, started to praise Harry for his perfect potion. Harry smiled and accepted the compliments quietly, but he shot you a few glances in between, which only made you angrier.

“Quite remarkable, indeed,” Slughorn praised, “Wouldn’t you agree, Ms. [Y/L/N]?”

“Yes,” you agreed, still smiling, although you knew that everyone could tell it wasn’t genuine, “It is quite interesting how much Harry has been able to improve this year.”

“Indeed, indeed,” came Slughorn’s response who nodded and smiled at Harry.

“In my opinion, it just seems too good to be true,” you continued, your smile turning more into a grimace, as you shifted a little in your seat, “how exactly did you manage to brew a potion like the draught of Living Death so brilliantly, even though you could barely manage to brew a draught of Peace just last year, Harry?” You tried to keep your tone curious and casual, but you failed as a few murmurs broke out amongst the table, clearly picking up on the tension in the air.

“Well,” Harry began, holding your gaze keenly and smiling slightly, “I just followed the recipe.”

“Of course,” you said as you nodded slightly, patronizing him, “but was crushing the sopophorous bean in the recipe?”

“I--” Harry tried to reply as he, too, shifted in his seat. His smile had vanished.

“And,” you continued as you rested your elbows on the table, “Is ‘following the recipe’ a newly acquired skill?”

“No,” Harry kept his calm as you struggled to do the same.

“Because, if I recall, you couldn’t simply ‘follow the recipe’ last year,” you accused and narrowed your eyes. You had stopped pretending to be polite. More whispers and murmurs broke out while Slughorn watched this scene unfold in distress, “Or the year before that, or--”

“Are you trying to imply that I cheated, [Y/L/N]?”

“How lovely of you to finally catch on, Potter.”

Slughorn seemed to have decided that he had seen enough. “Alright! That’s enough, Mr. Potter and Ms. [Y/L/N]! Everyone, help yourself to this delicious chocolate cake! This ought to calm some of you down a notch...“

You and Harry kept your gazes on each other, both unwilling to break first as several people around you finally started to talk again, instead of listening intently to the heated interaction between you two.

Finally, Harry was first to break, looking away from you and picking up his cutlery.

__________________________

If it wasn’t already clear to you that this year just was not your year, it became clear when Slughorn declared that your class would be working with partners on the next assignment.

It became crystal clear, however, when you got partnered up with none other than Harry Potter.

You groaned as you walked back to your assigned seat beside Harry after arguing -- respectfully, of course, -- with Slughorn for fifteen minutes straight on just how well you could do on this assignment by yourself. It would be an understatement to say that you were severely displeased when Slughorn repeatedly suggested this was a two-person job.

You took a seat beside him with a frown set on your face, as Harry glanced at you from the corner of his eye. He was dreading this as well, of course, but certainly not as much as you seem to be dreading this. Was it because you hated that he was a Gryffindor? Perhaps you thought he was lesser-than because he was a half-blood? Or because he hung out with the Weasleys and Granger, both considered to be near the bottom of the wizarding social status hierarchy? He decided that it most likely was a combination of all of these, judging from the green and silver on your robes.

The truth was though, you couldn’t care less about what house he was in. Or, who his friends were. And, you certainly didn’t give a damn about his status. You resented him because he was doing better in Potions than you were, but you hated him because that was just the norm. You were expected to hate him. Only now, you actually had a reason to.

But now, because he was paired up with you, his failure was your failure. His success was your success. You couldn’t one-up him this time… you would have to actually cooperate with him. Interact with him. You scrunched up your face at the thought.

“Memory potions!” Slughorn clapped his hands as he started to tell the class about their upcoming assignment, “Who can recall what those are?” He chuckled slightly at his own joke.

Hermione Granger’s hand shot up.

“They’re exactly that, sir,” she informed, “They can boost one’s memory for up to six hours, depending on the dosage.”

“Yes!” Slughorn seemed pleased at the answer, “Yes, Ms. Granger! Memory potions are very powerful, indeed… I had a particularly nasty experience with those once…” He trailed off into telling his very underwhelming anecdote that no one really cared much for.

“Oh no,” you whispered, not particularly to anyone, as you realized it’s going to take Slughorn a while to actually get to the point.

“We’ll be here a while,” Harry whispered back, which surprised you. It was a very rare occurrence for you two to whisper to each other, and even more unusual for you two to be agreeing.

“But never mind that!” Slughorn said finally, “You lot will be brewing memory potions!”

Almost instantly, you grabbed a hold of your Advanced Potions book to examine the recipe. A few others did the same and Slughorn visibly noticed.

“Ah,” he said, “You won’t find the recipe in there. You will have to find the recipe yourselves.” He smiled. “After finding the precise list of ingredients and measurements, I would like you, with your partners, to brew the potion.”

You furrowed your eyebrows in concentration. Find the recipe?

“This assignment is, of course,” Slughorn went on, “a competition. The first pair of students to successfully brew a memory potion with effects lasting for precisely 7 hours will receive an O on the next essay!” He smiled as his eyes moved around the room. “You have until next week, but this potion can be done in a day...” His smile grew, waiting for a reaction from the group.

The students in the room all had no idea how to proceed. Find the recipe? 7 hours? This assignment seemed like way too much work, all for an O on the next essay?

“Alright! Get to work, you lot,” Slughorn urged as he laughed and walked back to his desk, failing to elaborate.

You looked around the room to find that everyone had started to talk to their partners, trying to figure out how they would be going about this peculiar task.

“We need to stay up all night,” you said quickly, turning your head to face Harry.

“What? Why?” he questioned with confusion in his eyes, “We have a week!”

“Zabini and Greengrass will most definitely stay up all night,” you told him urgently, “I know it. We need to beat them.”

“But--” Harry tried to reason with you. Spending all night working on potion with you? He wasn’t exactly looking forward to it.

“Look, do you know where we might be able to do this?” you ignored what he said previously, turning to get a fresh piece of parchment, “I was thinking of an abandoned classroom, but Filch will easily catch us.”

Harry did know a place. But did he really want to work on a potion all night? With you, no less?

“Fine,” you sighed as you once again turned to face him, “You need to sneak me into your common room then.”

“What? No!” he exclaimed, alarmed. He was not about to do that. For all he knew, this was all just some clever ploy to get back at the Gryffindors for beating the Slytherins in the Quidditch match last week.

“Where else would we go?” you question irritably.

“What about your common room?”

“No. I already told you Zabini and Greengrass will probably use it to brew their potion tonight.”

“But, I can’t sneak you in.”

“You have to!”

Harry was conflicted. He couldn’t sneak you into his common room, and he didn’t even want to think about what would happen if he were caught in your common room.

“Fine, okay,” Harry said as he fixed the glasses on his face, thinking, “I might know a place.”

“Okay?” you said, getting incredibly frustrated at his cryptic response, “Please enlighten me, oh Chosen One.”

“Just meet me on the seventh floor tonight.” He ignored your clever response and gave you a straightforward one. Like he always did.

“But there--” you tried to protest. The seventh floor had no classrooms that you could use.

“Just--” Harry also seemed to be getting frustrated as he insisted, “Just do it. Alright?”

“Fine,” you crossed your arms and leaned back into your seat.

You expected the night to go horribly. You expected a dreadful night, filled with insults. You expected your hatred for Harry to only have increased in the morning. What you didn’t expect was what actually happened.

(Part 2 has been posted!)

#harrypotter #harry potter #harry potter x reader #harry potter x you #harry potter x yn #harry james potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter oneshots #slytherin reader #enemies to lovers #harrypotterxyou #harrypotterxreader

385 notes · View notes

miraculous786 · 4 years

Text

I saw you were open for asks and I’m still pretty new to this so sorry in advance.

But: Momfriend!Marinette (about the same age as Jason) working part-time in a coffee shop while going to Gotham Academy and she sees this tired kid hanging out for hours on end so she gives him coffee and croissants a few times a week. The boy being Tim who starts spending more and more time at the cafe because Mari is like the best big sister. The others get curious and want to see what’s going on with the coffee-addict…

(Sorry if this isn’t what you wanted but congrats on all the followers 😁)

~*~*~

Note: Thank you! And this idea is great, I enjoyed writing it!

Masterlist

Of Brothers And Beverages

“Hello, sir. What can I get you today?”

“A spiced cappuccino with extra sugar, please.”

“Coming right up!” Marinette enthused to the customer, just before turning around. She began to pull out the necessary ingredients for the brew, and proceeded to whip it up with a small smile gracing her features.

Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted her co-worker moving about, almost with the fluency of liquid. His blond hair shone from a skylight above. His actions were practised and methodical.

The two made a moment of eye contact, and it caused them both to grin in secret whilst they carried on with their jobs. However, the girl couldn’t ignore the flicker of amusement and love that had shown in his emerald orbs for that split second of them staring at each other.

Marinette faced the person ordering with a slight blush.

“Here you go,” she said, placing a cup on the counter. The man took it, and put down a few dollars.

“Thanks,” he spoke, as he walked away and to the exit of the coffee shop. On the way, he passed a few tables - one of which had a teenager sitting with a laptop in front of him.

Marinette found herself frown at the sight, as she took in his slouched posture and slumped shoulders. Bags lay deep and dormant beneath his eyes.

The woman scanned about, and after deeming it empty enough, made her way to the edge of the counter. There, Adrien stood, with a knowing smirk and folded arms.

“Got another kid in your sights, Bug?”

“Maaaayyybe…” she responded, dragging out the first half of the word.

At his widening smile, Marinette turned a light pink and gazed away. “That boy reminds me of him, for some reason. They have the same look in their eyes.”

She looked right up at him, and carried on, “The same one you have, too.”

Adrien’s expression turned grim, as he chanced a glance to the male at the table nearby. “Abandoned too, huh? Maybe it’s best we both go to see how he’s doing.”

“Yeah,” the woman agreed. She noticed that a few other workers had taken her place at the till, prompting her to let out a sigh of relief.

The couple sauntered over to where the kid was, making sure that their postures weren’t unsettling or at the very least intimidating. When finally reaching him, they couldn’t help the worried looks they wore as they took in his drooping eyes and sagged body.

“Hey, are you okay?” Marinette asked softly, bending down to meet his shorter stature. At his lack of response, she tentatively placed a hand on his shoulder.

Ever so slowly, he turned his head to face her. “What…?” he mumbled, faintly squinting.

“Are you okay?” Adrien questioned this time with furrowed brows.

“Y-Yeah, I’m fine,” he muttered, going back to his computer.

Marinette shared a secretive glance with her partner, and sent him nod. He walked back to the front counter to retrieve an item.

“Listen, kid,” she spoke, while taking the seat across from him. “What’s your name?”

“…Tim.”

“Right, Tim. You look like you’ve been through hell and back with not one second of rest, if I’m being honest.”

“Sounds about right,” the younger one murmured.

“And you are in need of a serious pick-me-up.”

She held an arm out to the side, and Adrien - who had just returned - placed a special concoction of coffee in her hand. She placed the cup in Tim’s view.

He raised a brow at it.

The designer exhaled, putting a hand to her head. “Yes, we’re in Gotham, but that doesn’t mean it’s drugged. I swear.”

At his look, she added on, “Do we look like the kind of Gotham Academy kids that would poison some boy that looks to be dead in the first place?”

There was a moment of silence.

“Fair enough.”

~*~*~

“Is it necessary for you to bring me on such a pointless mission?”

“Shut it, Demon Spawn,” Jason hushed. “Don’t you want to find out where Timber gets those pastries from?”

Damian scowled, and muttered beneath his breath, “I know someone who can make tastier, I guarantee.”

His words were left unheard, as they continued to sit in more prolonged silence at their table.

Beside the boy, Dick readjusted the leather trenchcoat he wore, and coughed into his hand. That caused his brothers to look up in unison to be met with him saying quickly, “Three o'clock. Keep it subtle.”

Damian fought the urge to roll his eyes, as he glanced to the nearest wall for the time. It was close to when the coffee shop would shut, and if they weren’t careful, they would all be caught spying.

At the other side of the spacious room, Tim sat himself down on one of the circular tables, with three chairs around it. They were surprisingly comfy, and provided a place for him to lean his stiff back on.

He took out his phone from his pocket, and began to type. His other unoccupied hand tapped a monotonous tune at the wooden furniture beneath him.

Damian watched Tim’s actions in a bored stupor - soon deciding to scoff quietly as he turned the other way. He too pulled out his phone.

The youngest Wayne was left unaware of what was happening to the side, unlike his brothers, who were spectating in shock.

“Tim!”

All of a sudden, the device in said boy’s grip was gone, and a person was instead embracing him tightly. Their arms encased him in warmth, whilst a hand stroked at his back in soothing motions.

“How’s it going, Sweetie?”

“Okay, Sis,” Tim replied. He huffed in false annoyance as Marinette gave his hair a ruffle.

She moved back, and took the seat closest to him.

“You sure? You look like a zombie,” the waitress noted dryly.

“I think I’ll leave the undead business to my brother, thank you very much.”

That earned a giggle from the older woman.

“Speaking of which, where’s Adrien?”

“At home,” she said with a sigh. “He had to deal with business involving his family.”

“Gabriel?”

“Gabriel.”

Quiet lingered around for a few seconds.

“Sorry, do you mind if I give that table over there their order?”

“Oh, no. It’s no problem,” Tim assured, seeing her walk away to the counter at the front of the shop just after his response.

Marinette scooped up a tray with both hands, which had three cups and several packets of sugar piled on top. She spun around, and started to make her way to the trio at a table in the corner.

One of them - with a white streak at their fringe - made a second of eye contact with her, just before looking back down again. She wasn’t aware of how he was frantically whispering to the oldest there.

“Here’s your order,” she chirped, plopping the tray down between them all.

“Thank you,” two of them said in unison, while the last person stayed silent.

“It’s no problem!”

Just as Marinette was about to turn away, a quiet voice speaking made her whirl back around in a flash.

“Sister?” they called.

It took her a second to take in who was sat there.

“Dami? Oh, it’s great to see you here!”

To everyone’s surprise, she knelt down and enveloped him in a hug, that Damian reciprocated wholeheartedly. Then, she planted a chaste kiss to his forehead, and scrutinised the men with him.

“Who are you guys?”

Dick was the first to compose himself.

“Jason and I are his brothers,” he revealed, smiling kindly. “Oh, and so is Tim over there.”

Whipping her head back, Marinette was met with the sight of Tim - his jaw slack as he stared at them all.

“Sis, how…how do you know Damian?”

A beam stretched across her features after a few moments.

“He’s one of my honorary siblings!”

The waitress faced Jason and Dick. “I guess that means you guys are my brothers too, right?”

The older one smirked, much to Damian and Tim’s horror.

“I guess it does, huh?”

~*~*~

@northernbluetongue @moonystars14

#maribat #adrienette #mlb x dc #dc x mlb #ml x dc #timmari #timinette #platonic timmari #platonic daminette #submission #adribat

982 notes · View notes

clanwarrior-tumbly · 4 years

Note

Hii!! I saw that your requests are open again so I hope u don't mind cosidering mine!! Maybe some Hcs of the THH bois being sad and their s/o comforts them and when they think they're asleep, they sing them a lullaby? the idea makes me very soft 👉👈🥺

Oop this idea makes me v soft, too ;w;

..........

Taka

You knew how emotional Taka tends to get, even over simple things like you reminding him that you appreciated him in your life.

Though one day, you find him laying on the bed, crying into a pillow.

The fact he neglected to greet you when you came home was especially concerning, since he always did that.

So you lay down beside him and hug him closely, asking what’s wrong.

He just buries his head into your chest and sobs about a quiz he failed, believing his life was ruined because of it.

Anyone else would’ve probably laughed at him for bawling his eyes out over something that insignificant.

But you never do.

You understand he takes a lot of pride in success...and that he could be harsh on himself for little mistakes.

Instead you hold him tighter and reassure him that one bad grade doesn’t mean his future is in shambles.

Eventually he calms down, thanking you for those words he often needed to hear.

Before seemingly passing out from the exhaustion of crying.

You pet his black hair for a bit, and then quietly sing a short lullaby.

In response, his arms hug you tighter.

Mondo

Usually, he’s scary when he’s upset.

But around you, however, he looks like a kicked puppy.

This especially becomes true when he comes home after an argument with his gang.

He takes a shower and comes back out to greet you, his infamous pompadour now shoulder-length brown hair.

Now he looks like a wet kicked puppy.

If you ask him what’s wrong, he’ll just say it was another stupid fight with his gang, who still doubt his capabilities as a leader.

You knew he was trying his best to keep them in one piece--fulfilling his late brother’s dying wish.

So you understood he could take those insults to heart.

He doesn’t wanna go into much detail, knowing he’ll just get angrier (and probably break the coffee table for the third time this week).

You just pat your lap, inviting him to lay his head down there for a while.

He obliges and just closes his eyes as you run your fingers through his hair.

It soothes him to sleep real fast.

And you hum a small song to help ease his mind and forget his frustrations.

Leon

It’s quite easy to tell when he’s sad, even if he doesn’t say anything directly to you.

Oftentimes, it’s when you enter the bedroom or living room and see him curled up with a pillow, eyes moist and red.

The moment he sees you, though, the pillow’s on the ground and he opens his arms up.

It’s like he’s saying “hold me right now or I will die”.

So you oblige and let him cuddle with you like a teddy bear, already feeling better now that you’re here.

He’ll talk about what’s bothering him if you ask.

Usually it’s either growing pressures of baseball practice or his own insecurities eating away at him.

Though sometimes he just says he wants to sleep the day away.

You’re fine with that, and you help him relax by singing a bit of a lullaby.

All he can pay attention to is your calming voice as he dozes off.

After the nap, he feels a lot better.

Hifumi

It’s typical for him to come crying to you about being bullied again.

Though when he asks if you truly loved him...that becomes a shock to you.

Of course you did! What idiot would try to tell him you didn’t?

You swear this is the last time anyone would mess with your big and lovable fanfic writer.

Usually the perfect solution is to sit down on the couch with his head in your lap, while you brush away his tears and list all of the things you loved about him.

No really. You have an actual list you keep in case someone has the nerve to ask you what you see in him.

He might get choked up all over again as he realizes he shouldn’t listen to those idiots.

At some point, he does fall asleep, and you catch yourself humming the tune of some anime song you recently heard.

Funny enough--he sometimes mumbles the lyrics in his sleep.

Yasuhiro

You find him sitting alone in his room, looking sad as he stares down at a crystal ball in his hands.

At first you scared him when you rush over to ask him what’s wrong (fortunately you save him another million yen by catching the ball before it hit the floor).

But once he calms down, he just says he feels like a “useless idiot” during trials sometimes.

He wonders why Monokuma insists everyone participates if he can’t contribute anything good.

What breaks your heart most is when he asks if you think he’s an idiot.

You just take his hands and reassure him he’s far from that.

You remind him that he did bring up some important topics that helped piece the crimes together.

So he’s not useless at all.

He feels much better after those reassurances, though also tired since he was doing a lot of thinking.

So you two just cuddle, and when you think he’s fully out, you quietly sing a random song.

Though he mumbles a “wow you sing rly good” before dozing off.

Makoto

Sometimes the guilt of class trials weighs heavily on him.

Especially when he leaves knowing he basically sent someone to their death.

Even though he knows he has to if everyone else wants to survive.

But that doesn’t stop the nightmares he has of the victims and blackeneds taunting him, blaming him for their deaths instead of Monokuma.

Fortunately, you sleep with him on those nights.

And when he wakes up suddenly, you’re quick to bring him into your arms.

Though if you’re a heavy sleeper, expect to be shaken awake by a teary-eyed Makoto who was scared you died.

When you’re awake, you comfort him by resting your chin on top of his head, while he listens to your heartbeat.

A reminder that you’re still alive.

And you end up singing a short lullaby once he falls back to sleep, ensuring he stayed asleep knowing you were safe.

Chihiro

Knowing Chihiro, it was easy for him to get upset over many things.

But all day long, he’s kept things bottled up, afraid you’d see him as “less manly”.

Though it all backfires horribly when he’s working on a program that keeps having pop-up errors and other glitches.

It’s just one after another and he can’t fix them all.

He feels like he’s faltering in his talent--the one thing he was confident in.

How could he be an “Ultimate Programmer” if he couldn’t fix simple errors?

Sometime later, you find him crying at his desk. You can easily tell your poor bf is overwhelmed again.

So you carry him away from his computer and to the bed, where you both cuddle.

He ends up breaking down into tears again, spilling his heart out to you--the guilt of ignoring you, the frustrations with the program, everything.

And you hold him and listen, letting him talk before you give him your own reassurances/advice.

Eventually, he passes out from exhaustion, and you take the opportunity to sing something to help him calm down more.

Byakuya

There’s not much of a sensitive side to him. He learned to toughed up in the face of many hardships--all to rightfully earn his position in the family.

But not even the heir himself was immune to the stress, suffering, and doubt--especially when he was all alone.

And when you saw that mask crack for the first time..it was a shock.

You came home earlier than expected one day, and you saw the prodigy pacing around the living room, trying to dry both his glasses and eyes while taking shaky breaths.

“You’re better than this...stronger than this..y-you’re..gonna be head of your family...”

The crack in his voice prompts you to intervene.

Of course, he tries playing it off as nothing, though you take him to the couch anyway and hold his hands.

You don’t say or do anything; you just let him calm down by himself, with your presence being more than enough.

Once he does, you convince him to rest for a bit. He just scoffs and says he already planned to.

You hum a song when he finally dozes off.

Your voice is actually soothing to listen to, though he’s not gonna outright say it.

But you know it from his small smile.

Kiyondo

Despite his brash attitude and tendency to mimic Mondo..you knew that deep down, your beloved Taka was in there--still heartbroken and grieving.

It became more apparent when you found him crying in the bathhouse (around the same time he was when he first went there with Mondo).

He shut himself into the sauna, but with luck you managed to convince him to leave and go to your dorm.

At first he aggressively cuddles with you, though as you brush away the hot tears that streaked down his face, his voice becomes less rough and more...soft.

Like his old self.

He admits he’s scared you’ll be taken away from him, too.

But you just hold him, promising him you will be okay...and you’ll help him through this, no matter what it takes.

It’s hard convincing him to sleep, but when he finally does, you just stay awake for a bit longer, petting his hair and singing a short lullaby.

By the morning, he’s back to normal--still gaunt and depressed.

Yet he seems more hopeful, as he remembers you’re still with him.

208 notes · View notes

tf2-headcanons-and-scenarios · 4 years

Note

How would the mercs react if their s/o were to faint in front of them (from something relatively non dangerous)? How much would the reaction differ if it was a friend? p.s love your blog, always brightens my day

A/N: I’m glad I can bring a smile around, hope you enjoy these!!

Scout:

- The first time Scout ever saw someone faint was from blood loss on the Battlefield, so whenever someone faints he usually starts acting childish

- Think of his reaction like poking a dead rat with a stick

- The first time he saw YOU faint, however, was from the sight of a big fat Spider during Halloween

- Now because of how he always reacted to fainting spells, everyone kind of assumed to hear him laughing and poking at you

- They were surprised to see Scout freaking out and asking if you were alright

- You bet your arse that he was asking Medic all the dumbest questions, from if you were dead to if you were losing blood somehow etc.

- He feels a bit foolish overreacting when you eventually tell him you had a fear of spiders and seeing that monster of a spider just didn’t sit well for you

- If you guys were friends, however, he would laugh at you and poke at you until you wake up

- Tell him you’re fearful of spiders and he’ll always put spiders in your room or on your gun

- Yeah he’s a massive dickhead about it if you’re just friends

Soldier:

- Fainting was not something that Soldier understood. AT ALL.

- An enemy faints on the battlefield, he just blows them up and moves on

- If someone on his team faints, he scolds them for sleeping on the job or being a big fat coward

- The first time Soldier sees you faint in front of him is when he comes towards you with a smile on his face and shows you his box full of heads

- Now in-battle, you were fine with gore. Outside of conflict? NOPE.

- Soldier was just sitting beside you the entire time, poking your cheek with a finger and asking if you got enough sleep last night etc.

- Medic found himself walking into this sight and Soldier has grown worried after you didn’t wake up for a while

- Medic then talked some reason into Soldier that fainting wasn’t as he originally thought

- Soldier panicked but he calmed down when you woke up. From then on he doesn’t show his his head collection

- If you guys were just friends, he’d lecture you about it once you woke up and he would keep insisting on showing you his head collection

- You avoid that specific interaction like the plague and he calls you a coward. You can live with that so long as it means not seeing the heads again

Pyro:

- You and your team’s Pyro were just hanging around an abandoned building one fateful day

- You were both exploring and playing in the area with them, and you were having the time of your life

- At some point in time, both of you began to mess around with the roofing of the building, occasionally jumping to grab onto the beams above

- Eventually you managed to lose them somewhere in the building, so you went to look for them

- You found them doing something to something else, and you went to have a look

- You immediately regretted it as you saw them butchering an unfortunate enemy Spy who somehow crossed paths with them

- You fainted from seeing what remains of the Spy, and you wake up seeing Pyro PANIC about you and your health

- When you tell them you’re fine, they pick you up and give you a piggyback home, apologising and reassuring you they won’t do something like that again when you’re around

- They do keep to their word, they don’t do it outside of battle but in-battle? Hell has literally been manifested into one creature

- If you both were friends, Pyro would just shrug and continue doing what they were already doing to the poor Spy

Demoman:

- Your team won a round and were going out to celebrate

- Medic, Pyro and Heavy opted to stay at the base, while Spy went to go to a theatre

- Everyone else went out to the local pub to drink their hearts out

- Demo invites you as his romantic plus one, and you both went together to the same pub

- You guys started drinking and having fun, laughing as it was revealed that Scout was a light-weight very quickly

- Your last memory of the evening was feeling tipsy and sitting in Demo’s lap as he was starting to get drunk

- You wake up feeling terrible, your head pounding, your throat dry and feeling sweaty all over

- You eventually realise you were still in your evening attire in another person’s bed, and you were worried until you saw Demoman walking into the room with a tray in his hands

- He was very relieved to see you awake, and explained how you passed out drunk, and how he was worried for you and everything

- You tell him you’ll be fine and thank him for bringing you a glass of water, some painkillers and a hot plate of breakfast for two people

- You spend the morning eating breakfast together with Demoman nursing you better

- If you guys were friends? He’d laugh at how much of a light-weight you are and then wake you up forcefully with a nice bucket of ice-cold water

Heavy:

- It was right about Flu season in the Badlands and you were the unfortunate one who managed to get sick with the Flu

- You were relatively fine dealing with it on your own, but Heavy stepped in wherever he could to help you out

- Eventually you managed to infect Spy and Soldier with the Flu, and Medic has to send you three into isolation to prevent further contamination

- Scout thought it was wise to mess around with Spy’s medication and decided to switch out his medication with sleeping pills

- Unfortunately for Scout, he didn’t put the sleeping pills in the right container. Unfortunately for you, you ended up with the bottle of sleeping pills

- When Heavy went to check up on you, he had the biggest panic attack known to mankind when you were unresponsive

- He begged Medic to save your life, and was immensely relieved when it was discovered that you just took some Sleeping Pills that knocked you out like a light

- When you woke up, Heavy was right there with your proper medication, a bowl of warm Chicken Soup (his mother’s recipe) and a glass of water

- He gave you kisses on your forehead to check your temperature every now and then

- He would not care if he got contaminated, he isn’t letting shit like that happen to you again

- Yes He did discover Scout was responsible for the sleeping pills. Yes Scout’s week was absolutely miserable

- If you and Heavy were just friends, he’d make sure you were alright, but would leave you and the others in isolation until you guys were better

- He would still make Scout pay for such a potentially dangerous prank though

Engineer:

- Engineer has just finished working on a nifty little invention one day and he asked you and a few other mercs to test it out for him

- You were the only one willing to do it, everyone else was promised a full crate of booze to share if they participated

- There was an even number among the group of volunteers, and you were left to test the invention out with Soldier

- It was going well at first until Soldier got the brightest idea to start fiddling around with his end of the machine

- Despite the warnings Engi gave him, Soldier kept on doing his thing until he managed to loosen something up that made the machine malfunction

- Both you and Soldier fell unconscious from the electric shock you both received just as Engineer turned it off

- He was worried sick about you, and gently carried you over to Medic’s lab to get you checked

- He was a lot less scared for you when Medic told him the shock was nothing too serious, and you didn’t have any serious injuries anywhere internally and externally

- When you woke up, you swore you’ve never seen him more relieved in his life, and he apologises immensely to you

- As another way to apologise to you, he took you into town for a quiet evening out, spoiling you with dinner and romantic tunes from his guitar

- If you guys were just friends, he’d make sure you were alright and apologise for the accident with your own crate of booze

- In both scenarios Soldier would not get his share of alcohol and he would be banned from using any of Engi’s buildings on and off the battlefield for at least a week

Medic:

- Medic doesn’t usually invite someone in to help him with medical experiments as an assistant. Usually he invites someone to BE the medical experiment

- However, it was one of those days where Medic wasn’t opening up the torso of a team member, but it was the day he got a new fresh shipment of human transplants

- Said human transplants were harvested, cleaned and revived into working condition from the corpses of respawned mercenaries

- Thanks Saxton Hale

- Medic invites you to help him unload his new medical supplies along with Heavy and Sniper, and you happily agree

- You guys did your thing unloading the crates and putting them into Medic’s lab, but you guys were called to look at something Medic found

- Apparently his request for a large pile of blood bags went through (said blood was hijacked from a blood donation van that had conveniently crashed)

- Catching an eyeful of blood in bags did NOT sit well for you, and you fainted from the sight of it

- You woke up to Medic apologising and Heavy returning with a cold glass of water Medic asked him to fetch for you

- Medic still brings you into the lab to help you out, but he will warn you if there’ll be blood involved in his work

- The blood bags in question are carefully stored in a place where you won’t be able to find them

- If you guys were just friends he’d literally not care and ask Heavy and Sniper to finish unloading the supplies

- He would take advantage of your unconscious state to probably experiment on you though. Hey, saves him the trouble of sedating you!

Sniper:

- You had been visiting Australia with Sniper and the rest of the team for an assignment Miss Pauling sent you on.

- At some point in time you and Sniper were tracking someone down in the Outback and it had been a hot day and you were dying from the heat

- You both wanted to conserve as much water as possible but hot damn you were feeling lathargic

- You both stopped to sit and rest for a moment to have a sip of water, but you fainted at the sight of a very large snake sitting right next to you before you could even open your flask

- You woke up with a cloth over your forehead and Sniper sitting beside you looking relieved

- You began apologising for fainting at the sight of the snake but Sniper cut you off saying that it wasn’t your fault and you shouldn’t apologise for it

- He will give you his flask to drink as much water as you’d like, and he will cuddle you better

- If you guys were just friends he’d set you in the back of the team truck and take the driver’s seat. He knows you’ll be fine

Spy:

- It was a quiet and tense night out, you and Spy had been assigned to assasinate a growing enemy of Mann. Co and so far it wasn’t going well

- One good thing was that you both managed to eliminate the target at a high-class restaurant but now you both are utilising utensils and metallic pans to escape from the security guards and body guards

- You had been doing fine up until you were unsuspectingly caught with a frying pan to the back of your head, rendering you unconscious

- When you woke up, you were in Spy’s arms travelling in the back of the pick-up truck Miss Pauling was driving. You had not seen him this uneasy in a while and you had a feeling as to why

- Pauling caught you up on what happened after you got knocked out. In short, Spy got thrown off his game and almost captured trying to rescue you. Needless to say Miss Pauling got her hands dirty cleaning up Spy’s sloppiness but thankfully promised to keep this between you three

- The rest of the trip has Spy cuddle you in his arms as he carefully nursed your injured head

- One could say he was overreacting over your concussion but you allowed him to fret over you

- If you guys were friends he would have finished the job yourself and scold you for being so careless

- It would also be a very long time before you were even considered to accompany him on another mission

313 notes · View notes

allycryz · 3 years

Note

‘ you’re exhausted, [nickname of your choice]. ’ haurche x emet <3 IF your reblog was requesting prompts, if it wasn't, then no pressure! (:

It was! Please enjoy!

Timeline: post-ShB, Hades and Nerys are together. Loosely set after this prompt fill but not at all needed to read before reading this. Hades is struggling coming to terms with the fact that he is in love with Thancred and Y’shtola, and now here comes Haurchefant

Food cw

Hades dissipated out of the bed in a rush of aether.

They slept too lightly for him to rearrange things–shift Nerys into the space left between her and Thancred. And he might need the opening if he chose to return. Might. It was hardly comfortable, cramming five people into this bed. Fortunate, that Urianger chose this week to sequester himself in Thanalan.

The four of them remained asleep. For a breath of a moment he thought Haurchefant opened his eyes. But no, the man remained in perfect repose with Y’shtola curled up in his arms. Both in easy, peaceful sleep after bells of activity.

No one else was in the kitchen when he shuffled in, bleary-eyed and less than sure-footed. Blessedly empty...and cursedly understocked. He had balanced Tataru’s ledgers himself last week before his departure. Someone had been greedy about taking more than their share.

A fine homecoming. He rubbed at his now-healed hip as he considered what remained. The laceration was long gone before he returned from the mission Nerys had sent him on–handling a crowd of wealthy mages set on a coup in Ishgard. His own magic had repaired the damage before his “welcoming party” could fuss over it. And still, Y’shtola had stroked her claws over it and given him a pointed look.

Peppermint tea was the best of the options. No hardship truly, but coffee or his preferred types of tea would have been preferable. At least the Ironworks appliances were in good working order. Naturally, the most reliable components of his past-midnight drink were of Garlean make.

“I’m surprised you’re awake.”

Hades near bit his tongue at the sound. He must be tired if he hadn’t detected someone approaching. “Last I saw you, my lord, you looked dead asleep.”

“Oh I’ve been drifting in and out. What are you having?” There was all the room in the world for Haurchefant to stand on either side of him. Instead, the man put himself directly behind Hades and peered over his shoulder. “I did not know you liked peppermint tea.”

“It’s fine. There is nothing else available.”

“Incorrect, dear Hades.” His breath fluttered against Hades’ ear before he moved to the cupboard a few paces away. He felt along the wood panel...and tapped before opening it. Prior, it had contained nothing but containers for leftovers. Now it held a bevy of baking supplies, including several bars of expensive Ishagrdian bittersweet chocolate. “Fetch me the milk and heavy cream, if you please. If we only have one of those, we shall make do.”

“Did you do this? I did not think your thaumaturgy lessons had advanced this far.” He ignored the request to examine the working. This had also escaped his notice, the charms for it dormant and cloaked until Haurchefant roused them.

“No no, all I did was provide the ‘key’, as it were. Luckily, I have an intimate acquaintance with several renowned mages and scholars.” It was a difficult thing, to straddle the line of lechery and love in one expression. Most tried and failed. Yet, here was a shining example, so bright that it could hurt the dark aether Hades drew upon. “The milk and-”

“Yes, yes, I’ll fetch them.”

There was no heavy cream but they did have prodigious amount of milk in the icebox. He brought it over to the other man, who set to chopping chocolate upon the wooden cutting board shaped like a very rotund cat.

“...I do need to ask,” Haurchefant said amidst the rhythmic chopping. “Why did you not simply magic yourself a cup of your preferred beverage?”

Hades dropped his face into one hand with a very long, very exasperated sigh. The other hand flicked into the air, providing Haurchefant with a bottle of the heavy cream they lacked. “It goes without saying, you will not mention this.”

“Of course not,” Haurchefant chuckled. He set the knife down and wiped his hands with the nearby towel. “Darling man, you’re exhausted aren’t you?”

“Even I can be depleted at times.”

“If I may be so bold-”

“My dear ser, when have you ever hesitated before?”

“More than you might imagine.” He caught the long tie of Hades’ robe, rubbing the silken fabric between thumb and forefinger. The mirth diminished in his eyes, replaced with something softer, more vulnerable. And that same, often-aggravating core of resiliency he always carried with him. “I will be bold then. You undertook a perilous mission, traveled a long way back to great aetheric cost, and then was promptly ravished by three lovely people and their very handsome Ishgardian. Why are you not sound asleep in the bed right now?

“Strange as it may seem...sometimes one can be so exhausted, you cannot sleep.” Hades tugged the sash away, gesturing at the ingredients. “Come now, you need to heat the dairy.”

“I have been fortunate enough not to experience that. Though I have witnessed it in Nerys sometimes.” With that, Haurchefant set to obedience; dutifully measuring out the liquids, the sugar, the small amount of espresso. He had witnessed the man cook before but never with exact amounts. Haurchefant was more likely to add by eye and by taste than employ the cups and spoons he did then.

“Though I am sorry it exhausted you into insomnia…” Haurchefant plucked a whisk from the drawer. “I am glad you allowed us to welcome you back properly.”

Hades made a show of studying his nails. The black paint had chipped dreadfully since Nerys painted them last. He willed the color away with a brush of magic–he would ask her for a new manicure in the morning. “You may have noticed, ser, that I enjoy the carnal pleasures.”

“I may have noticed it once or twice, yes.” The metal spokes of the whisk made light music upon the saucepan as Haurchefant studied the edges. Poised to move as soon as the correct bubbles appeared.

Haurchefant hummed a somewhat familiar tune. An old Ishgradian nursery song, Hades guessed. Abominably catchy, sure to haunt him for hours going forward. The man made it charming enough to forgive him for it.

The saucepan left the flame, chocolate dropped into the mixture. The rich aroma filled the air and Hades felt something in him relax at it. He’d never had much of a sweet tooth but chocolate...that was a concept he approved of. Haurchefant filled two delicate cups and brought them to the table in the corner, beckoning him to join.

Hades set himself in the chair, crossing one leg over the other. The first sip of chocolate was everything the aroma promised: rich, dark, sweet but not overly so. Perhaps he would be able to sleep tonight.

“Do you like it?”

“Quality as always, Lord Emissary.” Hades inclined his head. “I hope it remedies whatever has you up and about at such a forsaken hour.”

“Truly? I got out of bed to check on you.”

“Kind of you,” said Hades, ignoring the treacherous pain in his chest. Determined not to give in to the tenderness of the statement. “But also: nosy. Dear dear, what shall be done with you?”

“If I recall…” Haurchefant’s eyebrows rose. “You made excellent use of me this evening.”

“Yes, Nerys does like to see you in raptures. And I am nothing if not generous to my lovers.”

"How generous? What might I receive from you?"

If Haurchefant wanted to play this game, Hades would oblige. (It certainly was steadier ground.) “For one, you might receive the gift of my receiving. You gave to everyone else but me.”

“Oh but Hades…” Haurchefant learned forward and curled his index finger under Hades’ chin. "Would you deny me the sight of you thrusting? Every time you do...Fury but you're radiant. And you feel perfect."

Sweeter words had been spoken in his ear, similar overtures made in far more sensual environs. But Haurchefant speaking those words in the dark kitchen, gazing at him like that-

-he found it very hard to breathe or think of a response.

Instinct took over, millenia of etiquette stamped into his bones. Mores and gestures changed over time and place but many classics were the same as they had been in Amaurot. He caught Haurchefant’s hand and kissed it with a mild, seated bow.

He found his voice and looked up with his sly, ready smile. And Haurchefant looked at him with such aching sweetness that it broke him again. The next innuendo caught in his throat and instead he said, “Nerys was right, when she called you a poetic soul.”

“Thank you, dear Hades.” He rose and Hades braced himself for the kiss, the caress of hand upon cheek. The table might support their weight though the floor would be better-

His lips dropped upon the crown of Hades’ hair. "I hope the chocolate helps you sleep. I expect you to come to bed at some point, lovely one."

"Even if it disturbs your sleep again?" Hades murmured, feeling the same treacherous pain in the hollow cavity of his chest.

"Ah Hades, it will be well worth it to see the happiness on their faces to wake up with you. All three of them."

He departed. Hades stared into his half-full cup of chocolate.

"Good morning."

"Ugh," Hades dragged the pillow over his face. "Precisely what is good about this bright sun at this early hour?"

"I have some ideas." Thancred slid a hand into the silk robe. Tracing the creases and marks the bunched fabric left during the night. "When did you put this on?"

"Does it matter?" Hades grumbled, stilling under the light touch.

"Probably not." The cheeky knave took away his pillow and straddled his waist, far too energetic and chipper for a man with claw marks across his chest.

Hades sighed, looking up into that handsome face. “Where are the others?”

The door to the attached bathroom opened, answering his question. The missing three filed out in towels, robes, and damp hair. Y’shtola smirked at them. “Are we interrupting?”

"Do you want to interrupt?" Hades asked. The truth he had been–stubbornly, foolishly–ignoring was plain on their faces. Thancred and Y’shtola looked at him the same way Nerys did and he was glad for it.

What he should have expected and was still thrown by: Haurchefant gazed at him the same way.

Ah. He thought as Y'shtola got onto the bed. I do believe I am in trouble.

#ally writes #haurchefant greystone #emet-selch #haurchefant x emet-selch #nerys eluned #ffxiv #food cw #shadowbringers spoilers #other background ships #thancred waters #y'shtola rhul

14 notes · View notes

janicho88 · 4 years

Text

Don’t Listen

GIF originally posted by rainbow-motors

Pairing-Dean x Reader

Word count-2820

Summary-The reader keeps making mistakes, and the voices in her head tell her it is only a matter of time before Dean is done with her. Why else would he be distant lately?

Warnings- Angst, smut, unprotected sex, some fluff, language, low view of self

You finished thirty minutes on the treadmill feeling like you should have done more, but there were other things you needed to accomplish today. Thinking back to this morning in bed, while you had initiated it Dean didn’t stop you. Did you really think Dean was one to turn down sex though? Maybe he had tried to hurry it more than usual though.

It used to be he would go down on you and work you through an orgasm or two before slowly working his way up your body worshiping it with his hands and mouth as he went. By the time he reached your lips you would be begging for him to enter you. Slow and deep both of you falling over the edge together. Dean would hold you in his arms while you both recovered.

This morning though his fingers seemed to quickly work you open so he could enter. Then it was hard and fast. His fingers moving down to work your clit to get you off quicker. When Dean finished, he rolled over and left the bed leaving you behind. The last week or two things had started change between you two, Dean seemed to be spending less time around you. Looking down at yourself you decided to hit the treadmill again tonight to make up for not doing more now. Passing a mirror, glancing at her reflection, thinking she should try and fix up her look.

Grabbing the list for the store you were out the door and into town. Going through the bakery section to grab pie, the only available kind left is peach, really? Never had you seen Dean eat peach or a peach come to think of it. If you had gotten here earlier there would have been a better variety, you scolded yourself. Grabbing the other items on the list also picking up the ingredients to try and make a cherry pie, you finished at the store and headed back to the bunker.

Sam was cleaning when you carried your first load of groceries through the door.

“Sam I was going to do that after I got back from the store. Give me a few minutes and I’ll do it, don’t worry.”

“It’s fine, Y/N. I wanted to pick things up before I looked for another case.”

Great now you were putting Sam behind in helping people, because you couldn’t keep the bunker clean. You didn’t really hunt yet. You were training and could help with research. Many times, being left behind incase they needed you to look something up in book at the bunker. Dean said he didn’t want you hunting, because he didn’t want to lose you. Honestly, you think he doesn’t want you screwing up and getting one of them hurt. Being the one who spent the most time at the bunker, you felt you should be responsible for keeping it clean.

After putting the groceries away, you looked up the pie recipe and got that ready and in the oven. While it was cooking, you deciding that while Sam was cleaning, you could at least do some laundry. The impala wasn’t in the garage when you returned so you weren’t sure where Dean was. Most likely avoiding you, it seemed like you hadn’t seen much of him the last two weeks.

After putting the second load of laundry in the washer you headed back to the kitchen to check on the pie. Almost to the kitchen you started to smell smoke and ran the rest of the way. Sam running in right after you seeing the smoke coming out of the oven. The cherries were bubbling over the black crust hitting the bottom of the oven. You grabbed it out of the oven and set on the stove top, but Sam grabbed the oven mitts from you and took it outside to help get rid of the burning smell.

The timer still had half an hour the pie shouldn’t have been black yet, then you saw the oven temperature. it was supposed to be 375 degrees, the knob read 480. How had you screwed up that bad, you had never done that before? You knew with the old oven you had to be careful and not wiggle the knob after you set the temperature. Sam left the bunker door open to try and air it out then went to retrieve the fan from his room. The fan in the kitchen already running.

“What the hell happened in here?”

Great Dean was back.

“I tried to bake something and had a problem with the oven.”

“Oh. Stick to cooking, Sweetheart. You haven’t burned the bunker down with that.” Tuning he saw the peach pie on the counter. “Awesome, Pie! Thanks for grabbing one at.” He didn’t read the label before cutting himself a slice and taking a bite. “That’s not apple, looked like apple.” He mumbled with his mouth still full.

“No, all they had was peach.”

“Oh, okay.” You had never seen Dean spit pie out before today.

Gif originally posted by complisults-and-explanabrags

“Has anyone seen my new white fed shirt?” Sam yelled from his room. Neither you or Dean had.

You left the kitchen and went to take the laundry out. Since it was mostly jeans, and a few black shirts you had thrown in your new red sweater too. You would not have to worry about red running on those clothes. As you pulled the items out, there was a pink collared shirt you did not recall throwing in. Oh no! It must not have been taken out from the load of whites before. Crap!

“Is that..?” Sam asked, suddenly standing behind you.

“Maybe?” You squeaked as you handed it over to him.

“Dammit.”

“Sam, I’m so sorry! I didn’t know it was in there.” He huffed and walked off.

Dean had appeared behind Sam while the exchange was going on. “Y/N, why don’t you get out of here for a while, go for a walk, or a drive, even head to the mall, get out for a few hours.”

“Dean, there’s things to do here, I need to clean the kitchen now.”

“No, I think it would be better if you left for a while.”

“I agree!” Sam yelled from his room

“Okay” you didn’t have it in you to fight with him. Apparently, they both wanted you out of the bunker. How long till they wanted you gone permanently? Today showed them you couldn’t do anything right and were a hassle they didn’t need. You went to the mall to pick Sam up a new shirt, hopefully you could at least do that right. Leaving there you drove to a quiet secluded spot near a lake Dean had taken you to before. Leaving the car, you walked over to a stump the two of you had sat on numerous times overlooking the water. Thinking about your life with the boys, and your relationship with Dean. Was this going to be the end of it? Did they really want someone like you around who couldn’t do anything right when they were faced with such dangerous jobs? What were you going to do when you were forced to leave them.

A few hours later Dean sent a text asking if you were coming home anytime soon, he was starting dinner. Great he couldn’t even be bothered to talk to you now, he was probably mad because it was supposed to be your night to cook. Sending a reply, you headed back to the bunker. Maybe you should just start packing your stuff, you didn’t think it would be much longer till Dean was done with you. After today, you didn’t see Sam wanting you to hang around either. Parking in the garage you headed inside. Strange, the bunker was dark. Had the guys finished dinner already and gone to their rooms? It wasn’t late, but maybe they just didn’t want to see you anymore today. Maybe you should sleep in your old room tonight and give Dean some space.

You were just going to head to bed when a noise in the library caught your attention. Quietly stepping into the War room slowly making your way up the steps to the library when the lights came on.

“Surprise!!” You jumped almost falling back down the steps. Looking around you saw the Donna, Jody and the girls, Cas, Garth with his family, Charlie, along with Dean and Sam in his new pink shirt. The room was decorated with balloons and streamers. Dean walked up to give you a hug and kiss.

“Happy early birthday Sweetheart!” He exclaimed, and in a whisper said “I bought you a new outfit, it’s in our room if you want to change.” You had completely forgotten your birthday was next week.

After saying hello, getting hugs from everyone there and apologizing again to Sam about the shirt you slipped out to your and Dean’s room to change. You couldn’t believe it the outfit Dean bought you was a dress you had been admiring a few weeks ago.

Not being able to come up with anywhere to wear it, you decided it was impractical and didn’t waste money buying it. Dean must have seen you looking at it and went back to get it, you were shocked he would do that for you. Looking at the dress and thinking about the party left you standing there in disbelief. You must have been in there longer than you thought because Dean came looking for you.

“Hey, are you ready to head back out to your party?” Seeing you hadn’t changed yet he knew something was wrong. “Y/N? Are you with me?”

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” You had been too caught up in all your thoughts from the day to realize Dean was talking to you.

“What’s wrong Sweetheart?

“Nothing”

“I asked if you were ready to head back to your party? Were you surprised?”

“Oh yes, really surprised me.”

“Good, is everything alright?”

“Yeah, fine.”

“Okay, I believed that, something is going on in that pretty mind of yours. Want to share with the class?”

“Not really.”

“Try again, please.”

“Dean, it’s nothing.”

“Is your head telling stories again?”

You didn’t answer, just staring at the wall in front of you.

“That’s a yes, please don’t listen to them. What is tonight’s?”

“I feel like you’re getting tired of me and I’m no longer good enough for you. You see these girls in the bars when your out on cases in those tight little shirts and barely there shorts. That’s who you used to leave with and know you have just me at home. I know they all look better than me. These last few weeks, I just got the feeling you were avoiding me. I swear when we had sex this morning you couldn’t wait to get away from me, then you guys couldn’t wait to get me out of here. I am constantly screwing things up, like today I couldn’t do anything right, burnt one pie, you hated the other, and ruined Sam’s shirt. I can’t believe you bought this dress I don’t deserve…”

“Okay, just stop please, take a breath. One, you aren’t just you, you are the best thing that has ever happened to me. I don’t care what clothes you wear. I rather like it when I find you in my flannel and those yoga pants, you have no idea what that does to me. As for that dress I knew you fell in love with it at the store but would never buy it for yourself. I wanted to treat you, yes, you deserve it. B, let’s go to the obvious next. I thought you would have figured this one out yourself. Sam and I needed you to leave so we could clean and get your party around, fool. We couldn’t exactly set up your surprise party around you, and have it then be a surprise, could we? I was so worried I was going to spill about the party, or your dress I have been trying to be careful around you. This morning I was so afraid we had come this far, and I would slip up and say something. I really wanted to do something nice for you, for everything you do for all me and Sammy. I’m sorry it upset you. Baby girl I love you, and if one of us doesn’t deserve the other it’s me. I will show you later, just how much you mean to me. As for earlier, we all have bad days, don’t worry about it.”

He wiped your tears that were falling away and leaned into to kiss you. Pulling away he asked, “Do you want to go back to your party?”

“Yes, just give me a few minutes to change, wash my face and fix my makeup.”

“You know you don’t need makeup right? You are beautiful without it.”

“Says you, I will meet you out there in a few minutes.”

Heading back down the hallway you passed the kitchen and couldn’t detect the smoke or burnt pie smell from earlier. They guys must have gotten it out. You joined everyone in the library, they had brought out food while you were gone to change. Dean had made your favorite pasta, along with garlic bread, salad, and fruit. Sam must have done the last two. The library tables where all pushed together, and everyone had gathered around an empty seat for you between Dean and Jody. It was nice to have everyone together talking and laughing, no one stressing over a case.

After dinner was cleaned up, Sam and Dean disappeared. The lights dimmed and everyone started singing Happy Birthday while Dean carried in your favorite cake with the candles burning, setting it in front of you. When the song ended you blew out your candles, wishing to never lose these amazing people.

Returning to your shared room after the party you walked over to the bed and were removing you shoes as Dean walked in.

“Did you have a nice time Sweetheart? Did those voices calm down?”

“Yes, I had an amazing night. Thank you for doing all of this.”

“You deserve the world Sweetheart, and I am going to give you all of it I can.”

Having removed his shirt and tie, Dean was walking over to stand in front of you. Slowly lifting your chin with one hand he leaned down to softly kiss you, while his other hand moved to the zipper at the back of the dress. That hand came back to push the one sleeve down so you could step out of the dress. This left you standing in your panties, lips never leaving each other. He turned to walk you toward the bed, when the back of your knees hit Dean gently pushed you down. After removing his pants, he followed you to the bed quickly hovering over you.

When your lips met this time, it was a little rougher, his mouth traveling over your jaw and down your neck. He slowly worked his way down your body to the place you were craving him most. After removing your panties, his moved his tongue through your folds finding your clit and sucking it in his mouth. One finger entered you, soon followed by a second working you open. You felt the pressure building, and it didn’t take long till you were coming over his fingers and face. Dean looked up with a smirk and worked his way back up your body. Lips met again tongues battling for dominance, you have no idea when Dean removed his boxers, but next thing you knew he was sliding into you. Both of you moaning as he filled you up. After a minute your legs moved up to Dean’s side, hips pushing against his urging him to move. His thrusts started out slow and you could feel every inch of him sliding in and out of you. When you needed more you urged him to speed up, and his thrusts became fast and hard until both of you were reaching your peak. Dean wanting you to come before him, reached down between the two of you, gently rubbing your clit. Your head went back as you came screaming Dean’s name. Dean was right behind you filling you up with a grunt.

GIF originally posted by saucynewf

You both laid there a moment, when he couldn’t hold himself from crushing you anymore, he rolled you over so you were laying on his chest. “I love you Sweetheart; I don’t want you to ever doubt that, don’t listen to those voices that are dragging you down.”

“I love you, Dean. I will do my best, sometimes I can’t help these thoughts.”

“I know you can’t, I guess I will just have to remind you over and over again for the rest of our lives.”

#Supernatural #dean x reader #dean winchester

140 notes · View notes

grifalinas · 3 years

Text

Batter Up (working title) (Chapter 5)

-/-

Flint took Radley with him to help bring back lunch, and while they waited for their orders, he finally calmed down enough to actually talk.

“You knew about Deacon, didn’t you,” he asked.

“I knew he was lying about his age,” Radley said. “He was at school with me, he graduated last summer. He used to give me a hard time.”

“That why you were fighting?”

Radley nodded, a little embarrassed. “It felt like a chance to finally get my own back, so I thought I’d try needling him a bit. I wasn’t expecting him to swing on me.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I wasn’t kidding, you know, I take responsibility for us fighting.”

“Yeah, well.” Flint gave him a sour look. “I don’t like him lying about being able to bake. That’s what I need him for.”

“Not really.” Radley gestured vaguely at himself. “You taught me all your recipes since I was a toddler, I could make them blindfolded, and by the time school lets back in you’ll be able to hire someone else. Demand probably won’t be super high after the first week we’re open, and if it is, you’ll be able to afford more employees anyway.”

“All the more reason to fire him, then.” He huffed a stray lock of hair out of his eyes, then huffed again and slipped a sequined scrunchy from his wrist to pull it all back with a grumble. “What do I need him for when I’ve got you?”

“He can run the front and be an extra set of hands, since Mr. Bassington can’t do any heavy lifting and won’t let Eddie. Actually I feel like Deacon will really thrive if you put him doing heavy lifting.”

“I have you to do my heavy lifting.”

“I’m still a minor. I’m pretty sure those liabilities apply to me, too, and Mr. Bassington just looked the other way. But he’s not going to for very long.”

Flint leaned back in his chair with a groan. “What in the world has Raphael gotten me into? That man is way too controlling.”

“He’s doing his job.”

Flint let out a frustrated little growl. “Changed your tune, have you?”

“He makes a better second impression. Things have gone way smoother with him organizing everything. And he puts his money where his mouth is when it comes to protecting his employees. He isn’t just worried about legal issues, he really does try to protect the people under him.”

There was a long silence, and Radley added, a little hesitantly, “You looked like you were about to start swinging on Deacon earlier.”

“I wanted to,” Flint admitted. “I like to think I wouldn’t have…” He shook his head. “But there’s no way for Sam to have known one way or another.”

There was another long silence, Flint mulling over the Deacon situation while Radley scrolled social media in an idle sort of way. Finally Flint sighed and slumped, a little defeated.

“Guess I owe the kid an apology,” he said. “And Sammy, too…”

-/-

Samuel felt it might help cool Flint’s temper a little if the kitchen was cleaned up by the time he got back, so he set Deacon and Eddie to do that while he went back to supervising the work crew and getting everything else done.

While Radley and Deacon appeared to have declared each other public enemy number one, Deacon seemed to have no such animosity for Eddie, though the two had interacted little thus far. Eddie seemed intent on making up for this discrepancy now that they were working on a task together, though.

“-and Mr. Bassington says he’s going to introduce me to Rosie and we’re going to be best friends so I’m trying to decide what things I like that he didn’t mention her liking that I should try to introduce her to and I’m thinking of seeing if she listens to Angel DJ on the radio because that’s my favorite radio show and if she gets into music through Angel DJ then we can get into music on the same path instead of both of us discovering stuff, not that that isn’t fun but it’s really fun to find stuff together, me and Radley used to get into stuff through Angel DJ together all the time but then he stopped really caring much about getting into music except as something fun to play while you do other stuff and I like music as something that exists in its own right and should be experienced by itself too and Radley doesn’t like looking up stuff about the artists like how what I do so he’s not fun but I bet maybe I hope that Rosie will be into music like how what I’m into music so we can be into music together.”

Deacon gave her a second to make sure that was actually the end of the sentence and poked his head out of the oven he was cleaning to ask, “What’s Angel DJ?”

“It’s a radio show! Angel is just some guy, he broadcasts from his apartment and he isn’t tied to any specific radio station so he can just play whatever he likes, so he just plays stuff he’s into. He’s been on a bit of an eighties rock kick lately, and he’s playing a lot of Queen stuff so I’ve been really getting into them, I was watching videos of their performances on the internet and they’re SO cool.”

Deacon laughed. “No arguments there. I learned to play on Queen songs.”

“You play?” She lit up. “What do you play?! I don’t play anything, I kinda wouldn’t mind learning but I can’t even pick anything because I hear a song and I think ‘boy it’d be fun to play that I bet’ but there’s so many different parts that go into it that I just end up getting bogged down. What do you play? Guitar? Drums? Keys?”

“Uh… well I main bass, but I can do electric…” He rocked back on his heels to tick off on his fingers. “...Mother made me learn piano and violin so I can do keys and violin, and I was percussion ensemble in high school so most basic percussion, though I’m not great at drums, and I sing.”

Eddie stared at him with stars in her eyes and squeaked out, “That’s so cool~”

He opened his mouth to say he wouldn’t mind playing for her sometime, if she was into that, and was interrupted by the return of Flint and Radley. He clammed up, returning to the oven without a word, leaving Eddie to go help get the food unpacked and call the crew in. He listened to her chattering about how Deacon could play and liked Queen and wasn’t that SO cool?, and stilled to listen to their response.

“You don’t think it’s cool that I like Queen,” Radley said.

“That’s because you just like listening to them. Deacon learned to play on Queen songs.”

“You play?” Flint asked, when Deacon finally emerged from the oven to join them for lunch.

“He mains bass!” Eddie chirped before Deacon could answer.

“I like music,” he said. “It’s a good distraction.” There was a beat, and, seeing the opening, he added, “Sometimes I play with the house band next door, when one of their permanent musicians can’t make it. You should come hear me play sometime.”

Eddie lit up again. “Oh, can we? Can we, Uncle Flint? Please? Can’t we? Please can we?”

“We’ll… see,” he said, a little uncomfortable. “I think taking you kids into a bar is one of those things your old man would kick my ass for.”

Eddie deflated like a three month old birthday balloon. “I’m never going to be old enough to do anything fun.”

“And once you are you’re going to be carded for years,” Flint agreed, reaching over to ruffle her hair. “Sorry, kiddo, that’s just how it is.”

This got a huff, and she batted his hands away before turning to pout at her lunch.

“Sorry,” Deacon said, shuffling a little. “I wasn’t thinking about the age thing, I guess…”

-/-

After lunch, once everyone had gotten back to work, Flint decided to talk to Samuel first. His partner was guiding two of their contractors through putting up the menu boards; Flint took hold of his arm to get his attention, and startled back when Samuel jerked his arm back as if Flint’s touch had burned him.

“Sorry-” they both attempted at the same time, and Flint shook his head before jerking his head toward the office. “Can we talk?”

Samuel paused, and looked to the contractors, but they seemed to have the menu boards under control so he nodded and the two headed back to the office.

“I’m sorry,” Samuel began, before Flint could say anything. “I’m- sensitive to touch sometimes.”

Flint waved that away as unimportant. “I wanted to talk to you about earlier. I owe you an apology, and a thank you.”

“I don’t think I’m the one you owe an apology to.”

“I know. The kid’ll get one in a little while, I just want to get my thoughts in order before I talk to him.”

He sat down in his chair, and Samuel followed suit with a nod of approval. “Smart call.”

“Yeah, turns out I got a couple of braincells kicking around in here.” He cracked a lopsided smirk and then shook his head. “Anyway. I also wanted to thank you. I can’t say for sure that I wasn’t going to swing on the kid, even if I’d like to think I wouldn’t, but I can say for sure if I had you would have stopped me. I appreciate that.”

Samuel opened his mouth to say something, then shut it and shrugged. “We have a responsibility to protect the people we employ, and that includes from each other. I take that seriously.”

“Not a lot of people do.” He leaned his chair back with a sigh. “I wonder if that’s why Raphael sent you to me? She knows I got a temper. I’m a little impulsive, too. And I don’t always think things through…”

“To protect your employees from you? I doubt that. She seemed very invested in your success, and I don’t think she would be if she thought you were the sort to abuse your employees.”

“Not so much that, just someone to curb my impulses when they might have collateral damage.”

“Ah, right. That makes more sense.”

Flint watched him for another quiet moment, taking a few seconds to enjoy his rigid, perfectly controlled posture that did nothing to diminish the amount of him there was- here was a man who had never been taught to take up less space, though paradoxically his presence seemed to invite others into the space he was already occupying. Flint was struck with a bizarre desire to press into his side, enjoy his warmth while they shared… something, anything, it didn’t matter.

He shook the thought away.

“So if she sent you to keep me in line, what did she mean for you to get out of it? Think maybe she wants me to loosen you up?”

“Given she’s applied the words ‘tightly wound’ to me more than a few times in our friendship, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“You ever think Raph secretly wants to produce a sitcom? That’d explain all the odd couple situations she’s always setting up.”

Samuel chuckled softly at that, and Flint suddenly felt as if he’d been shot through the throat.

He must be staring, because Samuel was giving him a confused look. “Everything okay?”

“Wh-? Oh, yeah. Fine. Just didn’t know you were capable of laughing, that’s all.”

“Maybe if you didn’t run off every time your niece starts talking…”

Flint let out a startled bark of laughter at that. “Yeah? Try living with her, pal. I need a break sometimes, you know. Your girl a chatterbox too?”

“No, she’s very quiet. You’d hardly know she was there half the time.”

“When are you bringing her around? Eddie’s not going to stop pestering yout about it until you do.”

Another of those laughs that made Flint feel like curling his toes up. “To be honest, I’m hoping I can get some of the anticipation to wear off. Rosie is so wonderful but Eddie’s hopes are so high.”

“You’ll never do that. Eddie doesn’t curb her enthusiasm, she just gets more tightly wound up until she finally experiences the thing she’s excited about. We took her to an amusement park to see this singer she was into once and she got so excited she threw up. Keep putting it off and you’re just perpetuating the problem.”

“Hmm.” Samuel seemed a little put out by that, and stroked his beard thoughtfully. “I suppose I could have Theresa drop her off tomorrow? I’m sure she’ll be interested in seeing what we’ve got going on here anyway. She’s very nosy, though she’ll never admit that.”

Flint grinned. “Sounds like a plan!”

-/-

Unfortunately, after his chat with Samuel, Flint had to bite the bullet and talk to Deacon. He didn’t want to. He was still furious with the kid, still wouldn’t really mind just tossing him out and letting him be someone else’s problem.

But whatever he felt about Deacon’s choices, he had behaved far worse, and if he wanted to be the sort of man his kids could look up to, he had to be the sort of man that owned up when he misstepped. So he told Samuel to send the kid in, and took a seat behind his desk and tried not to look like he was sulking too hard over having to apologize.

Deacon slouched in like a spooked animal, like he fully expected Flint to start yelling at him again and, oof, that was fair. Suddenly apologizing felt a lot more doable and a lot more important.

“Siddown, kid, I’m not gonna bite you,” Flint said, waving vaguely at the second desk chair that Samuel usually occupied. “I just wanna talk. And I owe you an apology. I shouldn’t have blown up like that.”

Deacon shrugged, like that didn’t factor to him, and said, in a rushed sort of way, “I’m not sorry about lying. Everyone lies on their resume and they even advise that.”

“They also advise learning how to fake the thing you’re saying you can do,” Flint said. “But that wasn’t really the issue, and you and I both know it.”

An uncomfortable silence descended. Deacon shifted a little in his seat, and said, “It’s cause of the help comment, isn’t it?”

Flint nodded. “I got my recipes from my ma,” he said. “She was an amazing cook, and an even better baker. She taught me and my si- brother coming up, but I was the one who really took to it.” He was silent for a long moment, thinking back to those days with his mother, explaining how every aspect of the recipe worked with every other aspect of the recipe, how to know if the process was working and how to figure out what was missing when it was.

Then he shook his head, dispelling the memory, and went on.

“Ma was a personal chef, she cooked for a lot of wealthy families. Made sure they always had a hot meal waiting without any effort on their part. You know how much thanks she got for it?”

Deacon was shrinking in his chair now, the full realization of what he’d implied hitting him. “‘M sorry,” he mumbled. “I didn’t mean…”

Flint gave him a few more seconds of discomfort before saying, “You should be. That’s the kinda toxic shit you gotta start unlearning now you’re on your own. There’s people out there without a tenth of what you’ve been handed that are worth ten times that, and you’re gonna be surrounded by them now. But. That don’t mean I gotta treat you like that. You’ll never learn like that.”

He leaned back in his chair, waiting in case Deacon had anything to put in, but the kid just stayed staring at the floor. Flint wondered what was going through his head, what he was thinking. If he was taking in what Flint was getting at, or just writing him off as some angry chef’s boy.

“As for your future here… I’ve handed you over to Sammy. Not just because you pissed me off, but also that. I don’t trust my temper enough to be directly in charge of you. But you still answer to both of us. I’m still your boss; Sam is just your direct supervisor.”

Deacon nodded, still staring down at the floor. Flint squinted at him, wondering where all of his fight had gone.

Hmm.

“Hey, kid. Why’d your old man cut you off? What was the decision you made that offended him?”

And, oh, there it was. Deacon bristled up like a rooster with a temper and said, “I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

“There it is. Knew you were in there somewhere. All right, go on, get back to work. Go on.”

He shooed him away; Deacon slouched out in a hurry, before Flint could start Talking To Him again.

-/-

#made the chapter longer and i think that helped the rushed feeling a lot #for the second draft i'll expand the first four chapters a bit to make them feel less rushed #this is way better #please don't reblog this! simply commenting will suffice!#batter up (working title)

6 notes · View notes

leenukeath · 3 years

Text

The essential cannot be seen (Darkest Dungeon fic)

So @sir-crypts recently published an illustration (here: https://sir-crypts.tumblr.com/post/636062084110680064/thing-i-drew-for-leenukeaths-fic-of-abomleper) of an Abomination/Leper fic I wrote for a discord server, I figured I’d share the story, set in the Darkest Dungeon game. Thanks again Sir Crypts for the lovely art.

The Essential cannot be seen Abom/Leper friendship (more?) fic by Leenu

He hated this.

Trudging his way through the murky brine of the cove, Baldwin did his best to keep his gaze forward lest it slipped to the loathsome companion in his back. He was supposed to be accompanied originally by Reynauld, but he (and the highwayman) had disappeared a few days ago and were nowhere to be found when the Heir had called them to formation. Which left him with the following company: a plague doctor, Paracelsus, eyeing with what seemed like curiosity whatever moved or crawled around them, an Occultist, Alhazred who kept his hand closer to his dagger than usual and … the thing that called itself Bigby.

Baldwin wanted nothing more than to leave this Abomination in the Hamlet and go alone, but since the fall of the crystal from the sky, the Heir had forced him and his companions to take the wretched creature with them on the crawls through the dungeon. And thus, the Leper was saddled with the rattling of chains behind his back. His eyes may have been focused on the way ahead, but his ears were listening and making sure no growl was coming from Bigby.

They had been tasked with clearing a sector of the cove, so far the battles had been manageable: the plague doctor’s grenades had done miracles against the pelagic creatures, and despite a few open wounds, the Occultist had kept everyone in one piece. The Abomination had decided to keep its tamed form, throwing his chains around and spewing bile over the enemies that the Leper happened to miss.

Then in the last room, the tune changed: a Squiffy Ghast started plucking on its rotting viola, sending bars upon bars of Maddening Shanties and Off Kilter Jigs.

Baldwin tried his best to hit the slippery skeleton, but whenever he hit, the things always seemed to jump back out of his reach. If only this creature had been the only enemy faced, the team would have cut it down with little combined effort, but it was accompanied by a Pelagic Guardian and an Uca Major. The latter one swinging its pincers with deadly precision, opening great wounds that drenched the seafloor with dark stains. The doctor was too busy stitching the team back together to throw any grenades, and the Occultist himself was struggling to replenish their blood levels, it was thus left to Baldwin and Bigby to carve their way through.

While the leper kept hitting the thick carapace of the Uca, the Abomination once more spewed his toxic bile over it and the Guardian, slowly dissolving their armor, too slowly however.

Another hit connected and the Occultist fell, his hand desperately clutched the skull in his hand to keep the flame from getting blown away as he begged: “This was not the deal we struck!”. Baldwin set himself up in a defensive stance to try and stop any more attacks from hitting Alhazred while Paracelsus fumbled with her vials when he felt something rush past him in a roar as it struck the beast.

The red creature pulled its horns out of the fleshy mass under the crustacean’s carapace it had dug itself in before starting to gnaw off its pincer, ripping it out after a few seconds of inhuman screeches. The Uca expired as it’s claw bled lymph all over the coral walls, and in response, the Guardian set down its shield over the Ghast. It hadn’t stopped playing for a second. Notes, bars, tunes, symphonies, … it had been playing the sounds of madness, and the team could feel their minds slipping into the abyss as the air brought forth ancient memories they wished were forgotten.

Bigby was the first one to snap.

The Ghast’s rotten fingers slid its bow over the algae covered cords, producing more of that unbearable sound, more of that noise that dragged painful memories with it...

The Abomination had started to lunge to take a bite out the skeleton, but his legs gave under him as he gripped his shaking head. Baldwin braced himself to defend the rest of the team from the new foe, ready to cut it down as soon as it bared its fangs in his direction. But to his surprise, Bigby started to shrink down until only his scrawny form was left on the briny floor: “It feeds off my essence, and now … I falter” he muttered as his trembles rattled his chains in a sick accompaniment to the squeaks of the damned viola.

The Leper himself was feeling his resolve falter, he could grab his human companions and run, leave these beasts to themselves and save the ones who were not yet damned in the Light. The Guardian started making its move and raised its bladed fist over the hunched Bigby, one strike would be enough, and all that Baldwin needed to do to rid the world of this creature was to hold back…

The viola’s notes rang, and his mind caved in.

The slimy head of the Pelagic Guardian split under the weight of the massive sword in the bandaged hands of the Leper as he pushed the Abomination back to his teammates:

“Mountains defy the consuming sea!”.

After pulling out the heavy blade from its fishy sheathe, Baldwin proceeded to wildly swing around wherever he could see the Ghast, he wasn’t counting his swings anymore, all he wanted was to crush those cords and find again the respite of silence.

Until he realized that he could not hear the viola anymore over his screams. As his vision cleared, he found himself surrounded in wood and bone splinters, the rush of blood roaring in his ears calmed down until he could hear Paracelsus and Alhazred stabilizing the shivering Bigby.

Over, finally, some silence.

The Leper was too glad to finally be granted this peace of mind, but it was short lived. The team made its way back through the murky paths, carrying themselves as well as possible, but it was clear the Occultist would not be able to guide the Abomination for much longer with his wounds. Thus it was Baldwin’s duty to hold Bigby on their way out of the damp tunnels.

He was not enjoying this, keeping this creature in such close proximity, but at least he could maintain an eye on it. Bigby was clearly not focused on the walk and tripped over nearly every single piece of coral on the way out, after a few near falls, he started holding onto the Leper’s bandaged arm, like a drowning man holding onto a piece of wreckage in a storm.

At first Baldwin considered pulling back and letting the damn thing find its way out by itself, but something stilled his hand. A warmth had seeped into his arm, a familiar feeling he had not experienced for years before … before his illness turned him into the feared creature he was now, forced to hide under the heavy bronze mask. As he felt the finger, human fingers, curling over his bandaged skin, he had a vague memory of fonder times, when the sun shone and he could feel the caress of the rays over his face, when he still had a family with his name…

He didn’t shake off the Abomination on their way back home.

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

Back at the Hamlet, the team dropped off their loot in the vault and went their ways. Paracelsus was eager to analyze the samples she had gathered from the cove, Bigby ran out of view and Alhazred had to get stitches at the sanatorium, accompanied by Baldwin who needed his weekly injection. He didn’t know how it worked, but it was enough to keep his disease stalled, though not enough to cure him.

After dropping off the Occultist, the Leper was left to his own device. He noticed that his hand was still slightly trembling, and it was not because of the needle that had been implanted earlier. The ghost of the tune still sang in the back of his mind, and he needed to get it out.

He took the steps to the Abbey and cracked open the door, he expected the Vestal tending to the sacred fire, or the Flagellant in his rapturous devotion. Not the huddled and chained being bowing to the altar, furiously praying: “The world would be better off without us. The world would be better off without us. The world would be better off without us.”

Baldwin knew this feeling too well, it was something that needed peace of mind before the Light would grant him relief. The Leper went to sit himself in a corner of the church, lighting some incense, closing his eyes and focusing on his breath: In … Out … In … Out …

His heart was a war drum no more, just a slow tap reminding him that he was still alive.

In … Out … In … Out …

The tip of the fingers on his right hand had started to go numb a few days ago, and his eyesight was turning blurrier, this was probably why he couldn’t hit the Ghast at first back then. He had come to terms with his illness, he had no choice but to do so and accept that mortality would probably not come in a glorious strike, but in a slow loss of his senses as he decayed away.

In … Out … In … Out …

What had hurt most was the banishment, it was his choice, but he knew that if he didn’t do it himself, that choice would have ended up being taken for him. All who suffered like he were treated as outcasts, for the good of the people. But he had seen the colonies filled with the ones less fortunate than he, they were treated no better than monsters, he felt a twinge of regret toward his brothers and sisters in adversity.

In … In .. Out … Out.. In … In .. Out … Out..

Baldwin opened his eyes and saw Bigby, no longer shaking in front of the Altar, instead looking up to the Light, calmly breathing out his prayers of hope. Their gazes crossed for a few seconds of mutual acknowledgment before they went back to their respective communions.

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

A few weeks later, the two of them were sent together once more, this time in the Warrens to slay the Swine King. The Leper noticed that he was feeling less nervous with Bigby in his back, the rattle of his chains were a soothing sound over the squeals of the swine men roaming about these caves, and those very chains served well in combat to stun and slow down the enemy to let Baldwin push his sword into the enemy. The Vestal Junia was clearly still feeling nervous; but he figured that his presence alongside Milicent, the Arbalest, was aiding her in keeping her nerves calm enough to keep the torchlight up and their wounds closed.

Of course things were never easy for very long, especially when a Swinetaur decides to show itself. The squad set itself in position to face the massive enemy, but what they failed to notice were the two Swine Slashers lurking in the beast’s shadow. Only when the Arbalest fired her Rallying Flare did they find out too late. Baldwin did his best to try and let the first hook hit his plated armor, but was too late to dodge the swipe of the second one. The slash went upwards, leaving a mark upon his chin and hooking off his mask that went flying off into the piles of refuse, leaving his deformed face in view to the rest of the group. He didn’t need to look to feel his companion’s fearful gazes in his back.

More sword swings, more bolts, more prayers and a pair of horns put an end to the repulsive creatures. But at the cost of multiple open cuts that risked infection in the squalid conditions of the Warrens. Milicent suggested camping so she could dress up the worst of the wounds, a welcome respite, especially with all the food in their packs.

As the Vestal set down her sanctuary for the night, Baldwin noticed that Bigby had walked away, maybe to avoid distracting the nun during her important duty, he did not consider this situation much longer as Milicent had started unpacking her bandages and stitching needles. She was keeping her head down as she worked on him, averting her gaze from his face.

He could not blame her for it, but he had to admit that the waft of air on his face had an intoxicating feel after hours upon hours of treading through hot and humid tunnels. Though he was almost grateful for his lack of nose when he looked at the piles of filth surrounding them.

Speaking of those, as soon as the Leper was done getting patched up, Bigby walked out from one of them and approached him with something in his hand: “I don’t think you need to wear it, but if it makes you feel better, you can keep it.”. His bronze mask, still slightly stained with what looked like pig blood, but it seemed like the Abomination had tried to clean it the best he could with the rags on his back.

“... you went to look for it?” asked Baldwin as he took the piece of metal with slightly trembling hands, Bigby nodded: “I understand if you want to hide yourself. I just want you to know that … well, I don’t mind you taking it off.”.

Pulling back the few chains that had slipped off his shoulder, the scrawny man was about to walk away before the Leper spoke up as he grabbed a loaf of bread: “Won’t you stay by my side for supper?” he asked as he broke it in halves, offering one to his companion.

His answer was a small but grateful smile as Bigby sat himself next to Baldwin: “Thank you for this”.

The night in the Warrens felt less cold to the both of them with a shoulder to lean on.

Whatever happened with the Swine King, they were grateful for this moment.

#darkest dungeon #Leper #Abomination #ficlet

26 notes · View notes

just-my-sickly-pride · 4 years

Text

The Night Comes Down || Brian May x fem!Reader x Roger Taylor

summary || one of the first rules you’d ever made with brian, your friends-with-benefits, eight months ago, was that anyone could back out of the arrangement at any time, for whatever reason, and then everything would go back to normal. back to how it was. and that’s fine. you have no problem with that. you’re fine. you’re so fine. it’s... fine.

rating || no smut, but some implied explicit content. warning: there is a brief scene where reader is being heavily pressured into kissing someone at a party.

word count || 9.7k

author’s notes || all good things must come to an end! so i’ve been working on this series for over a year. how did that even happen?? anyway yes this is the end of the try series. no it’s not a happy ending. i debated back and forth for a long time whether to end the series or not, but it felt too weird not to. and i couldn’t figure out any reasonable ‘happy’ way for it to end. a big big big thank you to everyone who’s stuck with me for this entire journey, or part of this journey, or even if you’re just tuning in now - thank you! and if you’re still somehow invested in this little ’verse after all this time, don’t abandon me just yet 👀 p.s. i think i’ve ironed out most of the timeline issues but don’t look too closely. this series is not my proudest in terms of continuity

masterlist

tag list: @the-huttslayer @scorpiogemini @redspecialty @supersonicfreddie @killer-queen-xo @a-night-at-the-0pera @rogerscupboard

Part of you had known it was inevitable. Another part of you liked to pretend that it wasn’t. But it was.

It still felt like it had come out of nowhere, though.

Brian was watching you cautiously, adjusting the grip on his laptop and workbook. “Did you… want to say anything, or…?”

“Um…” You blinked a couple times, and shook your head. “Uh, no, I’m just… surprised?”

“I feel like I’ve mentioned her a few times,” Brian said.

“Once or twice, maybe,” you said. “I didn’t know that you and her…”

“Yeah.” Brian scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah, we hooked up, like, two weeks ago, and then again a few nights ago, and we’ve been talking every day, so.”

“Oh.” It sounded twisted, wonky, but you forced a smile onto your face, wondering why you felt so… uncomfortable hearing about this. “That’s great. And you like her?”

“Yeah, I really do,” Brian said, and his voice sounded warm, and he had a little smile on his face, and something ugly and strange twisted in your gut. “And I want to take her on an actual date, but obviously, I’d feel a bit weird about it if I still had, y’know. A, uh, side arrangement. But you’re all right?”

“Of course,” you said brightly. Side arrangement. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be? That’s great, Brian, really. I’m – really glad you’ve found someone.”

“It’s been a while, that’s for sure,” Brian said with a chuckle.

“Are you going to tell Rog?”

Brian frowned a little. “Um, no, I don’t think that’s necessary. I never had – anything with him. And he’s already met Dani, so.”

“Oh!” Ah, Christ, that had sounded dreadful, even to your own ears. “Where– Where’d he meet her?”

“The other day.” Brian gave you a sheepish smile. “The morning after. She ran into him in the kitchen.”

You pushed a strained laugh out of you. “Oh, right, yeah, great.”

Brian chuckled as well. “Yeah, it was a little awkward, but what can you do, right?”

You swallowed, and nodded. Your face hurt from smiling.

“You’ll love her,” Brian said. “She’s wonderful. She’s so smart, and funny, and she’s so pretty. I mean, so pretty. Absolutely beautiful. Completely knocked my socks off when I first saw her. Can’t believe she fancies me.”

“Great,” you said. You were saying great too much. “She sounds–” Don’t. “–so great.”

“She is.” Brian beamed. “You’ll have to meet her soon.”

“I’m sure I will,” you said.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Brian said. He sighed happily. “Well, I should head off.”

“Yeah, course,” you said. “Me too.”

“I’ll message you,” Brian said. “We can arrange a dinner at the flat or something.”

“Can’t wait!”

Brian smiled, nodded in satisfaction, and then said, “All right, see you later.”

“Bye!” You turned around and hurried away, in the opposite direction you needed to go.

Hmm. Huh. Right. Okay. So. Brian just. He just.

You went to the food court and sat down at the first available seat you could find.

You took out your phone and immediately went to message Veronica.

Brian just

Your thumbs paused.

He just what? He just found someone he wanted to date, and ended his arrangement with you. On paper, not that big of a deal. It was part of the unwritten contract of it all: any person was allowed to end things for whatever reason, and there would be no consequences. A rule you had written yourself, all those months ago.

Side arrangement. Side piece. Dirty secret. Not as good as the real thing. Not as funny or smart or pretty or wonderful or beautiful as Danielle.

You froze. Whoa, where had that come from?

You weren’t jealous. You couldn’t have been jealous. You’d never wanted to date Brian. You still didn’t want to date Brian. You didn’t have a crush on him, and you never had. Brian didn’t break up with you.

So what the everloving fuck was going on in your head right now?

You put your phone away. Nope, you couldn’t go crying to Veronica for no damn reason. This had always been bound to happen, and now it had, so you just needed an hour or so to process it, and then things would be fine. You’d go back to normal.

Your idea of ‘normal’ seemed to greatly differ from Brian’s.

You didn’t hear from him for a week. Whereas before you’d talked every other day, he went almost totally radio silent. Every meme or message you sent was either seen and ignored, or responded to with a vague Haha or a thumbs-up.

You met up with Roger on your usual catch-up night, but you hadn’t gotten very far into anything before he stopped and said, “You’re not really feeling it, are you?”

You made a face. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” He passed your shirt to you, and he fetched his from the floor and slipped it on. “So… Brian has a date tomorrow night.”

You frowned. “He does?”

Roger nodded. “Yeah, he didn’t tell you about it?”

You looked down at your hands. “Um, no. He didn’t. I haven’t heard much from him, actually. After he… ended… things.”

“Whoa,” Roger said, climbing onto the bed. “Wait, really? With you?”

You nodded, and suddenly felt your throat close over. But you were not going to fucking cry about it, Jesus Christ. You swallowed it down, and gave Roger a mild look of interest. “Yeah. I didn’t even know he liked Dani, and then I ran into him at uni last week, and he just sort of said, ‘Hey, while I’m here,’ and then that was it. But I didn’t know the date was tomorrow night. He didn’t tell me.”

“I’m sure he was just distracted,” Roger said. “He gets like that with a girl he likes.” He shook his head. “Damn, he must be serious about her.”

“Yeah, must be.”

Roger paused, and then said, “Are you… okay?”

You shrugged. “Yeah, of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I dunno, it’s a pretty big… thing to have ended.”

“No, I’m fine,” you said lightly, giving him a smile. “We’re still friends. And I’ve still got you, right?”

“Yeah,” Roger said, although he didn’t sound entirely convinced.

“Yeah. So I’m good.” You sighed, willing away all the gross mess of emotions you were feeling. “I’m not really feeling going all the way, but making out sounds good, if you’re down.”

Luckily, that immediately distracted Roger, and he didn’t ask any further questions. And you poured everything you had into your kisses, hoping it would distract you, too.

You were hoping things would settle down for you, emotionally, over the next two weeks or so.

But that didn’t happen. Everything grew to be so much worse. Exponentially. You didn’t know whether you hated Brian, or Dani, or hated them as a couple, or if you just hated yourself. You couldn’t bear to be in the same room as the two of them, and you hadn’t spoken more than ten words to Dani. The thought of trying to be friends with her turned your stomach. She wasn’t particularly annoying, and she wasn’t a bad person in any way, but just something about her face and her voice and her fucking presence in your life just infuriated you.

You couldn’t get the idea out of your head that she looked like a mouse. Or a rat. Small pointy nose, big dark eyes, slight buck teeth. She was curvy, and at least a foot shorter than Brian, although it was hard to tell with the heels and platforms she always wore. Her hair was browny-blonde and long and thick, and she wore it slicked back in a pony, like Ariana Grande. Her ears glittered with delicate piercings. She liked to draw on freckles.

She was pretty. For a rat.

You did your best to hide how you felt about her. You thought you should’ve gotten a freaking Oscar for how well you hid it. At least from Brian. On the rare occasion that Dani wasn’t by his side, you let him talk about her, and did your best to seem encouraging.

There was a part of you – a bigger part than you wanted to admit – that believed they were going to break up soon enough. Then things could go back to normal, and this weird hiccup could be forgotten.

But they didn’t break up. They stayed together.

And so you ended up ranting about it all to Veronica. You knew you were really going on about it, and somehow you kept finding things to say about the situation when you knew there was nothing really more to say. Veronica listened, to a degree. But her advice was sensible and responsible and mature and you really didn’t feel like being any of those things. You wanted to throw a goddamn tantrum.

So you turned to Roger. Thank God for his high sex drive.

He wasn’t completely clueless. You had an air of desperation about you that you knew he could sense, and knowing that was almost enough to make you draw away from him, too.

Almost. But he always took such good care of you. It was selfish to keep asking him to meet up, but you felt like you would explode if you didn’t.

About a month after Brian and Dani had started dating, you and Roger were making out on the couch. It was rough, as sex frequently had been these past few weeks, and Roger’s grip on your waist was bruising as you rocked against him. Things were moments away from moving to the bedroom, when the front door opened unexpectedly.

You quickly looked up, a deer in headlights, and your stomach dropped.

“Oh, sorry,” Brian mumbled, ducking his head.

“No, it’s fine,” you said, and you’d tried to go for nonchalant, but your voice came out too sharp.

Roger tilted his head back. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Brian said. You watched as he kicked his shoes off and chucked his keys on the kitchen table.

“Sorry,” he said again, shooting you a quick glance. “I’ll just, uh…”

He hurried to his room.

There you were, looking already thoroughly debauched, on his couch, in Roger’s lap, and Brian had just ducked his head and ran.

You stared after him, your heart twisting around itself. He hadn’t even… He didn’t…

Once, he would have taken one look at you and pounced on you. He would’ve begged to kiss you, would’ve torn your clothes off.

Now, he acted like he’d walked in on Roger having a one-night stand with some girl he’d picked up at a bar. He acted like he’d never even been attracted to you at all.

Was it really so easy for him to move on? Were you really that forgettable?

“You all right?” Roger asked, his thumb touching your bottom lip.

You snapped to look at him. Shit, how much had you let on? “Yeah,” you said with a smile. “Just lost in my thoughts, nothing important.”

“You sure?” Roger asked.

You bit your lip and nodded. “Mm-hm. How about you take me to your room and fuck all those stupid little thoughts out of me?”

Roger paused for a moment, like he wanted to say something more, but your tongue darted out, lapping at the pad of his thumb, and you kept your eyes on his as you licked his thumb into your mouth. You watched, half excited, half relieved, as his eyes glazed over, his gaze fixated on your lips around his thumb.

It sickened you to even think about it, but you definitely had a little voice in the back of your head that hoped Brian could hear Roger fucking you.

“We should hang out,” you said to Brian. Just over a month, now. Final exams were breathing down everyone’s necks. It didn’t help your situation. “I feel like I never get to see you anymore. You’re with your girlfriend all the time.”

You’d run into him at uni. That was almost the only way you got to see him these days. And he no longer hugged you hello or goodbye, just kept a firm, amicable amount of distance between you.

He didn’t often look you in the eye these days, either. He shifted about whenever you talked, like he wanted to be somewhere else.

“Mm, yeah, maybe,” he said.

You swallowed down the hurt. “How about a movie night? Or we could just hang out, just the two of us.”

“Um.” Brian scratched his nose. “I’m pretty busy at the moment. Maybe we could do a group thing? That’d be fun. Me and Dani, John and Veronica, you and Rog.”

You frowned. “Me and Rog?”

“Yeah.”

“We’re not together.”

Brian shrugged. “I just thought– Well, I think it’d be nice. You two suit each other.”

“We don’t want to be a couple, Brian. What are you on about?”

“I just think it’d be good for you, that’s all. Being in a relationship is, well, really nice, and I think maybe you and Rog should at least give it a go.”

You were gobsmacked. You wanted to throw something, yell a stern reminder of, Hey, are you fucking stupid? Do you not remember the past eight months of our lives where you seemed perfectly content to not be in a relationship? Remember how many times the two of us were hounded by our friends about dating? You fucking hypocrite.

But you didn’t say any of that. There was an unspoken rule that neither of you ever brought up your old arrangement. It was as if it had never existed.

Most of the time, it seemed like Brian wished it hadn’t. Like it was some embarrassing secret.

“Well, we don’t want that, so you can mind your own business,” you said. “And where does Freddie fit into your little equation, anyway?”

Brian shrugged again. “He could bring a date along as well, I don’t know.”

“We’re not going on a– a quadruple date. Jesus.”

“Just an idea,” Brian muttered.

“You can still hang out with friends without your girlfriend, you know.”

Brian sighed. “Okay. Well.”

You sighed as well, gathering yourself. You tried again. “What about a party, or something? We haven’t been to a party in forever.”

Brian hesitated. “Well, one of Dani’s friends is having a party this weekend.”

Not exactly what you’d meant. “Maybe a little group of us could go?” you suggested. “If Dani’s all right with it? That could be fun.”

Brian nodded to himself. “Yeah,” he said mildly. “Yeah, that could work. I’ll ask her.”

“Great,” you said with a smile that you most certainly had to force onto your face. You began making a quick retreat, not waiting for him to formulate an excuse. “Text me, okay?”

“Yep,” he said, and you could tell he was already forgetting about it completely.

But, to your surprise, that weekend, you got a text from him. Dani said it’s all right if you and the others want to come along.

Your lip curled. It hardly sounded like Brian wanted any of you there. great, you replied. pres at yours?

I’ll actually be having pres at Lachlan’s, Brian sent. He’s one of Dani’s friends. But I’ll send you the details of the party and I’ll see you there.

But no one else wanted to come.

“No thanks,” Roger grumbled. “I’ve met some of Dani’s friends. They’re all complete wankers.”

“But I don’t want to go alone,” you whined.

“Ask Freddie. He’s always down for a good time.”

I can’t darling, Freddie texted. work early the next day. they said if I turn up hung-over or still drunk one more time they’ll fire me

u don’t have to get that drunk, you replied hopefully. just drink a bit and then go home early

then what would be the point of going lol?? Freddie sent.

“Sorry,” Veronica said. “Studying.”

You sulked. “You can’t afford to take a break just for a couple hours?”

“No. And, honestly, I don’t want to enable whatever thing you’re going through right now. I think getting drunk around Brian would be a bad idea.”

“I’ll be fine,” you said. “I just want an excuse to hang out as friends, okay? That’s all. It’s not enabling, it’s supporting.”

Veronica made a sound that told you she disagreed. You huffed and gave up. What did she know, anyway?

“Hey, Dea–”

“I’m not going to that party tonight,” John cut in smoothly, not even looking up from his textbook.

“But–”

“I’d rather sever my own foot.” He glanced up at you, giving you an apologetic half-smile. “Sorry. I just can’t stand being around Brian and Dani. They’re insufferable.”

At least that you could agree with.

everyone else is busy, you texted Brian. You bit your lip, debating whether to ask, but, damn it, fuck it all – can I come to lachlan’s pres and go with u guys?

It took him two hours to reply. Yeah, sure.

You felt sick. This was a bad idea.

It was by far too much trouble for what it was worth to get to Lachlan’s. You were terrified of turning up before Brian and Dani, so you arrived two and a half hours after when you were meant to be there.

That was better. It was easier to rock up when everyone was already pissed.

And they were very much pissed. Lachlan answered the door. He was tall and stocky, with brown hair and blue eyes. The sort of guy who looked like he’d played some kind of contact sport in high school, probably football, but now didn’t have a regular training schedule, and so was slowly losing the muscle he’d once had, replacing it with beer and burgers. The sort of guy who’d lose all of his hair by the time he was thirty-five, and get married so he’d have someone to get his beers for him when he was watching the game with the boys. The sort of guy who wanted kids because he liked the thought of telling people he had a couple of boys, rather than actually wanting to be a father.

Or maybe you were making a snap-judgement.

You introduced yourself, and he gave you a lopsided, skeezy grin, letting you into his place. “You here all on your own?” he asked.

Your shoulders tensed. “No,” you said. “I’m a friend of Brian’s. Dani’s new boyfriend.”

“Oh, yeah, sure, I know that. But you don’t have anyone to bring along with you?”

“Not tonight,” you said vaguely. “Busy schedules. Finals aren’t too far away, and all that.”

“Yeah, sick,” Lachlan said, looking you up and down. “Well.” He gestured with his beer to the crowd. “Make yourself at home.” He shot you another grin that made your hands grow clammy. “I’m glad Dani brought you along. Can’t wait to get to know you.”

You gave him an uneasy smile in return, and frantically looked for Brian and Dani. You found them – Dani was sitting on Brian’s lap, yuck – and fled from Lachlan.

“Hi,” you said.

“Oh, hey,” Brian said, and you could tell right off the bat he’d had a bit to drink already. His hand was splayed over Dani’s thigh, holding her to him, and you couldn’t bear to look at it. “Thought you weren’t gonna come.”

“I’m just late,” you said. “Hello, Dani.”

She gave you a polite smile, but didn’t try to engage in conversation.

Brian didn’t even notice. He squeezed Dani a little bit closer. “Well, you gonna drink?” he said.

Yes. Yes, you were. You held up your plastic bottle filled with Sprite and too much vodka. “Yep.”

Brian gave you a thumbs-up.

Dani turned to him. “Just need to go to the bathroom, baby,” she murmured, tapping his hand.

“All right, baby,” Brian murmured back, and you only just stopped yourself from making a face. The word baby sounded clunky, uncomfortable coming from Brian. “Be careful.”

Dani leant in for a kiss, and you turned away, uncapping your bottle and taking a decent swig, grimacing at the burn.

Brian didn’t like pet names. You knew he didn’t like pet names. And yet this ‘baby’ thing had sprung out of nowhere, and it drove you up the fucking wall.

You listened until the sound of Dani’s heels against the floorboards faded before you spoke. “‘Be careful’,” you muttered.

“What?” Brian said.

“She’s just walking to the toilet,” you said. “Not like she’s gonna get assaulted on the way.”

Brian looked mildly annoyed. “I just don’t want her to trip and fall over and hurt herself. She’s a lightweight, and she’s wearing heels. I’m just… trying to be a good boyfriend.”

You sighed. “Yeah, okay,” you said, not wanting to hear a word of it. You took another hefty swig of your drink. “I think I’ll, um, join the rest of the party.”

So much for hanging out with Brian. You wanted to be near him, wanted to talk to him, but you couldn’t bear it for more than five minutes.

You knew what it was – you wanted to talk to him how you used to. But you couldn’t do that anymore. Instead you had some weird, watered-down version of the Brian you knew.

You joined in half-heartedly with a few drinking games, but quickly discovered that you weren’t really in the mood for getting smashed anyway.

Brian and Dani stayed in their own little corner, giggling and whispering with each other, kissing and cuddling and being generally disgusting.

You didn’t even think they’d bother coming to the actual party. But they did, and the group of fifteen or so people in Lachlan’s sharehouse all staggered along the street for about ten minutes to get to the main event.

You’d managed to get along well enough with some of the girls, and Lachlan wouldn’t leave you alone, so you had no choice but to socialise. Which was good, in a way, because you lost Dani and Brian as soon as you walked into the party.

Not that you particularly liked the girls you were talking to. Everyone just had such a weird vibe, like they weren’t sure if they could be bothered to talk to you, but also felt obliged to make you feel welcome. They kept bursting into laughter and you had no idea why, and no one bothered to explain the jokes. But then they complimented your outfit and asked you how your day had been, and they listened with encouraging nods and wide eyes of interest when you answered. Until someone said something that they found more interesting, and then they turned away from you when you were halfway through a sentence. It was off-putting, to say the least; you couldn’t seem to find your footing.

Lachlan, however, was the icing on the cake. The sour, out-of-date icing on the stale cake. He flirted with you incessantly, either not picking up your clear signals that you weren’t interested, or just ignoring them. The others weren’t helping, either, egging the two of you on. A whole lot of wink-wink-nudge-nudge that you were not enjoying at all.

You should’ve just gone home. You didn’t know why you didn’t just leave.

But, for some reason, you stayed. Maybe you hoped that Brian would see your discomfort and come and talk to you – not that you’d seen him for the past hour – or that this strange group of people would want to talk with their friend Dani, and you’d be able to swoop in and catch up with Brian without Dani hanging around awkwardly.

Whatever it was, it was a stupid reason.

And then came truth or dare.

You didn’t want to play, but you were roped into it regardless. There was a rule, you found out, that you were allowed to back out of one truth or dare, and you had to drink if you did so – but only the once, so you had to choose wisely. Someone dared you to show everyone what underwear you were wearing.

Needless to say, you drank instead.

You could tell that no one was very impressed with any of the dares or questions you came up with, even though your friendship group loved your questions and dares. This group seemed to like the brainless shit – if it was gross, or sexual, or nasty in any way, they were all over it. Barely anyone chose ‘truth’.

Then it was Lachlan’s turn, and he turned to you. He grinned, and your stomach sank to the floor. “Dare you to kiss me,” he drawled, and the crowd gasped and ooh’d dramatically.

You didn’t even hesitate to snatch up your cider, but Lachlan quickly said, “You’ve already drunk, you can’t do it twice.”

“Well, I’m doing it twice,” you snapped, and took a swig.

You received jeers and boos for that, and Gina, the girl beside you, took your beer from your hand and said, “You can’t do that!”

“You gotta kiss me, that’s the rules,” Lachlan said above the sounds of everyone else.

“I don’t want to,” you said, your voice wavering.

“You have to,” said Savannah. “You have to, you have to, it’s the rules.”

“Come on,” said – whatever her fucking name was. “Stop being such a pussy, just get it over with.”

Lachlan was starting to look a bit pissed off by now. “Fucking hell, just come and kiss me,” he said. “Don’t be a bitch about it.”

Your heart was pounding in your chest, and you could feel your hands starting to shake. “Jesus – no, all right? I don’t want to,” you snapped.

The room felt too loud, too stuffy, too overwhelming.

“Lachlan, just think of something else,” you said.

“Okay, fine, whatever,” Gina complained. “Just do something else.”

“No, I gave you a dare already,” Lachlan said sourly. “It’s not even that big of a deal, like, I don’t even know what the problem is.”

“If she doesn’t want to-”

“That’s the fucking rules,” Lachlan said, throwing his hands in the air like you were the one being unreasonable. “Is that not the fucking rules? Goddamn.”

“Okay, then just kiss him already,” said whatever-the-fuck-her-name-was, waving you over. “Whatever, just hurry up.”

“I’m fucking bored with this shit already,” Savannah said. “Just kiss him or don’t kiss him, whatever. God, this party sucks.”

“It doesn’t suck, she’s just being a bitch,” Lachlan protested.

“Don’t call me a bitch,” you said.

“I’m just teasing,” Lachlan said, crawling over to you. You shrunk away from him, your heart beating like a cantering horse, and he grabbed your wrist. “One kiss, c’mon,” he said, his voice light and friendly, like you were happy to play along.

But you weren’t happy to play along. You didn’t know if everyone was too drunk to notice your obvious discomfort, or they didn’t care, but this was crossing the goddamn line.

“Fuck off, Lachlan,” you said, trying to pull your wrist back. You’d wanted your voice to be tough, to be assertive, but it was small and weak, and then Lachlan leant in for a kiss.

You turned your face away. “Lachlan–”

“Just fucking kiss me, for God’s sake, woman,” Lachlan growled, and grabbed your face with his other hand.

You pushed his hand away, and, without thinking, blurted out the one word that your panicked brain told you would stop everything in its tracks: “Nickleback.”

“What?” Lachlan said, and, good fucking God, of course that wouldn’t work, you were such a fucking idiot, and now you had no back-up plan, nothing else to do, and that word was supposed to stop things, why wasn’t it stopping things–

But then Lachlan was gone, and you felt a hand grab your other wrist and yank you up from the floor, and you unthinkingly leant into the body the hand belonged to as you were led from the room and into a bedroom, and the noise around you became muffled as the door closed behind you.

Then Brian was setting you down on the bed and sitting beside you. In an ideal world, he would have wrapped his arms around you and you would’ve been able to breathe again, like in a movie, but instead there was an awkward amount of space between you as he gingerly asked, “Are you all right?”

You barely even snuck a glance at him. You were humiliated by what had just happened, humiliated by needing him to rescue you, humiliated by your desperate craving for his touch, his comfort. You stared at the floor, curling in on yourself, and you nodded silently. Your hands still shook from adrenaline, and you could hear your heartbeat in your ears.

Brian sighed. “I’m sorry about them. I didn’t know…”

You shook your head. “It’s fine,” you mumbled.

Brian said nothing for a while, and then he reached over and patted you on the back. So achingly unfamiliar, and you felt your shoulders grow even more hunched than they already were. You didn’t think he’d ever touched you like that. Like you were a complete stranger.

You ducked your head, squeezing your eyes shut. Don’t you dare fucking cry.

There was a soft knock on the door, and Brian said, “Yeah?”

You glanced up to see Dani poke her head in, and you quickly looked away again. “Hey, baby,” she said.

Your stomach crawled.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, it’s fine,” Brian said.

“All right,” Dani said. You could feel her hovering awkwardly.

Brian said your name, catching your attention, and then said, “I’ll just… let you have some time to yourself, all right?”

You said nothing. You did nothing. And Brian stood up and left the room, closing the door behind him.

“What happened?” came Dani’s voice from just outside the door.

“Lachlan was harassing her,” Brian said.

“They were just playing,” Dani said. “They’re all drunk, it’s just truth or dare.”

“No, I know, but…”

“You didn’t have to run in there like there was a fire and pull her out of there like that. Everyone’s going to ask me what that was all about. Where did that come from?”

Your ears were straining to hear Brian’s response.

“I… I just knew she needed to get out,” he said eventually.

“She could have left if she was uncomfortable.”

“She gets really anxious sometimes, she just freezes.”

You realised, then, that he must’ve heard you say ‘Nickleback’. He must have heard it and immediately known that something was wrong.

You groaned quietly to yourself, covering your face with your hands. Your ex-friend-with-benefits had heard you yell out your old safeword in the middle of a party, and had felt obliged to rush in like a knight in shining armour to swoop you to safety. Jesus Christ.

“She’s an adult, baby,” Dani said. “I’m sure she was fine.” You heard someone sigh. “It’s sweet that you guys are friends, but you don’t have to…”

“What?”

“Look out for her that much.”

“What do you mean? She’s my friend.”

Dani was silent for a while. “Did you guys used to…?”

The air was sucked from the room. Your ears strained to hear every word.

“What?” Brian said, clearly thrown.

“Did you used to date? It just seems like…”

“No,” Brian said quickly. “No, we never dated.”

“You’re not lying to me?”

“No, baby. I promise you, we never dated.”

You grimaced.

Someone sighed again. “Okay,” Dani said. “Good. The last thing I’d want is for you to be friends with an ex.”

Brian chuckled. It sounded forced. “Yeah, of course.”

“I’m glad we agree. Gimme a kissy?”

You could’ve thrown up right then and there. A kissy?

You could hear them murmuring to each other, and Dani’s voice had a particular whiny, baby-talk tone to it that made you want to ‘accidentally’ open the door into the both of them. But then they left, and you were even more alone than before, and you lay down on the bed and curled into a ball, feeling sorry for yourself.

It was time to go home.

By the grace of God himself, Brian offered to wait outside with you, sitting beside you on the kerb, while you called a ride home. Dani stayed inside with her friends.

“I’m sorry about… what happened,” Brian said, and you went still as a statue.

“What do you mean?” you said softly.

“Lachlan, and all of that.”

You let out a breath. “Oh,” you said. “Yeah, that. It’s fine.”

Silence. It wriggled under your skin like cockroaches.

You wanted to touch Brian. You wanted him to touch you. You wanted Roger there, too. You wanted them to want you, like they used to. You wanted to be allowed to want them like they used to love.

But Roger wasn’t there. And Brian barely was, either.

“Brian?” Dani called from the front door.

Brian twisted around. “Yeah, I’m here.”

“Oh, okay. Just checking everything’s good.”

“Yeah, we’re fine. Still waiting for the car.”

“Okay. See you inside.”

“Yep.”

“Miss you, baby.”

Brian chuckled. “Miss you too.”

You waited until Brian had turned back around to face the road, and then blurted out, “Why do you let her call you that? You hate pet names.”

Brian frowned, looking to you. “What?”

“Pet names. You hate them.”

“I don’t hate them,” he said.

“You don’t like them, at least.”

“According to who?”

“According to you,” you said. “You told me. And you never–” You never called me anything but my name when we were fucking. “You never said you liked them.”

“Well, I do,” Brian said. “And why do you care, anyway?”

“I just think it’s weird,” you said, and you were aiming for casual but you knew you sounded brash. “You don’t sound like yourself.”

“I’ve never had a girlfriend the whole time we’ve known each other,” Brian said. “You don’t know what I’m like when I’m in a relationship.”

“You shouldn’t change who you are when you’re in a relationship,” you said. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“I’m not changing who I am,” Brian said, his face pinched. “What has gotten into you?”

“Nothing,” you said harshly. “I just think you’re lying to yourself. You don’t like calling her baby, and you don’t like being called baby, and I just think it’s weird that you wouldn’t just say that.”

“Well, I just think it’s weird you think you have the right to comment on my relationship,” Brian said. “I like calling her baby. And I like it when she calls me baby.”

“But you don’t,” you insisted. “I can hear it in your voice.”

“What?” Brian exclaimed. “What the fuck are you on about?”

“I know you, okay?” you snapped. “I know you far better than she does. And I know you don’t like pet names, but you won’t tell her for some reason.”

“I won’t tell her because I like them,” Brian said. “And she knows me, too, you know.”

“She’s known you for, like, two months! Less than!” you said. “That’s nothing.”

“Why…” Brian floundered. “There isn’t some – time limit on these things. You can’t judge if someone knows someone better just by how long…”

“I just don’t get it,” you said. “Maybe that’s my fault, but I don’t get how someone can just walk into your life and suddenly they’re the most important person you’ve ever met when you’ve only known them for five minutes.”

“You’ve clearly never fallen in love,” Brian said snootily.

“Oh, fuck off,” you scoffed. “You’re not in love with her.”

“How would you know?”

“You’ve only been dating a couple weeks! Come on, Brian. You can call each other baby all you like, but I know you.”

“I like pet names,” Brian said, his voice hard. “I just never called you one because, in case you’ve forgotten, you were never my fucking girlfriend. So, for the love of God, can you stop acting like a jealous ex.”

It was like a stab to the gut and a twist of the knife all at the same time. All you could do was sit in stunned silence.

Brian looked at you, almost like he was waiting for a response, and when he never received one, he sighed, stood, and left.

Your chin wobbled, your vision blurred, and you scrabbled for your phone in your handbag.

Roger opened the door. “Hey–”

You leapt onto him, kissing him furiously. He stumbled, but kept his balance, one arm curling around your waist and the other groping for the door, pushing it closed. You spun him around and backed him up, pressing him against the door, and ducked your head to suck at his neck, palming at him through his sweatpants.

Roger jumped. “Oh, God, okay,” he said with a surprised laugh. “You’re really…”

You nodded, and captured his lips again, nipping at his bottom lip. “I want you so bad,” you breathed. “I want you to fuck me hard, Daddy, please.”

You didn’t wait for him to reply, and kissed him. You slipped your hands into his underwear, and he tensed underneath you, surprised again.

You needed him to fuck you, to bruise you, to bite you. To make you feel wanted, needed. To mark you up, to make you scream, to make it hurt. You needed it so badly that your hands shook.

Roger put a hand to your collarbones, and you thought he was going to choke you, but instead he pushed you back, just enough to stare into your face.

“Are you sure you want to call me Daddy?” he asked unsurely. “You seem a little…”

“What?” you said.

“Not yourself,” Roger said. “Are you– Have you been drinking?”

“The fuck does that mean?” you said. “I just really need you to fuck me hard, does that not sound like me?”

“I don’t–”

“Roger,” you cut in sharply, and then quickly softened your tone into something whinier, needier, more enticing. “Daddy. I want you. Please.”

Roger’s frown never disappeared. “I don’t want you to call me Daddy,” he said.

You blinked, taken aback. “Um, okay,” you said. You could still work with that. “No Daddy.” You went to kiss him again, but he held you away.

You resisted huffing in frustration. “Roger…”

“This is about Brian, isn’t it?” he said.

“What?” you said. “No. Why would it be about Brian? I want you.”

“You’re drunk and upset and jealous, and you want me to fuck you how he used to fuck you, because you miss it.”

A slap to the face would’ve hurt less. Your hands fell limp at your sides. “What?”

“Is that not what’s happening right now?” Roger said, his hands dropping as well. “Is that not why you’re over? You went to that party, got yourself all worked up and upset, and now you want to be fucked how Brian used to fuck you?”

You blinked. “N– No,” you said, and you meant it, but the more Roger said it, the more you thought that maybe he was right, and you hadn’t even realised.

“Because it’s what it feels like,” Roger said. “It feels like I’m just an outlet for you. It’s not even about you and me anymore, it’s about you and him.”

Oh my God. You hated to admit it, but he was right. You covered your mouth with your hands, horrified at yourself. “Fuck, Roger, I…”

“I’m ending the arrangement between us,” he said simply. “It’s not fun anymore, and it’s definitely not healthy. You need time to… I don’t even know. But you need time, and I don’t really feel like being collateral damage. Especially not with end-of-year exams literally just around the corner.”

No. No, no, no, fuck, not this, anything but this.

“No, Rog, please, I’m sorry,” you said. “I wasn’t thinking, I– I can’t–” You felt tears welling up in your eyes. “Please. I…”

Roger sighed, and pulled you into a hug. You clutched onto him, and, finally, cried. “Jesus Christ,” he murmured sympathetically, stroking your hair. “This whole thing has really messed you up, hasn’t it?”

“I c– can’t lose you t– too,” you sobbed into his shirt.

“You’re not losing me. We’re still friends. It just… won’t be with the benefits anymore. For now, at least. Maybe forever, I don’t know. See how things go. But I’m never going to stop being friends with you.”

Your body shook as you cried, and Roger rubbed your back, letting you ruin his shirt.

The Bee Movie played on the TV, but your heart wasn’t in it. You leant against Roger, a cup of tea in your hands, and one in his. You were exhausted from crying, and you almost found yourself nodding off. Normally there was nothing more fun than enjoying the trials and tribulations of Barry B. Benson with Roger, but now not even casual bestiality was enough to cheer you up.

Roger didn’t say much, either. You had no idea what he was thinking, although you were pretty sure he wasn’t really watching the movie, just staring at the screen.

“I’m sorry,” you said, your voice breaking a little.

Roger sighed. “It’s okay,” he said, giving you a soft, sad smile. “I know you’re going through a tough time right now.”

“I don’t even understand why,” you said, your bottom lip trembling. Not again. “I never liked him like that, not ever. I know I never liked him like that. I didn’t want to go out on dates with him, or be his girlfriend, or any of that. So I don’t get why it – hurts so much.”

“Your thing went on for a really long time,” Roger reasoned. “And now it’s gone. I can’t blame you. I…” He bit his lip. “I… kinda miss it too, to be honest.”

You frowned at him in confusion. “You miss… Brian?”

“I miss…” Roger took a sip of his tea. “I miss the dynamic, I suppose. We actually got a lot closer because of it. And it was fun, you know? Especially the threesomes, those were really fun.”

You managed a tired laugh.

“It was just nice to have… a thing, that was ours,” Roger said. “Us three, I don’t know. This thing that was ours. I don’t know if that makes sense.”

“No, it does,” you said. You paused, and then said, “You and Brian aren’t as close now?”

Roger shrugged a shoulder. “Not… really?” he said unsurely. “We haven’t really hung out a lot recently. I mean, we’ve been studying a lot, so I haven’t really seen much of anyone as of late, but, like, for a while, me and Brian hung out a whole lot, just the two of us. Guess you end up feeling closer when you have to talk about your feelings all the time. And when you see each other naked every so often.” He shot you a smile, and you smiled back. “But now it’s sort of in a weird place. I mean, none of us have seen him a lot, he’s just with Dani all day and night. Which makes sense, they’re in their honeymoon phase. But I do miss… that.”

You nodded in understanding. “It doesn’t even feel like he wants to be around me,” you said in a small voice. “Like I’m not even friends with him anymore.”

“You are,” Roger assured you. “You just… both have to learn how to be… normal friends again.”

“And us too,” you added.

Roger blinked, but nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, us, too.”

You didn’t want to say it, you knew you shouldn’t say it, but the alcohol had loosened your tongue: “You gonna miss me?”

Roger’s eyes widened for a moment, and then he took a big breath in and out, shaking his head. “Damn,” he muttered.

“Sorry, ignore me,” you mumbled. “I’m just being sad and pathetic.”

“You’re not sad and pathetic,” Roger said. “But I’m not gonna miss you, you’ll still be around.”

“You know what I mean,” you said.

“Yeah, I know,” Roger said. He sighed again. “I don’t think… it would be good for either of us if I answered that.”

You said nothing. It felt like Roger wanted to say more, but he didn’t.

“But…” You looked to him, and he looked to you. “Can we still be friends like before?” you asked him. “I mean, just – with Brian, he won’t even hug me hello or goodbye, he barely looks at me, he doesn’t want to be near me, I just–” You shook your head. “I couldn’t stand it if you did that, too. Can we at least just be friends?”

Roger nodded. “Of course,” he said.

“Yes?”

“Yes, of course,” he said again. “I promise you, okay? I like hugs just as much as you do.”

You nodded, reassured. “Thank you.”

Roger threw his arm around you and gave you a squeeze, then took his arm back.

A month and a bit ago, he would’ve left his arm there, around your shoulders. You would’ve pressed closer into him. Probably eventually would’ve lifted your head to kiss his neck, or maybe your hands – or his hands – would’ve gone wandering.

But a squeeze was something, at least, and you were grateful for it. You told yourself you were grateful for it.

Three-ish months later

The air was just starting to cool, and, for the first time in a while, you pulled on a jacket.

It had been a while since you’d seen your flat. You’d gone home for the summer – not for the whole time, you still had rent to pay and you didn’t want to waste it, but for a few weeks – which had been a welcomed change of scenery.

After how your previous semester of uni had ended, the last thing you’d wanted was to hang around the flat.

It had been an uncomfortable summer. The mid-year break, last year, you hadn’t gone home. You’d told your parents it was because of the rent thing, but in reality, it had mostly been about Roger and Brian. A month off uni, and your flatmate Lucy had gone home for the break, meaning you had a free house? That had been a wild couple of weeks.

You shook your head. Stop, you reprimanded yourself. It did you no good to reminisce. You’d had an entire summer to sort things out for yourself, to reset, and it was a bad idea to let yourself slip. You’d barely spoken to Roger or Brian all summer, just to give yourself some space.

You’d missed them. A lot. Maybe cried once or twice. Maybe more. But that was only for you to know.

You doubted that they’d missed you.

The thought still felt like a stab to the gut, and you squeezed your eyes shut, shaking your head at yourself. Stop it. Stop.

There was a knock on the front door, and you were momentarily surprised – but you knew it was Veronica. You took a moment to get your thoughts together, then hurried to the door to let her in.

She greeted you with a joyous cry of your name and a warm hug. “It’s been so long!”

The two of you rocked from foot to foot, and you breathed in her familiar smell. You hadn’t seen her since before Christmas.

When the hug eventually ended, Veronica sighed happily. “Can’t believe I’ve missed you,” she said, and you laughed, giving her a backhand slap on the arm.

“Cow,” you said.

“So you’ve kept the same place?”

“Yep,” you said.

“Lucy still your flatmate?”

“Yeah. It works well, so.”

“No, no, she’s lovely,” Veronica said with a nod. “Did she want to come to drinks tonight?”

You glanced towards Lucy’s room instinctively, even though you knew she wasn’t in there. “She’s not coming back until Wednesday, I think.”

“Ah, well, answers that question.” Veronica gave you a smile. You could tell there was a question on the tip of her tongue, and you just stood there, waiting for her to ask it.

She sighed again, resigned. She knew she’d been sprung. “I wasn’t going to ask. I– I wasn’t sure if I should.”

“I’m okay,” you said. “I’m fine.”

Veronica squinted at you unsurely, like she wanted to press you for further information, but wasn’t sure if it was a good idea. “Fine?”

“It’s been a bit rough, but I’m okay,” you said.

You’d tell her the truth soon enough. You had no willpower when it came to Veronica. But you weren’t in the mood for a whole conversation right now.

“So you’re all right for tonight?”

You rolled your eyes. “Am I capable of getting drinks with my friends? Yes, I think so.”

“Even though Dani will be there?”

“Brian and Dani have been dating for, like, five months now – and don’t say it like that. Brian isn’t my ex.”

“Roger’s dating someone,” Veronica blurted.

Your heart leapt into your throat. Stop. “Oh?” you said, and it sounded warped and wonky. “Since when? Good for him. Have you met her?”

“Once,” Veronica said. “Just last week, when I dropped by the flat. Her name is–” She let out a laugh. “Actually, this is really funny. Her name is Freddy.”

You laughed. “What?” you squawked. “Freddy?”

“Freddy with a Y,” Veronica said. “Roger made that very clear when I met her. As if that changes anything.”

“God, I bet that’s confusing in bed,” you said.

“Yeah, well, I’m guessing the ‘with a Y’ part makes all the difference for Roger.”

“Freddy,” you mused. “What’s it short for?”

“No idea. But she’s not as hot as you are.”

You shot Veronica a mock glare. “Roger isn’t my ex either.”

“Still,” Veronica said lightly. She hesitated, and then said, “Have you spoken to either of them recently?”

“No, not really,” you said, as casually as you could muster. “Look, Ron, could we just… table this conversation for later? I’m not really up to it.”

“Yeah, of course,” Veronica said, waving a hand. “Sorry, sorry, I’ll keep my nose out of it. Let’s just go. Are you ready?”

You took a steadying breath. “So ready,” you said, hoping you sounded more confident than you felt.

Arriving at the local pub felt like coming home. The smell of beer, the roar of conversation, the bundles of people crowded around tables. The floor was sticky, there weren’t enough places to sit, and the prices up on the chalkboard on the wall were far too high.

You scrunched your nose. Coming home sucked.

“I forgot how much I hate this place,” you yelled into Veronica’s ear. “We need to find somewhere less popular, Jesus.”

“I know,” Veronica said. “I’ve mentioned it to John; he thinks the same.”

“Next time.”

“Yeah, next time.”

You said that every time.

Veronica corroborated her instructional texts from John with the view in front of her in order to find everyone else. They were tucked away in a corner booth, crammed into the space.

You’d had enough trouble as it was, trying to fit everyone into a booth. You couldn’t even imagine how you were going to make it work with two new people in the group.

Veronica took your hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze as you neared the table.

There was John, at the end of the booth, facing you – his eyes lit up when he spotted Veronica, and began shifting over to make room for her beside him. At the end of the table, on a chair, was Freddie. He noticed John’s line of sight, and he turned to you, his smile wide.

You couldn’t really see the others. Just the back of Brian’s head. But that was hard to miss.

Freddie stood up to give you a warm hug as Veronica tossed around a few ‘hello’s and slid in next to John. “Darling!” Freddie said. “I haven’t seen you all break.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” you said.

Freddie waved you off. “It’s fine,” he said. “I understand.” He glanced towards the other occupants of the booth.

“Don’t start,” you muttered, and Freddie gave your arm a swift pat.

“Speaking of which,” he said, turning. “Roger, Brian, you remember our dear friend, I’m sure?”

You resisted elbowing Freddie in the side, giving Brian and Roger tight smiles.

At the same time, your eyes landed on Dani and her browny blonde Ariana Grande ponytail and her mouse face and her curvy body pressed into Brian’s side. And beside Roger, tucked under his arm, was a blonde, tanned girl. Blue eyes, like Roger, but hers were light, strikingly so, and a perfect full face of make-up. Her brows were dark and bold, and her lips looked pouty and soft.

‘Not as hot as you were’ your arse. This girl looked like she modelled in her spare time.

Your jaw clenched. You resisted dragging Veronica away by her ear and having a word with her.

Stop it. Stop it.

“This is Freddy,” Freddie said.

“With a Y,” Roger added quickly.

“Yes, with a Y,” Freddie said dryly. “Roger’s new flame.”

“Hi,” Freddy said with a smile. Her teeth were very white. She lifted a well-manicured hand to fiddle with the silver chain around her neck.

You could see the discolouration on her knuckles. Well, at least you knew her tan wasn’t real. That was something. Wasn’t it?

No. It wasn’t. She looked incredible anyway. Didn’t even matter that she was wearing fake tan. What a stupid thing to think.

You introduced yourself.

There was a pause where no one really knew what to say next.

“Hi, by the way,” John said.

Relieved, you gave him a smile. “Hi, John, how are you?”

“Not too bad. Do you want to find a chair?”

God bless John Deacon. “Let me help you,” Freddie said, and you both began wandering through the crowd together, knowing there was no way in hell you’d be able to find a chair.

“How are you?” Freddie asked. “Actually, sod the fucking chair, let’s get a drink.”

“Sounds superb,” you said.

“Try again,” Freddie said when you’d gotten in line. “How are you?”

“Fine,” you said. “And you?”

“Good, fine,” Freddie said. “Lonely. I want a boyfriend. Everyone else is in a godforsaken relationship, so I only think it’s reasonable. Look at me, the token lonely, single homosexual in a group of straight people. Right out of an early 2000s chick flick. I may as well start wearing skinny scarves and a vest and talk about how much I love shopping. Do you think I’m sassy enough?”

“Stop it,” you said. “If you start wearing skinny scarves, I’ll strangle you with one.”

“If I start wearing skinny scarves, I’d practically be begging you to,” Freddie muttered.

“I’m sorry you’re lonely,” you said. “I could be your wingwoman, if you like. We could go out together.”

Freddie gave you a smile. “Yeah, I’d like that,” he said. His eyes scanned the chalkboard, as did yours, but it was more habit than anything else. “What did you get up to during the break?”

“Slept,” you said, and Freddie chuckled, nodding in agreement.

“Ate too much,” he added.

“Yep, that too,” you said with a laugh. “Never left the house.”

“Except to buy more booze.”

“Or take the bins out.”

Freddie laughed. “Isn’t summer wonderful.”

“Oh, it’s just perfect,” you said, and it came out so bitter, with such a sneer in your tone, that Freddie cracked up. A few heads turned, but they usually did, with Freddie.

“Did you stay here or go home?” you asked.

“Both,” Freddie said. “Mostly here, though. Just wanted to see the family for a while, but I’m far more comfortable here.”

You nodded.

“Did you talk to Brian and Roger much?” Freddie said.

You shook your head. “No.”

That was all.

“Well, shit,” Freddie said. “That’s all just completely fucked, then?”

“It’s fine,” you said. You reached the front of the line, and went to order. Freddie followed you.

You ordered a cider, then Freddie ordered a pint. “What do you think of Freddy with a Y?” Freddie asked as the bartender poured your drinks.

“I’ve barely met her,” you said. “Didn’t know she existed until Ron told me just before we left mine.”

“Jesus,” Freddie said. “You really haven’t spoken to them.”

“No,” you said. “And Roger doesn’t post much on social media, either, so. And Brian posts far too much, so I know way too much about him and Dani for my liking, which is wonderful.”

“I’m sorry,” Freddie said. “God, I’m sorry it’s all gone to shit, I really am. That’s miserable, darling.”

“It’s fine,” you said. The bartender set your drinks in front of you, and you and Freddie collected them, weaving your way back to the table.

“Did you… get around to dating much?” Freddie asked.

“Wasn’t in the mood,” you said.

Freddie said nothing. Message received.

You arrived back at the booth. While you’d gotten a drink, you hadn’t solved the seating problem.

You bunched up next to Veronica. It wasn’t comfortable, but it wasn’t unbearable.

You met Brian’s eyes across the table. He gave you a warm smile. It hurt. You hated that it hurt. “I haven’t said hi yet,” he said, like you hadn’t just gone three months without seeing or speaking to each other. “How you going?”

“Good, good,” you said, and took a swig of cider. “You?”

“Yeah, great. Get up to much?”

“Not really. Did you?”

“Not too much,” Brian said. “Dani and I took a little trip south. That was nice, wasn’t it, baby?”

“So nice,” Dani said with a cheeky, knowing little grin at Brian.

He shook his head at her, and she giggled, then reached up for a quick kiss.

You knew about the little trip south. Everybody knew about the little trip south. Brian had waxed poetry about it on Instagram for every single day they were away. “So lots of sex, then,” you said.

Veronica choked on her water, and Roger burst out laughing.

You hadn’t realised he’d been listening to the conversation.

Dani’s face was turning tomato-red, and she hid her face behind her hand. Brian managed a good-natured chuckle, albeit a slightly forced one, and you could tell he was rubbing Dani’s knee under the table.

“What, what was the joke?” Freddie said immediately.

“Nothing,” you said, and turned to Roger. “So, Freddy, with a Y, how did you and Roger meet?”

“Bumble,” Freddy said, unabashed. “About a month ago?”

“Yeah, about that,” Roger said.

“Yeah, Ron said,” you said. “That’s nice.”

“So there’s…” Roger licked his bottom lip. “There’s no one you’ve got your eye on, then?”

“No,” you said, uncomfortable. Why would anyone want you? You were messy, you were too much. You were demanding. You were easily replaced.

You took a sip of cider. Stop.

It had been three months, for God’s sake. Three months of no contact, and still you were left with an ugly, twisted feeling in the pit of your stomach after everything that had happened.

None of it had even mattered. You’d always known it had had an expiration date. You were just…

You hated feeling like this.

“Hey,” Veronica said suddenly, raising her glass of water. “Let’s make a toast, shall we? To the new year. To– to passing our classes, and to ramen, and to… fresh starts.”

Everyone raised their glasses, saying something along the lines of cheers, and began clinking their glasses together. You took a moment longer, but joined in.

Veronica met your eyes to clink her glass to yours. “Fresh starts,” she said with a small smile.

You couldn’t quite say it back, so you smiled and nodded, then took a sip of your cider.

You could feel Brian’s and Roger’s eyes on you. You pretended to be interested in something happening across the room.

God, you couldn’t wait for this chapter of your life to be nothing but a bad dream.

#try series #try verse #my writing #queen fanfiction #roger taylor x reader #brian may x reader #rpf #angst

142 notes · View notes