#what do you mean he doesn’t live on sugar free blue mothers

[prongsfish]

do the people fuck with australian barty… i have like 6 screenshots worth of aussie barty headcanons in my notes app . i must speak my truth

[avintagekiss24]

one cup sugar, one cup spice | a. barber

→ pairing: andy barber x black!reader

→ word count: 7074

→ warnings: age gap, corruption kink, innocent reader, daddy kink, pain kink, smut, sex, loss of virginity, vaginal fingering, hand job (male receiving)

→ author note: happy holidays my dudes! what i would do to have andy barber standing in my kitchen... anyway, reader is i n n o c e n t, but totally of age, and in college. as always, line breaks by @firefly-graphics​, gif by @evansensations​

There’s a light dust of white covering the green lawns and black asphalt of the street. You shiver as you follow your parents out towards their car, pulling your beanie down over your ears before you shove your hands into your navy blue Dartmouth hoodie.

“Honey,” your mom coos, turning back towards you as your dad loads the car, “Are you sure you don’t want to come with us? Your aunt has plenty of room.”

“I’m positive,” you laugh, “Aunt Sohpie and I don’t get along that great anyway.”

“Well, you could try a little harder.”

Your mouth drops open, eyes wide as you stare at her, “She called me a stuck up, yuppie bitch when I told her I wasn’t going to stop using deodorant.”

Your dad chuckles, prompting a swift slap to the shoulder from your mother before she turns back towards you, “Sophie is a free spirit. She doesn’t believe in putting chemicals in or on her body. One week of trying to get along won’t hurt you.”

“Oh, it’ll hurt,” you answer, pulling her into a hug, “Smelling her B.O. for a week would actually kill me.”

Your mother tuts, pulling back and slumping her shoulders a little as she squeezes your sides gently, “I don’t want to leave you here alone for Christmas.”

“Oh, stop badgering the girl. She’ll be fine,” your dad cuts in, kissing your forehead when he approaches, “She had a tough semester, she’s allowed some alone time. Be good, baby. I left a credit card on my desk for any emergencies.”

You smile warmly, “Thanks daddy.”

There’s a sound of a door opening, then closing, heavy footsteps against the old wood of the porch next door, “Oh, Andy,” your mom calls towards the neighbor, “You got a minute?”

Your face scrunches as you glance over at your father, who sighs heavy, “Don’t get mad, baby.”

“Why would I get mad?”

“She kinda, you know,” he shrugs, knocking his head back and forth, “Asked the neighbor to look in on you while we’re gone,” when your face drops, he throws up his hands, “I didn’t do it, she did.”

“Mom!” You hiss, flipping your eyes to the tall, dark haired man cutting across his front lawn, “I don’t need a babysitter! I’m twenty years old!”

“Hush,” she whispers, plastering a smile on her face as she wraps her arm around your waist, “Sorry to bother you, Andy.”

“Oh, no, no, no. It’s okay, I was just checking the mail.”

You’re angry and embarrassed as the tall, older man approaches, but a sudden heat blooms across your chilled brown skin. Pushing your glasses up your nose, you take a heavy breath, expelling it hard as you eye him. You’ve only really seen him in passing, throwing your hand up in a friendly wave as you jogged into your childhood home during a long weekend away from school. You only vaguely remember him moving in about a year or two before. Hell, you don’t even think the two of you have uttered anything more than just a neighborly ‘hey’, and now, thanks to your mother, he’s going to be keeping an eye on you.

Just wonderful.

She smiles proudly, “You remember our daughter, right?”

“I do,” he smiles slowly, an intense pair of blue-green eyes bouncing between yours, “We’ve run into each other a few times over the years. How you doin’ kiddo?”

He reaches out, extending a large palm and long fingers. You take it gently, smiling soft as you drop your eyes from his, nerves suddenly pooling in your stomach, “Um, good. Thanks for asking. How um,” you swallow, glancing back up at him, finding his eyes still centered on you, “How are you?”

He shrugs, but keeps your much smaller hand in his, “Can’t complain.”

“Listen, honey,” your mom starts, “I asked Mr. Barber to pop over and check on you every now and again while we’re gone.”

“Mother,” fake laughter filling the air, your face hot from being annoyed to all hell, “I’m not a child, and I’m sure Mr. Barber has better things to do with his time than to check on me constantly.”

“It’s no problem,” he shrugs again, those eyes of his now roaming, down your body, then up again, slowly, “I have the next couple of weeks off myself.”

“Congrats on the promotion, by the way.” Your father smiles, finally drawing Andy’s attention away from you. He nudges your side with his elbow, “Andy’s the new District Attorney.”

You keep your eyes on the tall Andy, sliding them the length of his body. He’s sturdy. Broad shoulders not so hidden underneath his zip up hoodie, clinging to thick biceps. Dark jeans accentuate long legs and a little waist. A perfect, full beard lines his strong jaw and chin. Two enormous hands are shoved into the pockets of his pants, so large that they don’t even fit right… You inhale deep, drawing your bottom lip into your mouth, sinking your teeth into the flesh as a tiny moan slips through.

Blue eyes snap to you again as it sounds. God. Your lips part, eyes widen as they stare back at him in embarrassment. He just smiles again, slow and seemingly knowing; his eyes falling down your frame again.

“We better go if we’re gonna miss traffic, hun.” Your dad’s voice suddenly breaks into your conscience, snapping you out of the small trance that Andy Barber has leveled over you, “Andy, thanks for watching over our baby while we’re gone.”

Andy winks at you, “I won’t hover, I promise. If you need anything, at any time, I’m right next door, okay? Better yet, let me give you my number.”

You nod quick, clearing your throat as you fumble around with your phone, pulling it out of your hoodie and handing it over to him, “Sure, yeah. Th-thank you, Mr. Barber.”

“Andy,” he corrects, reaching out and cupping your elbow gently, “Please.”

Another warmth spreads through you, emanating from the contact, making you giggle and smile nervously like a stupid girl before you get a hold of yourself and blink away. You all exchange another round of pleasantries, Andy wishing your parents a safe trip before he locks eyes with you again— biting his lip as he blinks and hands your phone back before turning away and heading towards his mailbox.

Almost frozen in place, you blink as you watch him move across his grass, forcefully swallowing. You really need to get out more.

One last hug from your mom and dad and you wave as they pull out of the driveway, your mom waving excitedly at you through the windshield. Rolling your eyes, but smiling wide, you return a wave before heading back inside, locking the door behind you before making a brisk b-line to the front door.

Andy’s still outside, pushing the green trash cans up against his garage as you peek out at him from behind the thin, white, door curtains. He throws open one of the lids before dipping his head, eyeing the mail in his hand as he flips through it slowly, tossing the junk into the open can. A pink blush piques on his cheeks and the tip of his nose, lips red with the chill. He looks up suddenly— out of nowhere— and cocks his head, letting another smile curl onto his lips when the two of you make eye contact again.

You gasp and jump back, instantly turning on your heel to run up the stairs towards your bedroom, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!”

The smell of fresh baked cookies fills the house as you pull a pan from the oven. You hum in satisfaction, a small smile on your face as you scoop the sugar cookies onto the cooling rack before pulling your mom’s Santa Claus mittens off your hands and tossing them to the counter. Last Christmas by Wham plays from the small bluetooth speaker in the corner of the kitchen, A Charlie Brown Christmas on mute playing from the ipad leaning against the utensil holder.

There’s a random crackling from the fire you started in the living room as you move around, a whir from the mixer as it beats the eggs, powdered sugar, vanilla extract, and corn syrup together. You dip your finger into the mixture, popping it into your mouth and groaning as the sweetness explodes on your tongue before you pull the beaters out, slipping your finger down the stainless steel to collect the icing still stuck to them.

A knock sounds from the front door, permeating through the rather quiet house. You lean to the side, blinking at the door as a shadow shifts through the windows on either side. Shoving the icing laden finger into your mouth, you jog towards the door, bare feet heavy against the wood floor.

“One second, one second,” you mumble, wiping your hands on your pale pink cotton shorts before you tug at your hoodie and unlock the door. A sharp inhale of cold air fills your chest when you pull open the door to find one Andy fucking Barber standing on the opposite side, “Oh,” is all you can manage.

“Hey,” he smiles, “It’s been a few days, just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Being a biomedical engineering student, you can rattle off some of the most difficult, obscure words known to man with exactly zero problems. When it comes to social interaction with the hot, forty-something, lawyer next door? Your tongue is heavy, your brain… dumb.

His smile widens as you blink like a moron, his eyebrows climbing up his forehead as he waits for you to talk. Here’s the part where you speak, dumbass! “Um,” you stutter, “Sorry, I, uh, yeah, I’m okay. I’m good, sorry.”

“Smells good in here.”

Nodding, you bite your lip, your eyes everywhere but on his face— his stare just too much, “I’m making cookies.” you glance over your shoulder before you point, “Do you want to make some? I mean,” you slam your eyes closed, “Do you want to try some? Not, some, one, do you— do you want to try one? Or some… I guess… whatever.”

Idiot. You’re a bumbling, stumbling, idiot.

He chuckles, the rumble low and deep as he runs one of those big ass hands through his dark, soft looking hair, “That is the best offer I’ve had all day.”

He steps over the threshold, his fingers brushing over yours as he reaches to close the door. You snatch your hand from it quickly, wringing it within the other as you turn awkwardly and move towards the kitchen, swallowing hard, suddenly hyper aware of how bare your legs are.

“It’s Christmas Eve,” Andy starts from behind you, “I’m surprised to find you here and not out with some friends.”

You move behind the marble topped island in the center of the kitchen as Andy walks around the opposite side. His eyes are on you again, staring as you fumble with the spatula, your fingers going as dumb as your brain, dropping it with a loud clang. You don’t even know why— okay, you know why, but this is something deeper, something you haven’t experienced before.

“Oh,” you shrug, “No, I uh, I just kinda like to stay around the house.”

He nods slowly, “A homebody, huh? Me too.”

He makes you dizzy; his masculinity is intimidating. It fills up every little space in the room. His intelligence— worldly, experienced—  oozes from him. He looks like you could ask him anything, anything, and he’d have the right answer for you. He could teach you a thing or two, that’s for sure.

A shudder creeps through your body, heat blooming across your skin, having to shift on your feet as your stomach flutters while you focus on icing this stupid cookie. The physical space he takes up unnerves you too. That wide, towering frame looming over you. Deft, thick fingers tapping gently against the countertop as you stumble around, your hands shaky.

There’s a stickiness. A warm, little wet spot in the center of your panties as stupid thoughts run through your stupid brain. You’re being ridiculous. Like this grown man would be interested in an inexperienced, socially awkward, in bed by eight thirty, little girl. Get a grip.

You slather some icing over the warm cookie and cautiously hand it towards him, clearing your throat and forcing a smile. Wringing your hands again, you find a little courage to lift your eyes just as he pops the small cookie into his mouth, closing his eyes as he chews slowly, a grunt sounding from deep in his throat.

Every muscle in your body clenches at the sound. It’s gorgeous— and if there’s anything your body appreciates, it’s a gorgeous man with a gorgeous grunt.

“It’s okay?” You squeak, timid and small before you nervously clear your throat.

“Shit, girl,” he moans again, licking his lips as he extends his hand again, “I could eat every single one of these.”

Nervous fingers clutch another cookie, adding a dollop of icing before you hand it over to him, eyes drifting up his chest and to his face as he devours the second treat. Your curious eyes watch with a longing. Pretty, thick, dark eyelashes closing again, splashing across smooth, slightly reddened cheeks. A pink tongue darts out of a wet mouth to slip along an inviting— too inviting— bottom lip, and you zero in on it. Chest rising and falling a little harder as you blink, in your own little world as you imagine just how much experience those lips, that tongue has.

There’s a hint of blue suddenly, his eyes no longer closed, now set squarely on you as those sickenly perfect white teeth emerge with another sly smile.

Another wave of embarrassment pushes through your veins, but you can’t look away from him this time. Locked in a heated stare, mind racing, palms sweaty as you watch Andy dip his index finger into the bowl of icing, scooping the sugary mix onto the pad of his digit.

“You like watching me, huh?”

Your mouth parts to answer, but nothing comes out, mouth and throat suddenly dry. He laughs at you, standing there, dumb and nervous, unable to form a coherent sentence as he pushes the tip of his finger into his mouth, sucking the icing from it slowly.

He’s moving, that much your brain can comprehend. Moving around the island, sliding the bowl of icing right to the edge where he dips his finger again, curling it to collect another glob.

Shallow, shaky breaths escape the small part in your lips, your chest and stomach so tight you’re surprised you can breathe at all. As it is, you have to rest your palm against the marble island, just to keep from falling over.

A long arm slips around your waist, nudging you forward— closer— so close that when one of those shallow, little breaths pushes out, your chest, well, your tits, brush against his. You picked a fine day to go without a bra. He drops his free hand to your waist, pushing it underneath your oversized hoodie to feel your skin as he wraps those long fingers around your hip, giving it a squeeze before he cups your chin.

“You have a boyfriend back at that fancy ass school?” He asks, eyes hooded as he tilts your head upward.

A hum vibrates through your chest before there’s a quick shake of your head as he pushes the icing over your bottom lip, smearing the sugary mix along it. He keeps your chin anchored in his hand as he stares down at you through slits, his own mouth dropping open as he coaxes yours.

“No, a smart girl like you doesn’t have time for boys, does she?” He purrs, “You probably haven’t even been touched by a boy.”

A squeak chokes in your throat as he teases you, pushing that finger back and forth, the tip pushing ever so gently into your mouth. He chuckles again, real low, menacing almost as he knows he has you right where he wants you.

“Ya know,” he starts, thumbs stroking your chin and jaw, “This Christmas cookie frosting would taste a hundred times better on you than my finger.” He smiles again, tilting his head, “Can I see?”

You mewl, pitiful and small as emotion pools in your eyes. You’re overwhelmed— nervous and unsure, wanting to be perfect. Womanly— but surely falling flat.

“Oh, baby,” he laughs, sweeping his thumbs underneath your eyes to catch the hot streaks, “Awww, it’s okay.”

Andy pushes in close, his lips brushing yours as he nuzzles his nose into the crook of yours, a low sound thrumming in his throat. He presses his cheek against your face, the soft hair of his beard pushing along your skin, goosebumps popping up all over. Your bodies start to sway in a slow rhythm, side to side, his warm breath washing over you as he smiles.

He pulls away, eyes traveling your face, “You haven’t even been kissed before?” When you don’t answer, he closes his eyes, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth, “No? Oh, my sweet girl. That is just,” he groans, eyes twinkling with an emotion you don’t even understand, “You are so perfect— so good.”

His forehead comes to rest on yours, his hands still corralling your face, fingers sticky. His tongue darts out quick, licking at your lips, dragging up to the tip of your nose. You shudder, bleating as the rough velvet passes over your mouth.

Andy moans again, sucking the icing into his mouth and swallows slow, “Yum.”

You’re jittery— clammy, as labored breaths push out of your mouth, a murky fog clouding your brain. Shaky whirs tremble through your chest as you shift on your feet, your panties sticking to your now throbbing pussy. Andy closes the distance between your mouths again, his eyes hooded as he nips at you.

Your eyes flutter, closing instinctively— waiting for the claim. It doesn’t come, not right away, making your eyes pop open, a childish whine squeaking out. You even stomp your foot a little. Twenty years is a long enough wait.

“Kiss me,” you breathe, not wasting a second, “Please, Andy—”

The words are barely out of your mouth before he grabs your lips, inhaling deep. His tongue fucks into your mouth, slipping along the roof before massaging yours, sucking lightly. You go limp against him, trying to keep up with the fervent kiss, but soon just let him take full control.

Andy pushes his hips into yours, pressing his hard cock against you, forcing you to break the kiss, gasping deep. He rests his forehead on yours again, tittering as he bites his bottom lip, “Never felt that before, huh? Mmmm,” he groans again, “I bet you feel good. So tight and warm— umph, I’m probably not even going to be able to fit my cock all in.”

You shudder at the thought.

He brushes the tip of his nose against yours, “I gotta open you up a bit, don’t I? Hmm? This sweet little cunt needs to get used to being stuffed full.” He turns you in his hands, presses his burly chest into your back, his lips to your ear, “I want you to finish icing these cookies like a good girl, okay? You do as daddy says.”

You don’t move, you can’t really, as you try to comprehend what’s going on. It takes Andy pushing his crotch into your ass, grinding your hips against the island and literally grabbing your wrists, making your hands grab the butter knife and a cookie before your brain catches up. With shaky fingers, you push the knife through the icing and slather it on one of the small, round, golden brown cookies.

“Good girl,” he praises, pecking your cheek, nuzzling into the side of your face, “Daddy wants you to focus.”

He drags his warm palms up your forearms, stroking gently before they fall to your sides. They push up into your hoodie, fingertips glancing across sensitive, untouched skin. Small laughter vibrates through his chest as you jump and gasp, huffing and keening as he explores.

Little kisses are pressed to your temple and side of your face as his hands venture up your sides, curling around your rib cage until he’s grasping your bare tits in both hands, squeezing and kneading— hissing as he grinds his rigidly hard cock into your ass.

You freeze, body going stiff as nimble fingers play with your thick, piqued nipples. Warm lips nip at your neck as you push back into his hips, wiggling slowly, the thin cotton of your shorts not proving to be much of a barrier at all.

Andy reaches around, plucking the cookie out of your hand and pops it into his mouth just as his free hand skips down your stomach— right into your shorts. You jut your hips forward as his fingers plunge through your folds, massaging your clit slowly as he murmurs in your ear.

“That’s what I love about virgins. The slightest little touch gets you all worked up.” He pulls his hand from your shorts, holding it out for you to see your slick coating his fingers— a string connecting from his index finger to the middle. He brings his wet fingers to your lips, steel eyes peering at you as he waits, “Clean ‘em up.”

He slides his free hand back into your sweatshirt, pushing it up over your tits before he tweaks your left nipple, rolling it slow as he pushes the tips of his fingers into your mouth. Sweet, tiny little whines sound from you as you accept his long fingers into your mouth, starting to suck gently, the taste of your arousal exploding on your tongue.

“That’s right, just like that baby.” He reassures, slipping a hand back into your panties.

Your mouth goes slack around his fingers as he toys with you, rubbing your achy clit as your hips start to move with his rhythm. Resting your weight against his sturdy body, you moan loud, pushing out hard breaths, eyes slipping closed, head rolling on his shoulder as his wet fingers slip from your mouth back to your left nipple.

His fingers start to tease your slit, pushing gently, slowly, until… a sharp yelp fills the kitchen as two fingers stuff you full. Andy wraps his arm around your waist, holding you to him, cooing in your ear as he continues to push in, “You’re okay baby. I know, I know sweet girl, we’re almost there. Just a bit more.”

Tears sting your eyes as your face strains from the pressure and pain of being spread for the first time. Once his fingers have disappeared, the heel of his palm pressing against your folds and clit, he pulls your chin towards him and licks at your mouth, sucking air in between his teeth.

“I can’t wait to fuck this sweet pussy,” he kisses you quick and hard, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth before he releases you with a loud smack, “I love a virgin cunt. It’s been a while since I’ve had one.”

You squeak when his fingers start to move, slow, deep, a squelch sounding as his fingers push into your muscles. It hurts, but there’s a twinge of good, something inside of you being pleasured once you push past the pain. The sweet taste of pleasure doesn’t stop the tears from rolling down your cheeks as his fingers pick up a brisk pace.

Andy growls in your ear, the sound scratching at the back of his throat, kind of hollow and breathy as he grinds his cock into your ass, “You havent fucked yourself like this before? I didn’t think I’d hurt you this bad with just my fingers, baby.”

A hot, rough wetness slides along your cheek, his tongue, lapping at you. You grab onto his forearm, feeling his muscles tense and flex as he fingers your innocence, digging your nails into the thick Shetland wool sweater covering his torso. He pushes deep, suddenly, making you cry out again.

He grunts, snaking his hand up into your hoodie to take a firm hold of your tit. Resting his forehead to the back of your head, he quickens his fingers, his hot breath on the back of your neck, quick swipes of his tongue and lips against your hypersensitive skin— making the miniscule hairs on your body stand on end.

His palm presses against your clit with each shove of his fingers. Strapping, hard chest flattened to your back, loud, husky moans in your ear. His hips roll and push, writhe into yours as his fingers start to thrash. Teeth sink into your shoulder, his tongue sliding and sweeping.

“Andy—” you cry, whimpering like a child, “It hurts. I— I can’t,”

“Oh, sweetheart.” His fingers slow and then stop, pulling out of you to rub your clit, soothing the balmy flesh. He turns you around in his arms as you cry, lifting you right from your feet, “I’m sorry. Shh, shh, I’m sorry, baby.”

The instant warmth of his mammoth chest and arms soothe the tumultuous pangs of anxiety coursing through you. Nuzzling in, the softness of his beard helps ease your nerves as you wrap two jelly arms around his neck. Andy’s big hands push up and down your back as he murmurs sweet nothings. Stomach tight, heart fluttering, face hot and wet with tears— you’re properly overwhelmed and overstimulated, and Andy could just eat it all up.

“You are so pretty when you cry, you know that? You did so good, baby. You took my fingers so well.”

You huff, disappointed, pushing your face deeper into his neck, “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, don’t do that,” he whispers, “It’s okay to not be ready.” He sits you back on your feet, pulling and adjusting your sweatshirt back over your chest. He pecks your lips quick before cupping your face in his hands, “It’s gonna make our first time together so much better.”

He pushes in to kiss you again, but stops, just as his lips brush yours. You get up on your tiptoes, wanting to meet his mouth but he’s quick, pulling away and stealing another cookie as he takes a step back.

“Thanks for the cookies, sweetheart.”

And just like that, with a wink and a smile, he’s moving out of the kitchen, the front door slamming behind him.

It might as well be the middle of a Texas summer heatwave in your bedroom. Exasperated, you throw the covers away from your body, skin slick with sweat as you wipe at your forehead. You’ve been like this all day— hot and irritated, stomach and mind jumbled, unable to focus on much of anything but thoughts of depravity. Pissed off at yourself more than anything; that you couldn’t take it all.

You sit up in the dark room, a sliver of moonlight spilling in from behind the thin curtains over your window. Snow flakes float down from the sky, glimmering, basking in the soft, natural light of the moon. Thoughts of Andy return. Reddened, full lips on your face, his soft, velvety, pink tongue forging its own path in the uncharted territory that is your mouth. His hands, big and warm, pinching and grabbing, pushing in deep.

Every muscle in your body clenches; achy cunt squeezing around nothing.

A soft light illuminates from the nightstand, followed by a buzz, a random alert from your twitter. But then, oh but then— Andy’s words come floating back to you. Better yet, let me give you my number. The sleek iphone is in your hand within seconds, fingers sliding over the keyboard, shooting off a text.

You 1:15am

You up?

Andy B. 1:17am

What’s a smart girl like you doing up so late on Christmas Eve?

An influx of air fills your lungs as your heart leaps.

You 1:17am

I can’t sleep…

Andy B. 1:18am

Want me to help with that?

You won’t be getting much sleep tho…

You 1:18am

That’s what I’m hoping…

Andy B. 1:19am

LOL, okay smarty pants, come wait for Santa with me, front door’s open

You’re already halfway down the stairs by the time his invite slides across the screen. You shove your feet into your Ugg boots at the bottom of the staircase and grab your jacket from the coat rack, pushing into it as you throw open the front door. Crossing your arms over your chest, you jog down the steps of the porch and start for Andy’s, an instant chill rattling right down to your bones.

Footprints in the snow follow you as you cross the lawn, a light crunch sounding underneath your feet, adding to the whoosh of a breeze that rips through the sleepy street. Once you’re on Andy’s porch, you reach for the door, pushing through the threshold and closing it softly with a click.

The house is dark, and quiet, a tiny point of light coming from the kitchen and the random ticks of a clock somewhere deep. Your jacket hits the floor, ugg boots thump against the wall as you kick them off, hand slides along the banister as you climb the stairs slow. Wide eyes adjust to the dark as you pad slowly down the long hall, passing by one closed door, and then another until you reach one that’s slightly ajar. Light spills out of it, splashing over your bare toes as you step right up to it, fingertips pushing against the door.

You find Andy propped up against his headboard, chest bare, legs spread— hard, pink cock sticking out of his boxers, gripped tight in his hand. He flips his eyes to yours as he strokes himself slow, pushing his hips into it, groaning at the sight of you.

The air in your body— the room— is sucked right out as you lock eyes. With a blink, your greedy eyes are on the move, down his hair smattered chest and chiseled stomach, over the dark blue boxer briefs, down his meaty thighs and toned calves, right to his curled toes and back up again.

You have to bite your lip to keep quiet.

“I’ve been,” the words out of his mouth come to a halt being replaced by a low grunt as he squeezes his cock, precum dribbling out of his slit, “Shit sweetheart, I’ve been thinking about you all day. Haven’t been able to cum since you left me all worked up.”

You bleat softly, blinking wild and nervous as you watch his hand slide up and down, palm and fingers sweeping over his mushroom head to collect the droplets of his arousal to push it down his shaft.

“Well, come on. Come touch me.”

It’s a good thing your feet aren’t as stupid as your brain, or else you’d still be standing in place. Before you can get your mind to catch up, you're pulling yourself towards the edge of the bed, falling forward, catching yourself with your hands. Crawling between his legs, your tank top hangs low, Andy’s eyes peering down your cleavage before you sit on your knees— hands trembling.

He reaches for you, grabbing your wrist gently, pulling your hand towards his towering cock. Guiding you slow, he wraps your hand around him, his hips jerking soft at the warmth of your palm and pushes your hand down to his base, before dragging it up to the tip. He helps you for a few more strokes, twisting your hand around him, guiding your fingers up over his cock head and then back down, squeezing your hand to apply a gentle pressure.

“That’s right, baby—ah—” he hisses, jutting his hips up into your hand, “Shit.”

You continue to pump him after his hand falls away, relishing in the small noises that sound from him— sending your heart soaring. His hips pulse into your hand, eyes fluttering as more cum bubbles out, slipping and sliding over your fingers. Andy reaches for the lamp on the nightstand, turning it out, covering the room in darkness except for the moon.

He’s beautiful like this. Chest tight and shuddering with each breath, dark eyelashes splayed over fair skin, a chorus of sweet, small little whines and praise pouring from him. A soft pink blush unfurling over his broad chest, creeping up his neck.

“Fuck baby,” breathless and strained, “You’re a fuckin’ pro already. My smart little girl.” You suck your bottom lip into your mouth but still can’t help the smile that tugs at the corners, “Oh, you like that?” Andy smiles lazily, “You like being my smart little girl?”

Hot lips are on yours before you can even form your mouth to answer. Flipped onto your back, strong hips digging into yours, his cock pushing against your covered clit and slit as he kisses you hard. It takes your breath away.

You’d always thought you’d be awkward, stiff and unknowing, once you finally reached this moment— nothing but teeth and elbows and knees in all the wrong places— but, there’s a natural instinct coming into play. You’re lost, but somehow intricately aware. Fingers creep up his biceps and curl around his shoulder blades, digging in as your hips push back into his. Mouth leans into the feverish kisses, tongue sliding with his.

Colossal hands push into your shorts, pushing them down before his feet knock them off the rest of the way. Your top is rucked up, up over your breasts, exposing more brown skin, two soft, jiggling mounds, two piqued nipples soon sucked into a warm, wet mouth. A long middle finger toys with your clit, rubbing circles before more fingers join, slipping through slick and skin as they play.

“Tell me,” hot, whispered words sting in your ear, “Tell me you like being my smart girl.”

Hips dig into yours once more, hard cock pushing against your sensitive nub, then pressing at your opening. You grab the back of his neck, moaning hard and loud as electricity bounces through your veins, “Andy—” you squeak, “I like—”

A sharp cry breaks through the words as Andy pushes hard, spearing you for the very first time. Pressure and pain courses through you, body going tight and stiff as he sinks deeper and deeper, large palms on your cheeks, forehead to yours, warm breaths and ragged, choked grunts washing over your face.

Hard kisses— one, two, three— on your lips as he holds your face, his eyes closed, mouth hanging as he sinks, sinks, sinks until you’ve taken him all. Your head is empty. Devoid of any real, coherent thoughts, unable to focus on any one thing; well, nothing other than the fullness.

“Tell me you like being my smart girl.” Andy rasps, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth, trying to keep himself together. He shifts, hips pulling away from yours, cock dragging out, “Come on baby, tell me you like it.”

Andy pushes his hips, pushes back into you, but real gentle and smooth, knowing you’re teetering— overwhelmed in more ways than one, a feeling that can turn south on a dime. So, he keeps his hands on your face, thumbs rubbing soft circles. He opens his eyes, giving you something to focus on as he moves gently— so, so gently. Keeping you present.

“Use those words, sweet girl. Talk to me.”

Water fills your eyes as you grip, nails biting into the meat of his sides as he fucks you slow and sweet. Heat burns through you, tiny sounds, choked sobs scratch at the back of your throat, but it’s good— feels so good. Your legs push up and around his waist, hands start to snake up his sinewy back, feeling the muscles flex and tighten as he makes you a woman— makes you his.

Safe. Warm. Cocooned between his heavy body and the light mattress. Hips rolling, pushing and pulling. Hot breath over hot skin. Quick, jumbled words, thick and ripe with a heady lust. You like being his smart girl. Gripping fingers, around your face, your wrists, your tits, hips, thighs, ankles— everywhere you could possibly imagine.

Andy flips you over suddenly, his back now pressed into the mattress as you lay on top of him. He positions you right where he wants you— sitting you up straight, positioning your hands against his brawny chest. He encases your waist with those massive hands, squeezing tight before the pads of his fingers drag along your thighs as you wiggle, getting used to the new position.

“Push up— that’s right, sweetheart,” he sighs softly as you follow his direction, “Now sit back down— slowly, baby, go slow.” His head falls back on the pillows as he exhales, a groan trembling through his chest, “God, yeah babe. Good girl. Up and down, up and down.”

Your fingers push through the tuft of soft, dark hair covering his chest as you ride him, lifting and sitting, rolling and bucking as you get a hang of it— catch a feel— your clit rubbing against his taut skin. You feel Andy trying to keep his composure, feel him trying to restrain himself, his hips. Watch his eyes flutter and close as his mouth goes slack again as he pushes up into you, meeting your increasingly greedy thrusts downward.

“I’m your smart girl,” you whisper, heart beating hard and fast in your chest as your confidence grows, “I’ve always wanted to be your smart girl.”

He jams up into you, much harder than anything you’ve felt so far.

A sharp yelp cracks into the silence and he grabs your wrists, runs his hands up your arms, before he cups your face, “Shhh, shhh, shhh, I’m sorry baby. I didn’t know it was gonna sound so sweet,” he laughs, “God, I fucking love hearing you say that.”

He drops a hand back to your chest, grabbing a handful of your tit, toying with your nipple, pinching and pulling. His other hand wraps around your hip again, helping to pull you forward, as he thrusts soft. You don’t move; you just let him fuck up into you, grab his hands and thread your fingers with his as you bounce.

Thrusts get faster; hips hurried, jabbing. Wet rasps fill the room, octaves soaring. You fall forward a little, unclasping his hands to catch yourself against his chest. Andy’s hands are back around your waist and hips as you fuck down onto him, chasing that little, dull ache in the pit of your stomach that grows with each push of his hips.

Andy has two full handfuls of your ass, growling loud, hips faltering— losing control as he forces you down on him. You take each hard thrust, tears spilling down your cheeks, pleasure and pain all wrapped up into one. Sweat and heat crawls along your skin, stomach goes tight, throat dries. You dig your fingers into his chest as your toes curl, whimpering and crying out, choking as the pressure builds.

You tighten— freeze quick, gasp hard as a white hot orgasm floods your veins, like a molten lava, oozing, spreading. Flattening yourself to Andy’s chest, you let him wrap his arms around your back and hold you tight as he fucks you through it. The meat of his thighs slapping against yours, your cunt sounding wet and filthy, squelching and convulsing as you come.

There’s another heat, quick and dense, filling you as Andy’s grunts grow deeper. His grip on your ass tightens as he spurts— your used cunt coaxing long, hot ribbons of white silk from his sensitive, red cock head. He falls out of you, dick wet and hard, pushing through your ass cheeks as his hips still churn out of habit and inherent instinct.

Hands are on your head, fingers wiping at your face and forehead, pushing hair away. You’re embarrassed— not sure why— and nuzzle into his neck, hiding your face as you tuck your hands into your chest protectively. Another laugh sounds from him, vibrates through you, as he kisses your forehead and rubs his bearded cheek against your face.

“You’re a sweet girl,” honeyed, his voice, smooth and sweet, slow drags of his hands up and down your back lulling you, calming you, suddenly nervous, “My sweet, smart little baby. You okay?” you nod, but it isn’t good enough, “Tell me.”

“I’m okay.” You sniffle, eyelashes clumped, cheeks wet, lips swollen and red.

You nuzzle into him more, taking a deep breath as you listen to his heartbeat. Another silence fills the room, Andy’s breaths soon turn deep, slow and rhythmic, his hands and fingers coming to a slow stop but still splayed out over your back. A quick press of your lips against his neck makes him shift, but doesn’t wake him. You press another on his chin before you settle down into him once more, watching as snow starts to fall again.

There’s a Christmas present sitting at the edge of the bed when you wake the next morning, your name scrawled out on the name tag. You tear into it, pulling out a small white box, the name LELO embossed over the top. Eyebrows firmly furrowed, you turn it over in your hand, mouth falling open as you read the description and eye the two twenty karat gold Ben Wa beads.

Andy appears in the doorway, a steaming cup in his hand, a smile on his face, “Merry Christmas. Santa came for you, huh?”

“Merry Christmas,” you glance away, “I don’t have anything for you.”

“That’s okay,” he shrugs, “I was a bit presumptuous after our little rendezvous in the kitchen— ordered those from Amazon yesterday.” He pads towards you, leaning down to kiss you quick before he hands you the hot mug, “Are you okay?”

A nervous giggle escapes through your lips, your head falling as you cover your mouth with your hand, “Mmhmm.”

Andy tips your head back upwards, pushing his index finger underneath your chin, smiling again before he kisses you all sweet and soft and slow, making you go all stupid and gooey again.

“What are these for?” You ask after he pulls away a few moments later.

His eyes twinkle in the sunlight as he winks, “Training. Now, lay back and spread your legs for daddy, little one.”

[olivyh]

TWST FAMILY HCS PT2) Savanaclaw and Octavinelle

Feel free to tack on your own Hc’s too!!! I love reading what other people think and how their view of the characters and of Twisted Wonderland in general change from person to person!!!

Savanaclaw:

Leona:

-Farena: We already know Leona describes his brother as being carefree and relaxed, but deep under that I think he’s a deeply intelligent man (how can you run a kingdom and be stupid?). He tries his best to make time in his schedule for his wife and child, and even try to get bonding tike with his younger brother (which never works out well). He tries to teach Cheka as much as he can, often giving him little life lessons while they play games. He’s a very kind and straightforward man, often being blunt when he doesn’t mean to. He stands a little taller than Leona, with Orange hair similar to Chekas. He keeps his hair tied out of his face as much as he can.

-Sister-in-law Kingscholar: A strong and confident woman, not afraid to speak her mind when she wants to. She’s blunt and she’d let you know about it. She’s also very kind in her own way, often dragging Leona off and trying to have serious talks with him, which he appreciates but doesn’t show. She adores Cheka and often spoils him without meaning to, and will spoil Leona too (but indirectly in a way similar to Ace’s father’s). Also very intelligent and good at reading people. I think she stands a little shorter than Leona, but she holds herself higher, and he slouches, so it looks as if they’re the same height. She has long yellow hair (again, similar to the ends of Cheka’s) that she often ties back as well.

-Cheka: We already know him, so heres a few Hcs!: He sometimes asks his mother to do his hair the same way as Leona’s, and tries to do everything like him (such as standing like him, trying to deepen his voice to sound like him, throwing sand at various objects in the castle yelling “King’s Roar!!”)

Ruggie:

-Grandma Bucchi: As he said himself, a stern and prideful woman. I think she’d be on the stricter side, having to teach Ruggie how to survive rather than him having to face those hard truths alone. She likely stands a lot shorter, likely 5’0 (sorry to anyone whos that height), than most other beastwomen. She’s a lot physically stronger than she looks, often still trying to pick Ruggie up at his age. She tries to spoil him when she can, trying to make him relax after working and taking over the household chores (which he declines, still cleaning up when she’s not looking- which earns him a smack to the head with a broom). She’s also a prankster, quietly jumping out from corners and scaring Ruggie or one of the other children. I think she feels a lot of regret over seeing Ruggie grow up so fast in the environment that he had, but she’s the proudest grandma ever. Whenever he sends pictures back she boasts to everyone at home (“See that! That’s my grandson’s school! See that there! He plays magift and is one of the best on the team! Look there! He’s got those nice ceremony robes!”), and even boasts about him with what little baby pictures they have (“See him walking at such a young age? Isn’t he so strong?”) Will never stop talking about her grandson, ever.

-Neighborhood kids: I think they’re like little siblings to Ruggie, so I’m adding them. They try to tale over what Ruggie did when he was at home, helping people fix up their houses or entertaining the baby hyenas when their mothers have other things to do. They also leave gifts to Ruggie when he comes back, between little dolls they made, bracelets they thought he’d like, charms, or pretty rocks and leaves. He keeps all of the gifts, no matter how small.

-His mom (bc the poor woman deserves a spot)(Poor meaning unfortunate)(The more i think abt it, both. It means both. Bad time?): I think she looked a lot like him, but with brighter blue eyes than his. She was definitely a prankster at heart, leaving clever traps behind for any poor soul to get stuck in. She was a very hardworker much like her son, taking on any task she could find to help out her mother. I think she’d try to leave as much behind for Ruggie as she could, which would include little notes and scribbles about how she was feeling throughout her pregnancy and how excited she was for him. Ruggie also kept all of those safe and sound, in a small box he keeps in the corner of his room.

(Can you guess who my fav chara is?)

Jack:

-Grandma & Grandpa Howl: A very loving couple, who always make time out of their schedule for their grandchildren, whether it be for school events, emergencies, or if any one of them want to come by and talk. They met when Grandpa Howl got lost and wandered by Grandma Howl’s family’s cabin (which happens to be the one they, and the rest of the family, still live in to this day) and he spent the night. I think they fell in love at first sight :’)

-Mama Howl: A very soft and loving beastwoman who is willing to sacrifice anything for her children. She is often strict, and sometimes a chatterbox, but she always reminds her children to stay safe and that she loves them. She always pats their head or cheek when she walks by, even if she has to reach a little to plant a kiss on Jack’s forehead. I think her hair would be a little darker grey, and she’d definitely be a little more muscular and taller, reaching six ft one when standing straight up. She’d have the same yellow eyes as Jack, and her hair would be cropped shorter due to her still moving around a lot.

-Papa Howl: Very similar to Jack personality and appearance wise. He stands an inch or two shorter than Jack, but is still very muscular due to working around the house and in the woods (chopping wood for the campfire, dragging around tools, carrying three wolf pups at a time in his younger days (only one now wants to be carried, which hurts the poor man’s heart a bit)

-Baby brother Howl: Huffy and a little moody, but a hard worker even if he complains while doing it most of the time. That’s often with his parents, but when he does something with Jack he doesn’t complain a bit. He’s very attached to his older brother, looking up to him for his strength and strong morals. He often compares him to superheroes and star athletes in his mind, but sometimes it slips out, resulting in one very embarrassed wolf boy and another very flattered wolf boy, ignore their wagging tails, it means nothing. I think he stands pretty tall for a preteen, around 5’7-5’8 and growing taller by the day. Same hair and eye color as Jack. Acts like he doesn’t like to play games with his younger sister but will never turn down a game of tag.

-Baby sister Howl: An absolute sweetheart. She just wants the best for her family and will do whatever she can to make what they want happen. Jack is hungry? Good thing she made her special dessert (it’s a poptart with whipped cream messily piled on top with sprinkles and literal sugar cubed wedged in it, but don’t tell her you don’t like it, please she’d actually bawl). Her other older brother is tired? She can get him extra blankets! Mama needs help cleaning? She can mop (she really just throws water on the floor and praises herself for a job well done). Papa need to cut wood? She can- no, she can’t. Please don’t give her an axe. She’ll cheer him from the sidelines with a song she made up just for him instead! She has their mother’s grey hair and father’s dark brown eyes, and loves to do her hair like the princesses she sees on Tv! (Yes, Jack will wear a too-small dress and Tiara if his sister wants to play princess. No, he will not let anyone take pictures.)

Octavinelle:

Tweels:

-Mama Leech: At first glance, a very kind woman with soft eyes. Willing to open her arms to anyone who might need help. Then, a terrifying grin similar to Floyd’s as that poor unfortunate soul realizes the trap they’d been thrown in. She’s very kind and patient towards both her boys and husband, as well as their friends (even of she is on guard near their friends, throwing a few hollow threats to see if it’d scare them away)(She doesn’t like to share her babies). She dotes on the tweels as much as possible, indulging im whatever curiosity they may have. Floyd wants to know what going through riptide is like? They leave tomorrow to find one. Jade wants to know more about life on land? She’ll find as many books as possible and ask (threaten) people for their land belongings. She knows when too far is too far though, and is very skilled at reeling the boys back in if they get to that point. Will always call them her little guppies, no matter how big they get. I think she’d have a teal bob on top, with the underside of her hair being black (which makes her hair look color changing when she swims). Im her human form shes only a few inches shorter than her boys, ranging around the same as Jack’s mother.

-Papa Leech: The definition of old Hollywood New York mob boss. Strict and blunt about his interests and problems, and not afraid to cause any problems if provoked. When the tweels were younger and they’d wrestle and bite at him, he’d throw them off him easily, telling them they need to work to beat him, even if he was impressed by their teamwork at first. Will die to protect his family, and was likely put in that position many times in the past due to his uh… business. He values his wife and children more than anything, and has done everything in his power in the past to protect them from harm. When they went to NRC at first, he felt defeated and almost wanted to beg them to stay safe with him (not that his pride would allow it).(Both the tweels can see through his facade easily)

Azul:

-Grandma ‘grotto: A very stern and prim octomermaid. What she says goes in the Ashengrotto house, and she often catches herself making unnecessary comments. She does apologize. Also a very loving grandmother towards Azul, often babying him whenever possible (doing the classic “you’re not eating enough here take some more” grandma move)(She will smooch his face whenever possible when there are no business clients nearby). Tries to boost his confidence since she knew about what was happening to him (Chances are she went through the same thing- being an octomer as well) and dod her best to protect him and make him happy. She taught him how to write with his tentacles and encouraged him to do his best in everything he does.

-Mama ‘grotto: Another businesslady in the front absolute softie in the back situation. Adores her son and is incredibly proud of how far he’s come.I think she looks identical to Azul, but more heavyset and, of course, female. She coddled Azul as much as possible, which worked out well with baby Azul’s clingy nature. She had no shame in walking around with the little guy stuck to her (unless he smacked a tentacle to her face when she was working on her restaurant), and made sure everyone knew what a good boy he was. She would show pictures to everyone (similar to Ruggie’s grandma), but respects his wishes in wanting to hide pictures of his past. She still shows anyone who asks pictures of him at NRC (compliments to the twins, who send her updates when her son is busy), and will tell everyone how smart he is and how much he’s grown.

-Step-Papa grotto: A very professional man in every aspect of his life, which stretches to his relationship with his stepson. When he learns about the contracts and Azuls UM, he’s over the moon with how happy he is. He swam around with a little more pep than usual, flicking his tail and flaring out his fins the more and more Azul told him. He helps him reword and format his contracts to his advantage, and is always willing to talk with him about Mostro Lounge or (on rare occasion) some memories before Step papa Ashengrotto met Mama Ashengrotto (which always make him happy that Azul trusts him enough). I think he’d be a pretty generic looking Mer, with an average looking tail and such

[sunflowervolvimp3]

you’re someone i just want around: VIII

Like wolves we've run wild

Let passion get too much

And let ourselves get burned by the fire

We're walking on wire

But nothing feels higher

Then when I see that look in your eyes

Small Talk, Niall Horan

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

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

word count: 30k

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

Harry is aware that he has a taste for excess. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mr. Styles!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

///

A package arrives the next afternoon.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Of course, that’s not the case.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?  Why not?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I figured that much out, thanks.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Everything makes you horny.”

“—but I’m still a gentleman.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks, Prince Charming.”

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

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Harry!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Never, if I have any say in it.”

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

“Bite me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry, who bought you that dress?”

“That doesn’t count—”

“And who do you call ‘daddy’?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[keity-devil]

Someone said that wants an explanation and a part 2. * @breathlessmorro, of course * And here it is!

And I think, will be a part 3 if you guys want. Or not. I don't see why it should be a part 3. But if you guys see why, said to know.

Enjoy!

--

Powers, My Love? - Part 2.

--

It was a quiet afternoon for the Wind Master, who was enjoying his cup of hot black coffee. He had no plans for today but to enjoy the peace of the day. After a while, the doorbell rang. He looked in the doorway, there was a courier with something in his hand, a package. He opened them.

"Hello." The courier spoke first when the door opened. "Morro Wu?"

"Yes?"

"This package is for you." He handed him a medium-sized box.

"A package? But I didn't order anything. I think you got the wrong address and person."

"Is not wrong, sir. I'm at the right address, and you're Morro Wu. The package is predestined for you. Please sign here." He handed the signature sheets and a blue pen.

"Okay" He had signed and taken the mysterious package. "Whose is it from?"

"I don't know. Have a nice day."

The brunette was confused, with big questions, but he didn't insist on the conversation, the courier was already leaving. He closed the door, heading to the kitchen table. Morro set the package on the table, just looking at it. He was skeptical. Begun to stare. He wondered who would have sent him this package. He couldn't be his father, he'd let him know, and if he was, he'd put a flower on it. Lloyd had no choice, he always announced it or he came personally to give it to him. Jay not so much, Cole no. And the rest, not either.

"What do you have there?" Kai asked, entering the landscape after taking a morning shower. Morro watched as a few drops of water fell from some parts of his boyfriend's hair.

"I-it's.. Uh, Ahem. I have no idea." He moves his eyes to the package. "A courier came with it. He didn't tell me who he was from, because he said 'he doesn't know'. What courier doesn't know who he gets a package from?!"

"Are you going to open it?" Ignore his boyfriend's frustration.

Morro looked at the package. "I guess so. Scissors."

"Now. Here you go."

"Thank you very much, my love."

He opened the box. Morro was shocked. Kai was surprised.

An old picture of a village that no longer exists these days. Some withered, even dead flowers thrown in the box. A necklace with a bizarre stone, as if torn in half, but looked intact.

"Wait... I know that." Kai said, taking the picture of the village.

"What?" Morro said to him in pure fear. Memories appearing.

"My sister and I spent our childhood here in the summer. Till an uncontrollable tornado ruined everything.

"An... uncontrollable tornado?" His hands began to tremble. "Somehow.. the village was called Devika..?"

"Yes." The pieces were sticking together. "Morro... how do you know the name of the village?" A puzzle had begun to appear in his mind.

"Long story.."

"Say." He was serious. No one but his family knew about that village, no one who remembered that event that marked the village, its inhabitants and visitors.

"Kai, I'd rather not talk about it.."

"I do. I'm listening."

Morro knew he couldn't keep that moment under the rug for too long, it was time for the hidden dust to come to the surface. And Kai wasn't going to leave him alone with this.

- Past -

Morro had begun to wander through the modest house where he and Wu, his father, lived. The boy walked slowly into the meditation room, next to his father.

"Hey, Dad..." He had begun.

"Yes son?"

"Can I take a little walk outside?" He didn't want to say where on the outside.

"By the village do you mean?" Wu knew he wanted to go there. It wouldn't be the first time he'd wanted that.

"..Yes.. ... can I? I promise I won't stay long and I'll take care!"

"Of course. But come before dinner."

"Thank you very much! I promise I will!"

The wind was blowing slowly.

Steps tearing dead leaves off the ground.

Devika village seen in the distance.

Steps of a curious young man running merrily towards him.

Morro watched children smaller than him try to free their kite from the tree. The tree was too tall for him, so he had an idea. His hands had created a gentle wind that had brought down the kite. The children looked him in the eye with fear. Morro just stared at them, smiling confused, ashamed, anxious.

"Uh... your kite." He handed them the kite.

"Monster!"  They had screamed, shouting at the rest of the villagers. The people of this quiet, peaceful village did not know about elemental powers or what they were. It was something new and scary for them. What they had heard of them, was only legends of evil.

Morro looked at them slightly confused and afraid. "No, no I'm not a monster. Why do you say that?" Two steps back.

"S-stay away from us!!" The children had screamed, running to their parents, who had already run away from him. Their father held out a weapon in front of Morro, who let the kite fly from his frightened fingers. The weapon is closer to his face.

His emotions were not stable. Powers closely connected with them. A tornado is created behind him, which burns the village, destroying it, without any injury to his conscience.

The wind had calmed down a little. Morro watched with tears in his eyes the disaster he had created. "I-I didn't want to... I didn't want to- "

"Monster!!"

The weapon gets closer, accompanied by others.

A little black short haired girl was nearing a new tornado.

"Sis!" The girl's older brother ran to her and took his sister in his protective arms. The boy looked for the lying boy, how was crying, trembling, screaming softly on the ground. The wind was blowing uncontrollably, creating another dangerous tornado.

Morro managed to calm down, preventing a second tragedy. He got up from the floor trembling, falling at the first attempts. When he managed to stand, a weapon was about to touch his face. He thrown it into a tree, with the man too.

Tears slip down. "I'm..I'm sorry...!" Run.

------

Wu watered some plants planted in front of the house by him and his son. The silence was golden, with only fine chirps in the background. His fine hearing heard footsteps running and sounds of crying coming at him. His gaze slid in the opposite direction to his house.

"Morro?" He said softly. After seeing tears and.. "Morro!" The boy stumbles, falling into Wu's arms. "Hey, hey. Calm down, shh. What happened?"

"Take my Powers!! Take them from me!! I don't want them!!! I'm Just a Danger!!! Take them!! Take them..!!" He was crying badly in front of his father, screaming in pain. Tears flowing like streams from his red eyes.

Wu didn't understand what had happened. He took him lightly in his arms, now Morro's face sunk into Wu's white clothes, slowly soaking in bitter tears.

Wu calmly told him to calm down, but Morro cried even more, trembling and squeezing his father's clothes. The boy thought he had been crying there for hours, but it was only twenty minutes. Morro slowly wiped away his tears, Wu looking at him worriedly.

"Morro..?"

"Take my powers... take them from me... take them!"

"I can't take your powers, son..."

"Why not?! I'm a danger! A Monster!!"

"You're not a monster." He put Morro's head on his lap, gently stroking the black hair. "You're not... You're Morro. My dear and sweet son, that I love him so much and it's not what people think he is."

"I created a tornado... Dad.. I hurt people! I destroyed a village!"

"Because you still can't control your emotions well. They affect your powers." Wu wiped away his son tears. "I'll help you control them. Forget about this event, it's over. Yes?" He took Morro's face in his hands. "You're not a monster." He kissed his nose. "Yes?" He smiled warmly.

"Yes..." Morro smiled, then took him in his arms, crying again...

- Present -

"Oh-oh..." Kai had begun to stare at him. "You were..." Now it made sense. The boy who had seen him then.. was Morro. He created that tornado, he destroyed the Devika village.

"Yes.. Yes I was." It felt horrible. Old feelings coming back, memories too.

"How could I forget this obvious detail?"

"You were small.."

"So do you. And yet you haven't forgotten."

"I think I gave your sister nightmares. Oh God... I was going to catch her in the second tornado."

"The truth is, yes. ... She had a few."

"I'm a monster.. not a joke." He put a hand through his hair, looking tired, sad and guilty.

"Hey, it's okay. And you're NOT a Monster. Stop with that."

"Be serious, Kai. I was going to take the air off those Garmadon generals! To Kill them."

"Finish! Look how far you've come!!" He took Morro's hands in his. "You have a family that adores you. A father who helped you control your powers and took you in his arms. A cousin who- is crazy about candy and sugar. Friends, and me!"

"Kai..."

The fiery one kisses his lover's hands. "I love you very much, and I don't want you to think you're a monster at all. What happened in Devika village remains in Devika village." He looked at the necklace in the box. He took it. "And it belongs to you."

"What?"

Kai took it, walking behind Morro, tying him the necklace. "I remember... after you run, you dropped a necklace." He walked to a drawer, from which he pulled out a tiny box. "A necklace that had a stone that shattered in two." Out of the box, came the missing half of the stone. "Which belongs to you."

"Did you.. did you keep it? Neither.. nor did I realize that I just lost it.. only after my father noticed. I remember he said it belonged to my grandfather.. the first Master of the Wind. After he gave it to my mother, after... me."

Kai managed to glue the two pieces of stone together. They were glued together like two perfect puzzle pieces.

"And now, it's back to you."

"It is.."

"Do you miss them?"

"Hm? Oh.. I never met them.. Dad said Garmadon was a good friend of my grandfather.. and my mother... I don't know anything about her. She died shortly after I was born."

"Sorry for the lost.. I'm sure they're proud of how far you've come and will go."

"Yeah... I think so, too."

[mythicaldemigoddess-of-deltarune]

Crossover Yandere Delta Warriors And Kris’s Three Souls

-----------------------------

Credit for Steven Universe Series goes to Rebecca Sugar

Credit for Deltarune & Undertale goes to Toby Fox

Credit for Hazbin Hotel & Helluva Boss goes to Vivienne “Vivziepop” Medrano & Spindlehorse

Credit for Yandere Simulator goes to YandereDev

------------------------

I do plan to post this drawing at the other place I post fan art at.

also the reason why Ayano has different color eyes,

has to do with the Genocide Route, Neutral Route and True Pacifist Route of Yandere Simulator.

like depending how we play, if we go full Geno-Route

our eyes, well Ayano’s eyes....become Red.

but if we befriend a rival and help other students, and not kill anyone in yandere simulator.....

Ayano’s eyes will become blue.

why Sans is wearing Steven Universe’s clothes and Pink Steven being right next to him should be obvious.

it has to do with Sans and Steven being one in the same.

and when the Human Half of Steven died, he was reborn as Sans

but the gem half that makes “Pink-Steven” reforms but Human-Steven is not close by and most likely left to maybe to go live with his new family, his new Dad that speaks in hands and his new little brother Papyrus.

the dark purple soul belongs to Knight, the light turquoise blue soul belongs to Kris, and the Red Soul belongs to the Player.

I believe that before the Player’s Red Soul ends up in Deltarune (in Chapter 1), the Knight who is the Dark Purple Soul had made Kris’s life miserable by pulling dark pranks on others, even if Kris could pull some pranks....they would not willingly cross the line, that would be the Knight’s doing.

yeah I have a theory that the Knight had done dark pranks by making Kris do them and making everyone believe it was Kris, while technically it was but at the same time it was against Kris’s will.

think about it, we never did any of those dark pranks that those in Deltarune mention.

so it makes sense that it is the work of the Knight, who’s soul has been controlling Kris before we got there.

and the only time Knight does take control,

is when they are about to do something sneaky and they rip our soul from Kris’s body and the reason why Kris doesn’t fight back is because the Knight is much stronger than them.

it is possible that the only time we are stronger than the Knight, is during the day time in the Lightner’s World and when we are in the Dark World.

but once Nighttime happens, the Knight has the power to control Kris and pull us the Players.

so if this is true, this means that Kris has two souls in them trying to fight for control.....one being the villain known as the “Knight”

and the other being us the Player, the Red Soul.

I see that as fan headcanon.

in theory if the Crystal Gems and Connie, didn’t know that Steven died and became Sans.....

like it happen some time after the end of Steven Universe Future.

Sans might have Alphys help with that, by cloning a homunculus steven body, that the Pink-Steven will be put in and make it so that no one knows Steven had died and became a Magical Talking Skeleton.

well that could be one way to keep the Crystal Gems, Connie, Greg and everyone else from Beach City from finding out what happen to Steven....if he had died off-screen and was brought back to life by Gaster as Sans.

I would like to see a crossover fan art with the meme

Gaster: *hugging Sans* stay away from my Son. 

Greg Universe: but he’s my Son!!

Gaster:.........Stay Away From YOUR Ex-Son......who is now MY Son.

even if we love Steven Universe

(and some of us do love Steven Universe Future)

at least we now know now that the Steven Universe Future,

was NOT the start of Steven’s problems......it was just the boiling point.         

Greg was not a great dad, something we should of seen from the start of the first Season but couldn’t.

I plan to re-watch the first series of Steven Universe, to really watch it

and notice the stuff that we never truly notice before....

like even if the Crystal Gems did make some mistakes with how they treated Steven most of the time during his childhood.

and Amethyst did start to become a better big sister to Steven,

like with the whole finding out his Mom is Pink Diamond.

even if not a lot of fans liked Steven Universe Future, because of different reasons....

but we have to acknowledge the problem Steven was having didn’t start in the Steven Universe Future.....it started in the first series.

even if Steven had his good days, he did end up with trauma and he didn’t see a doctor until Steven Universe Future....

which you can thank his “Ex-Dad Greg” for that.

most families have excuses for not being able to go to a doctor.

after becoming rich, Greg could of hired Steven a tutor

and send him to school.....though I don’t think you have to be rich to do that.....at least I don’t think so.

but we can’t place the blame on Steven, even if his Human and Gem Family loves him dearly....

it doesn’t help that Greg and Connie form a “Human Beings Club”

kind of excluding Steven and making him feel a type of negative emotion.

I believe what Steven was feeling when he also says “human beings.”

was a type of negative feeling, but like still wanting to be included in the human bonding that his Dad and Best Friend (Future Girlfriend) were having.

Greg was a bit disappointing in the episode where he took Steven to where his parents lived.....

just when Steven was becoming more better and even enjoyed finding out about his Dad’s past.....Greg only made things worse again,

when he couldn’t understand why his own son was upset with him.

 there might of been more to the story of Greg’s Parents than what Greg told so far.....it is possible that one of Greg’s parents had very sensitive hearing and couldn’t handle really loud music.

and Greg could of broke that rule many times and that is why his parents don’t allow any music in the house.

even if that episode tried to play that Greg was a victim, it might not be 100% true.....

yes Pink’s punishments were unjust at times, but we have to remember how bad she was before she given Earth.

so most of her punishments were just, meaning she deserved them.

while other times she didn’t deserve them at all.

the problem might be that both Greg’s Parents

and Blue & Yellow Diamond, would punish Greg and Pink even at times when they didn’t deserve it.....

but it could be that before they did start punishing them,

they let them get away with so much and one point both of them crossed a line that it became too much for Greg’s Parents and even Yellow & Blue, and they had no choice but to ground them

to Greg’s Room and Pink’s Tower.

once again the problem with Steven

didn’t start in Steven Universe Future,

it started at the very beginning in Steven Universe.

the the boiling point maybe started in the Steven Universe Movie,

then the breaking point started in the Steven Universe Future.

not all fans of Steven Universe, have to like Steven Universe Future.

I happen to love Steven Universe, Steven Universe Future and the Movie.

but we have to try to come to terms that the problems Steven was having, didn’t start in Steven Universe Future.

it started in Steven Universe, and even if not a lot of fans will accept that.....well it is their choice, and they should accept it by their own free will to.

I do plan to re-watch the first series to see if Steven had more than one bad experience which would of been one of the first problems he had before his breaking point in Steven Universe Future.

I know at first I thought of the Steven Universe Future

as the time he had his boiling point, but in correction it would be his breaking point that would get worse over time.

the boiling point would be the first stage, which would start in Steven Universe Future.....when more of his mother’s past misdeeds would come to light.

 the breaking point would slowly consume and get stronger for Steven, to the point where he would end up becoming Monster-Steven.

Steven becomes a gem monster because of all the negative emotions,

he only gets better once everyone realize what they didn’t do for him.

being there for him when he needs it.

at times we could pretend that everything is fine for others,

like acting like we are only a little sad but doing pretty okay now.

but that might not be for the best....even if we might think it is.

          Sans might be a future version of Steven,

who had gotten better and learned from his past, but could still hold on to some form of bitter memories.

like what if the one calling Connie, when Steven proposed to her...

wasn’t Connie’s Mom but was a Boy that Connie was Dating.

and she still liked Steven, but couldn’t bring herself to tell Steven.

well hopefully that isn’t true and that was just Connie’s Mom.

we know that a lot of fans were worried for their ship.

well the Sadie and Lars Ship had became the Friend Zone Ship.

meaning it went from “I Ship It” to “I Bud It”

Shep seems nice though, when I did first see them on the opening I didn’t know if they were a boy or a girl.....

but it turns out they are nonbinary, so it’s nice that the episode where they officially appeared on (as well as their bio.) had confirmed Shep’s identity.

I think I still need to figure out the whole Gyno-Agender

or Feminine-Nonbinary thing.....

I wonder how many fans of both Yandere Simulator and Undertale/Deltarune.....

would think that Fun-Girl from Yandere Simulator,

reminds them of Gaster....?

well Fun-Girl does remind me of Gaster, it be nice if both games did canon crossovers.

well there is that Yanderetale,

but maybe that is only Semi-Canon.....maybe?

there is another crossover drawing I did, that has to do with Undertale/Deltarune and even another game....

but I will wait until tomorrow to post it.

hope some of you like this drawing.

I wonder if it be weird to Crossover ship Sans x Collin....?  

I will think about it, but it might leave me a little sheepish. lol       

[hannigramficrecs]

A/B/O

The One That Got Away by whatacunningboy [words: 4,694]

Hannibal Lecter had this macabre air to his name. Everyone knew who he was and in what he specialized in—assassination was his trade and no one questioned it. He could make anyone disappear with a simple trick or two. He never missed a target, he was quiet, and swift. Yet, he missed the biggest target of all.

Ethics & Aesthetics by fragile-teacup [words: 106,330]

Pride and Prejudice omegaverse AU

Beginning and Ending by LittleUggie [words: 36,888]

19 year old Will gets cornered in an alley right before his first heat. Hannibal steps into help him out and decides he wants to keep the young omega. Will eventually comes around, against his better judgement. Let the mutual manipulation and power games begin.

I Could Just Eat You Up by orphan_account [words: 32,604] 

Hannibal breeds Will. A love story in bodily fluids.

Sirens Wail by Breakmybones [words: 48,495]

Will has been an Omega since his eighteenth birthday. He's been a Beta since his twenty-third. Finding a mate was never a priority - staying out of the spotlight and keeping his secret was. Enter Hannibal: dark, dangerous and keeping secrets of his own, Will knows what he is from the beginning, but he's more interested in understanding the beast than slaying it.

Bright Hair About The Bone by MissDisoriental [words: 484,669] 

In a world where omegas are little more than trophies to be bought and sold, Will Graham has done the unthinkable by escaping a forced bonding. Already in high demand as a profiler, Will's determined to find freedom on his own terms.For Hannibal Lecter the outlook is far more straightforward: a slow, systematic seduction of the most uniquely captivating omega he's ever encountered.As the shadow of a new and terrifying serial killer falls over Baltimore, the stage is set to redefine all accepted meanings of passion, temptation, horror and beauty – and to discover the ecstasy of a genuine love crime.

Not Interested by Watermelonsmellinfellon [words: 64,333] 

Will Graham, an Omega of forty-four years, finally finds himself interested in an Alpha. The only problem... that Alpha is not interested in him! And he can't stand it!

The Only Place I Can Hold You by snapdragonpop007 [words: 27,865]

“Hello, Jack.” These past two years had not been kind to Will Graham-Lecter. The solitary confinement that Chilton had promised would help had only seemed to make the omega worse. “I was wondering when you were gonna come talk to me.” Will hadn’t looked up from the book in his hands. He was running his fingertips across the pages, and when Jack looked a little closer he could see that it was full of photographs.

Friends To Lovers by Sirenja, TigerPrawn [words: 8,008] 

When Harry Met Sally AU

Consortio by kelex [words: 23,088] 

Every Omega in the land is brought to the lord on the evening of their first heat. Lord Hannibal usually doesn't choose to exercise that right, but this night's offering is too much for him to pass up. A virgin Omega in his first heat, with brown hair, blue eyes, and a spirit that can't be broken.

Sharing A Bed by TigerPrawn [words: 4,150] 

Will, Hannibal, Jimmy and Zeller are sent to Butfuck Nowhere on a case and the small hotel has messed up the booking leaving them with only 2 rooms between the 4 of them. And specifically Omega Will having to share with Hannibal, the only Alpha on the trip.

Stormchaser by YouAreMyDesign [words: 6,465] 

One thing, Hannibal knows absolutely; Will is empty, all the time. He aches to be filled.

Pathology by YouAreMyDesign [words: 14,129] 

In his periphery, Hannibal's head tilts. "Tell me," he purrs, "how exactly does one your age come to enroll in an FBI training facility?"

There Will Be Bells by Entropyrose [words: 36,639] 

In Georgian England, male omegas are very rare diamonds. Baron and Baroness Graham have a plan to build their wealth and social status by offering their son Will's hand in marriage to a mysterious older Duke, an Alpha named Lord Hannibal Lecter. Will's personal feelings need not apply.

Alpha Mart by slashyrogue [words: 63,164] 

Will needs an alpha. After years of fake knots, half-assed suppressants, and his own damn hand during heats he’s reached the end of his rope. He doesn’t do dating so he decides to waste his life savings and hype with the current trend. Alpha Mart.

Enchanted By Your Name by CarnivalMirai [words: 9,207] 

“Now, my husband would prefer it if I got the job done quickly.” He says, slashing down the back of each gag as he passes each man, watching as the silk falls gracefully to the floor. “However, I want to have some fun. Considering you’ve troubled my husband so much… it’s only fair, right?” One of the men whimpered fearfully. Or: The name "Will Graham" is a name you'll only ever hear once.

I've Been Building Black Ships by cloudsarefluffy [words: 8,116] 

Alpha Hannibal moves to the States with his sister Mischa after being overtly done with the fancy life of a count, and his blind omega neighbor gives him an insight into love that he never quite expected.

A Rare Find by hit_the_books [words: 5,379] 

Life as an omega bookseller can be quite lonely. However, as the owner of Graham’s Books, Will Graham is reasonably content. That is until he meets—long-time customer and crush—Doctor Hannibal Lecter in person for the first time. Attraction blossoming between them both, Will agrees to a dinner date with the good doctor.

We All Have a Hunger by 1ntothew1ld [words: 12,260] 

Hannibal will ensure a properly slow and painful death for an alpha who allowed a beautiful young omega to go to waste as this one has. Too skinny for his own good, a stuttering and humble mess. The likes of the omega in front of him belonged at Opera houses and in million-dollar mansions, not scrounging for his next meal. Meek and afraid in some disheveled row house. When he finally looked back up the alpha had to conceal the utter punch to the stomach that meager glance was, blue eyes full of innocence but also hunger.

The Doctor Is In by Kummerspeck7 

Will nearly scoffed. "You can't expect me to believe you'd want anything other than a delicate flower to adorn your side, keep your ostentatious home, bare you the exact number of children you want--No more, no less-- all while being available at your whims." "Not at all." Hannibal disagreed. "I would no more put a wilting flower in my home than in a bouquet given as a gift. Tell me, Will, is that how you are treated? Forbidden from work, cloistered inside and used at Mr Brown's discretion?" "My Alpha's discretion." Hannibal looked pointedly at the curve of Will's neck, free from a single scar. "Not yet he isn't."

Sugar by Sweaty_dogman [words: 12,659] 

Hannibal finds himself hung up on his friends mother, desperate to find ways to spend time with the omega. Will Graham is a beautiful, kind and single omega. The young alpha finds himself struggling to keep his emotions hidden.

No One Falls the Way We Fell by HigherMagic [words: 9,206] 

Five years ago, Hannibal's mate died, leaving him with their young daughter. He's tried to move on, but Abigail keeps interrupting his sleep and insisting that she can see her mother in her room at night. Hannibal turns to Alana for help, and Alana gives Abigail a doll, someone to talk to and help her accept her mother's passing. Once the doll arrives, though, strange things start happening in Hannibal's house. It's impossible to consider, of course, but if anyone could defy death and return to them from beyond the grave, it would be Will.

Proud of You by CarnivalMirai [words: 11,748] 

Will worked right up until labour to make money, through all the sickness and fatigue and swollen ankles, he worked to bring his little boy the best life. And it has paid off. As of last week, Hannibal has sent off his university applications. Medicine at Johns Hopkins, Harvard Medical School, Stanford University, and the University of Pennsylvania. He’s applied for a scholarship at all of them, and Will desperately hopes he gets it. He knows he will. He’s Hannibal, after all. His baby can do anything.

Venus Is Bright by wolfgraham [words: 7,237] 

Tomorrow, he tells himself, tomorrow he'll set new rules, boundaries. He'll tidy up Hannibal's room and give him the talk, and download Matefinder on his phone. But is it so bad? So bad to wish that the world outside the two of them would just disappear and leave them be?

Creator by Caidepgun, wolfgraham [words: 5,589] 

Will and his son, Hannibal, have an unusual relationship.

My First, My Last, My Everything by TheBl00dyFl0wer [words: 14,930]

Will Graham's encephalitis gets out of control and messes with his hormones, mutates him. May I present: Will Graham, the first known Omega.

Room 205 by HotMolasses [words: 9,220] 

Will is an Alpha, but in name only. He's a hotel maid at the Graham Bed & Breakfast. He considers himself a freak; an Alpha with no knot, who dreams of a powerful Omega to dominate him. He's pretty certain that because of this, he'll be alone for the rest of his life. Then he meets Hannibal Lecter.

Howl by multifandom_fanfic_writer [words: 7,083] 

When omegas go into heat, they go feral. Only an alpha strong enough to subdue them is a worthy mate. Will Graham has never found anyone worthy. After all, there is only one alpha Will plans to submit to – and he doesn’t even know their name.

Careful, He Bites by maxxeoff [words: 10,328] 

Will Graham is a feral child. His dad died when he was five, and he lives with a wolf pack until he has his first heat. He's found, brought to Baltimore. Dr. Lecter takes an interest in him.

Predator by eijirouN_17 [words: 7,619] 

Will hasn't presented, he doesn't give off any scent at all so everyone, including himself, assumes he's a beta. Then Will goes into heat. At a crime scene. In front of everyone. And Hannibal tries so hard not to go feral.

[katahnisharma]

gone (4) | t.h.

Summary: tom is back from shooting cherry, but he’s not okay.

Warnings: this started as my entry to the lovely b’s writing challenge @worldoftom, but you guys were so amazing and wanted a second part. this is a very emotional chapter and there are mentions of anxiety, depression, and overall intense emotions so please be careful loveys ♡

A/N: hey guys it’s been a while but life has been really really difficult so i'm sorry for the wait! i'm not entirely sure if anyone still cares about this series so here’s hoping :) for this chapter i listened to light of love by florence + the machine and all good things come to an end by the og queen nelly furtado lol. also Tumblr apparently won’t let me link certain things so if you’re looking for my masterlist or playlist it’s in my bio ♡

IF YOU’RE STILL INTERESTED IN BEING ON MY TAGLIST PLEASE FILL OUT THE NEW FORM IN MY BIO BC I WILL BE REVAMPING IT!

gif by @hllands

“Hey, did I leave my notebook in the living room?” You asked, letting your tea bag soak in the mug Tom always saved for you. It was an unspoken rule, that dark blue cup with the constellations on it from his mother was yours only. You mentioned how beautiful it was once, and Tom remembered.

It went on the list with the others.

“You mean the one with the polaroid on the cover? No, it’s not in here.” Tom called back, scrolling through Netflix to find a movie for the both of you. He’d just come back from the junket for Spies in Disguise, and he immediately called his best friend over to spend the day with him.

Well, it was supposed to be more than just another day.

Because today he was going to tell you he loved you.

“Hmm, maybe I left it in my bag upstairs. I’ll get it when I’m done with the tea.” You said, setting your mug down on the counter. It looked like it needed sugar, so you rootled around for the little jar Tom kept in one of his cabinets.

“Don’t worry, I’ll go get it!” Tom said from the couch, his nerves beginning to make him jittery. He thought that while you were in the kitchen, picking a movie would help him calm down. But he couldn’t focus on any of the descriptions, and Tom could feel his heart beat faster and faster.

He needed to get up for a few minutes.

“Are you sure? Do you want me to pick the movie then?” You teased, knowing very well Tom hadn’t found a movie yet. It was a bit of a running gag, him never being able to pick a movie. You would bite your lip to stop from laughing when he eventually got frustrated and handed you the remote.

And even in his nervous state, Tom still grinned because of you.

“Yeah, yeah, like you’re any better. We’ve seen The Avengers twice!” He shot back, a smirk on his lips when he heard you scoff in the kitchen. Apart from your smile, making you jokingly annoyed was Tom’s favorite thing. He liked how cute you were when he teased you.

“Shut up and get my notebook, Tommy!” You laughed, and Tom felt his cheeks warm at the sound.

God you were so fucking perfect.

When Harrison woke up, he almost forgot where he was. But then his vision cleared and there you were, lying in the hospital bed. Harrison’s heart clenched at the sight, remembering the events of last night that landed you here with an IV in your arm. He sat up and stretched, the old wooden chair squeaking against the floor.

The sound was what made you stir, your mind waking up from the dream.

“Harrison?” You whispered, your eyes adjusting to the dim lights in the room. The hospital bed you’d fallen asleep in the night before seemed to glow next to you, but you realized it was just an IV hooked up in your arm. Harrison smiled softly, getting up and coming to stand by your side.

“Hey, you were out like a light.” He said, handing you the glass of water a nurse had brought. You gratefully brought it to your lips, feeling a little dehydrated from whatever fluids were in the IV bag. Harrison gave your free hand a squeeze before crossing to the windows, playing with the blinds to let some sun in.

“How long have you been here?” You asked, playing with the sheets mindlessly. Harrison thought about lying, telling you he’d only arrived a few minutes ago. Because he knew you’d feel bad about it, but you could always tell when he lied.

“Since last night. I stayed here, didn’t want you to be alone.” Harrison replied, and you frowned almost immediately. You felt bad enough that he’d driven you to the hospital on his day off, but knowing that he’d also spent the night sleeping in an uncomfortable, crappy chair didn’t help with the guilt.

“And before you say ‘you shouldn’t have’, just remember you would have done the same for me. So stop beating yourself up about it.” He said, going back to his chair. You winced when it made the same creaking sound, like it was about to break. Harrison noticed, and he couldn’t stop himself from laughing.

“But this chair was really unbearable.” He chuckled, and you finally smiled again.

“Shut up, you idiot.” You giggled, chucking a pillow at Harrison right as the nurse peeked in. You felt your face burn as she smiled at the two of you, Harrison picking up the pillow sheepishly and biting back a laugh.

“Glad to see the patient is feeling better. Can I get you anything, love?” She asked kindly, picking up the now empty class beside you. You smiled at her, shaking your head. You really just wanted to be discharged so you could leave, hospitals always made you nervous. The smell of disinfectant and the general sense of uncertainty were not your favorite sense overloads.

“No, but thank you for everything. Do you know if I’ll be able to leave today?” You asked, and the nurse nodded her head.

“You should be all set to be discharged in an hour. The doctor will check in on you in thirty minutes and then you’re all free to go.” She said, taking the pillow from an embarassed Harrison. You giggled a little when she fluffed the pillow, and returned it to your bed.

“Great, thank you again!” She gave you one last smile before leaving the room, and Harrison breathed a sigh of relief.

“Thank god, I’m really hungry.”

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For Harry, last night would probably be one of the worst and strangest of his life.

After Tom broke down and sobbed into his shirt for two hours straight, he became so frenetic that Harry was afraid he would end up accidentally hurting himself. Tom tried to pack a suitcase to go after you, but he almost slipped in the shower and was so disoriented that he ran into the bedroom wall. Then he tried to cook something on the stove for Harry, but left the fire on while he got distracted trying to find your favorite cereal. Tom wasn’t completely all there, and it was pretty obvious to Harry that he was having some sort of episode.

So once Tom was focused enough to eat the banana his brother opened for him, Harry called his mother.

“Mom, I need you to tell me the name of that anxiety medicine. The one that sometimes works as a sedative.” Harry cast a glance at Tom on the couch, watching him slowly chew the banana with glossy eyes. He had been silently crying at odd times this morning, and it was definitely making Harry nervous.

“Why? Harry, what’s happened?” Nikki immediately sounded worried, running over to the medicine cabinet. She kept the anxiety medicine mainly for Harry, who used to have pretty severe bouts himself. The episodes became few and far between, until they stopped altogether.

But now Nicki was concerned Harry was having them again.

“It’s not for me, Mum. It’s for Tom. I think he’s having some sort of breakdown, and I’m afraid he might accidentally do something stupid and hurt himself.” Harry said, looking over his shoulder to see Tom staring at the banana, almost lifelessly.

“For Tom? Harry, please tell me what’s going on.” Nikki said, clutching the bottle in her hand nervously.  

“I think Tom and Y/N might be over.” Harry said, and the words had more weight than he thought they would. Like it was finally a possible reality, one where you and Tom weren’t together anymore.

“Okay, I’m on my way.”

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“Can you get in the car alright? Need any help?” Harrison asked, hovering over you as the two of you walked to the hospital parking lot. You rolled your eyes, smiling at his protective behavior. He’d been like this during your dischargement too, and it was sweet but definitely unnecessary.

“Haz, I told you. I’m perfectly fine, I swear. It really doesn’t hurt that much, and I can absolutely get into the car on my own.” You said, patting his shoulder reassuringly. Harrison sighed, biting his lip a little worriedly.

“Okay, okay, just making sure. I just don’t want you to aggravate the injury or anything. At least not until we get you home and set up.” He replied, and you couldn’t help it. You leaned over and gave him a quick peck on the cheek, watching Harrison’s mouth immediately drop open in shock.

“Hey! What was that for?”

“To thank you for being the world’s greatest div. I love you, idiot.” You said, laughing when Harrison slung an arm around your shoulder. He rolled his eyes at you, smiling playfully.

“You know I love you too, but you really didn’t need to give me that weirdass kiss.” Harrison chuckled, immediately ducking into the car before you decided to throw your purse at him. Scoffing, you got into the passenger seat and punched him in the arm.

“Ow! That hurt!”

“I’ll have you know my kisses are wonderful!” You giggled, clapping a hand over your mouth when Harrison started to fake cry and clutch his arm.

“If I agree, will you leave me alone?” Harrison laughed, starting the car and reversing out of the parking lot. You smiled wickedly, reaching up to ruffle his precious hair. Harrison recoiled instantly, whining at your little stunt.

“I take it back, I actually hate you.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Where is he?” Nikki asked, rushing into the living room. Harry jumped up and led her to the bedroom, where Tom was curled up in a ball. Under the covers, he was crying softly and clutching what looked like a sweater. It seemed too small to be his, and Harry immediately realized it was your favorite sweater. The one Tom loved on you because it was what you were wearing when both of you met for the first time.

“Tom? Love, look at me please.” Nikki whispered, sitting on the edge of the bed. She looked over at Harry and mimed a glass of water, which he left to get from the kitchen. Once they were alone, Nikki gently pulled the covers back. Tom lay there, tears streaming down his face and the front of your sweater soaked.

“She’s gone...” Tom whimpered, trying to pull the covers back over his head. He was completely spent, the possibility that you were really gone hitting him like a train. Tom had pictured the rest of his life with you, and now nothing seemed worthwhile anymore if you weren’t there beside him.

“Y/N? Tell me what happened, Tom.” Nikki said, running a gentle hand through his hair. Tom relaxed under her touch, reminded of all the times in his childhood that he lay in bed upset. Breakups, rejections, failures, his mother had seen them all. And she'd always been there for him.

“We got into a fight...a big fight….and I threw my phone….”

“At her? Tom, how could you do that?” Nikki gasped softly, and Tom’s eyes widened. He found the strength to sit up, looking his mother right in the eyes.

“No...no! I would never hurt her! I threw it at the wall and I locked myself in the bathroom. But….when I came out….she was gone and there was b-blood on the f-floor and...I think-I think I-” Tom couldn’t get the rest of his words out, and Nikki knew enough to envelop her son in a hug.

“It’s okay...it’s okay, Tom.” She sighed, holding her eldest son close. The whole thing was confusing, but if Nikki knew anything about your relationship with Tom it was that it had been the best one he’d ever had. You were kind, intelligent, and strong, exactly what she had always wanted Tom to have in a partner. But hearing Tom cry and work himself up meant she knew what she needed to say. Tom had to stop living in his head.

“Tom? I want you to listen to me, it’ll be okay.”

“But….she’s gone and I hurt her….I can’t ever forgive myself…” Tom sobbed, but Nikki was adamant she would speak and get through to him.

“Look, the past is the past, it’s not in our hands.  You have the chance to ask for her forgiveness, and explain what you’re feeling right now. Don’t let your past actions dictate the future, love. That would be a mistake, because I know Y/N. She loves you and she wants to be there for you. She’ll understand what you’re going through because she cares, that’s what a real partner does. They want the best for you because it’s you. You need to forgive yourself so that she can help you heal.”

“But what if she doesn’t w-want me anymore? I know I scared her….I never wanted to do that b-but she’s been hurt and left because of me….I’m afraid Y/N won’t love me anymore!” Tom cried, his body shaking a little. Nikki rubbed his back and took the water glass from Harry, who’d reappeared in the room.

“Darling, you have to try. You have to fight for the love you want. You don’t think your father and I have gotten angry with each other? We fight and that’s normal, but at the end of it all we come back to each other. I put my feelings aside and listen to him, and he does the same. That’s how it works, we love each other so much that I’ll forgive him and he’ll forgive me.”

Nikki took Harry’s hand and held it, and Tom was finally still. There was no more crying, no more shaking. It was just a moment frozen in time, the three of them together in a little room. Harry hugged Tom and Nikki kissed his forehead, and for the first time in 36 hours Tom wasn’t afraid anymore. The fight wasn’t plaguing him anymore, and neither was the aftertaste of filming that had been slowly poisoning his mind. All he could see was you, like a vision before him wiping his tears away. With that same smile that he had fallen in love with so easily, because it was purely yours.

And that was enough for Tom to be at peace with himself.

“Thank you.” Tom whispered, and Nikki was able to smile again. Harry ruffled his hair, making Tom punch him softly in the arm. He reached for the water glass and the pills in Nikki’s hand, knowing that he needed to take them.

“Take these two and it’ll help a little with the anxiety. It’ll also make you a little drowsy, but it might be good to sleep it all off properly. I’ll stay here with Harry until you wake up, okay?” Nikki said, and Tom let him expend enough energy to nod and smile.

“Just...just please make sure Y/N is okay? Make sure that nothing’s wrong?” Tom said, and Nikki squeezed his right hand. Harry had his left.

“Always. Now get some real sleep, you’re going to need it...”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Can we please listen to something other than your terrible daily mix?” You laughed, Harrison clutching his chest to feign offence. He reluctantly handed you the aux cord and you smiled, knowing exactly what you wanted to play. Taking a couple seconds to sift through your own playlists, you found the song you were looking for and pressed play. Harrison smirked at your choice, rolling his eyes at the songs you played over and over again. He attempted to steal the aux back from you, but you dodged him quickly.

“Hey, focus mister! I’m not about to get into an accident right out of the hospital!” You said, giggling as he started to belt out the lyrics and dance. He laughed, rolling his eyes as he focused on the road again.

“I’m a great driver! I’m just trying to save myself from your shit music taste.” He said with a smirk and now it was your turn to roll your eyes. Harrison wasn’t a bad driver, but he definitely wasn’t a great one. The first time you had gotten into the car with him had been to get groceries and it was a disaster. He forgot to turn around before reversing and nearly hit a little old lady with her cart, and almost got hit merging onto the highway. After that, you were careful to look out for him even if it meant you became a backseat driver.

“Sure, Haz. Whatever you want to believe. Just please get us home in one piece!” You laughed, leaning your head back and letting the sunlight warm your face. If not for the events of the previous day, you would have basked in the glory of such a beautiful day.

But your mind turned to Tom, as it always seemed to.

“Hey, is my bag in the back?” You asked, suddenly desperate to check its contents. Harrison turned down the music, furrowing his eyebrows at your change in mood. You turned to look at him, a slight fear in your eyes. Harrison nodded, gesturing to the backseat.

“Yeah, it’s there. Why? What’s wrong?”

“I just...I just need to make sure something is in there…” You trailed off, swiveling in your seat to grab at your handbag. Harrison watched from the corner of his eye as you set it on your lap, rootling through it quickly.

“Whoa, whoa. What are you looking for?” Harrison asked, a little concerned by how frantic you seemed to be. With a sigh of relief, you feel your hands grasp what you’re looking for and you pull it out slowly. Harrison’s eyes automatically soften, seeing your eyes water with your most prized possession in your hand.

“Is that the notebook Tom bought you? The one he bought you when he found out you wanted to be a writer?”

“Y-yeah...it is. I just wanted to make sure it was still there, you know? That’s dumb, isn’t it? I mean...he probably doesn’t even want to be with me a-anymore. So...so why am I….why am I holding on like this?” You felt the dam break finally, the tears streaming down your face. Harrison bit his lip, pulling the car over and unbuckling his seatbelt.

“Hey...hey...look at me.” Your tears were staining the cover, the little drops of water creating little streams on the surface. It felt like someone had pulled the rug from underneath you, and that you’d discovered there was no floor. What would you do without Tom? You loved him more than anything, but you were no fool. His anger couldn’t have come from out of the blue, it was something repressed that Tom had been feeling for a long time. Without warning, your insecurities began to mount.

Maybe he was bored of you.

Maybe you annoyed him.

Maybe he’d found someone else.

Maybe you weren’t good enough and he’d realized it.

And then the worst of them all.

Maybe the rest of the world was right.

“I’m losing him.” You whispered, and Harrison’s heart clenched at your words. He knew you were always insecure about dating Tom, but you’d never vocalized anything like this before.

“No, no you’re…”

“I’m not an idiot, Haz! I’ve seen the signs! H-he’s done with me….I’m just d-delaying the inevitable. I should have….I should have known I wasn’t good enough for him. He’s him and I’m j-just me, who the hell was I fooling? E-even the fans knew it!”

“Y/N...come on...that’s not-”

“He hasn’t wanted to spend any real time with me since he came back from Cherry. It’s like I don’t even exist to him, I’m invisible until he has to talk to me. I’ve tried five times to get him to have dinner with me and he rejected me every time, Haz. All I’ve heard for two months is ‘I’m going out with the boys, sorry’ or ‘Just going to sleep, don’t feel like eating’. And I tried to understand, I really did. It must have been so hard shooting a movie like that, it would be emotionally draining for anyone. Hell, even the book is emotionally draining-”

“I don’t think...”

“Let me finish, please? Haz, I can’t do this anymore. I’m tired, I’m so tired. I can’t fight for this relationship anymore when I’m not even sure if he wants it. He pushes me away all the time and it hurts me to see him like that. Tom isn’t happy, and I think it’s because of me. So I won’t hold him back anymore, I’ll just quietly disappear. No drama, no fighting, nothing. I can’t bear knowing I’m the reason he’s unhappy, it would kill me to think that.”

You broke again, the tears burning your eyes as you clutched the notebook tighter to your chest. It brought you a little comfort, knowing what you would have to do next. You needed to leave Tom, to let him live his life and be happy. You clearly couldn’t make him happy anymore and though that was something you’d struggled to accept in the last few hours, it was the right thing to do. You had no delusions about the way you looked, you always felt rather plain and boring compared to the beautiful women Tom was used to being around. He would be better off with someone else, someone as amazing as him.

Someone who isn’t you.

Harrison’s throat went dry as you slowly raised a hand to wipe at your tears, your eyes glossing over as you stared lifelessly out the window. He had a horrible feeling that you were serious about what you had just said, and he wasn’t sure how all this had happened. How could he have let you feel like this?

How could they not have noticed?

“Please, please don’t say-”

“Harrison, I have to. I can’t do this anymore.” You whispered, and Harrison stopped mid sentence. You never called him by his full name, it was always just Haz. He squeezed your hand as you cried, sobs wracking your body that made him cry too. You barely got the words out, but Harrison knew them before you said it.

“I have to leave because I love him.”

IF YOU’RE STILL INTERESTED IN BEING ON MY TAGLIST PLEASE FILL OUT THE NEW FORM IN MY BIO BC I WILL BE REVAMPING IT!

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[airi-p4]

Face up - Chapter 2

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Epilogue

Finally!!!

I wanted to finish the fic following the rest of the song from Chapter 1: ‘Face up’ by Lights (Lyrics in bold), which would have been easy and quite short, but then I had a little drama / misunderstanding idea and when I asked @ladyfreya123 she said me to go for it soooo... this turned out to be way longer than expected ^^; There’s also going to be an extra short epilogue.

Thank you @livrever​ for checking this for me!

AO3

_____________________________

Chapter 2

The next day Marinette did something totally out of her character: sneak out of her apartment, neglect her work, and go to the ‘Liberty’, that bar ship she went to the previous evening with her friends. She hoped to see the blue haired guitarist that picked more than her attention again. She got on the ship and moved to the bar counter, where the purple-haired waitress from the day before was arranging some bottles.

"Hi… May I ask you something?" Marinette asked, earning an affirmative nod from the tall woman. "When is Luka performing again…?"

"Sorry, nothing until next Friday" the goth waitress answered.

"Oh… Is there- Is there a way to contact him…?" she blushed.

The tall young woman let a tired sigh as if thinking 'not again' before giving her an answer. "Sorry Miss, but we don't offer this kind of service. We like to keep our staff's privacy"

"I- of course… I understand. I'll come again next Friday…" the blue eyed lady apologized, with a depressing look returning her face- a look the waitress recognized.

"Wait, you're the girl from yesterday aren't you? The one who had been feeling down"

"Ah, yes… That's right… I'm the one" Marinette awkwardly admitted.

"Hmm…" The tall woman analyzed her for a few seconds, her fingers touching her chin. "I see” she raised her eyebrow with a faint smirk. “Luka had never done anything like that before. I think you piqued his interest"

"Eh? His interest…? Re- really...? How?" She opened her eyes in surprise, her cheeks getting warmer.

"I don't know" the waitress shrugged. "Look. Luka is not here, but I'll give you something special if you buy a drink" she signaled the grey haired middle aged woman to take her place. "Wait a minute, I'll be right back"

"Ok…"

"Hi. What will it be?" The bar owner asked.

"Oh… One mango soft drink, please"

"WHAT!? A real pirate doesn't drink that! Have some rum!" The woman almost scolded her, violently pouring the drink in a glass that pushed towards the perplexed young lady.

Marinette nervously gulped as she looked speechless at the drink. Noticing how the owner's gaze was urging her to take it, Marinette felt intimidated under her stare. Luckily, the blond-haired waitress called her and she could recover her breath.

"Captain! Official Roger is asking for you"

"Argh!! Not again!" the grey-haired woman groaned.. "What's his problem now? My music is too low if I follow his 'law'. So annoying… Rose, I leave you this customer to you"

"Yes, Captain" she answered, focusing on Marinette and shoving the rum glass aside. "Hi, excuse the owner. What would you like?"

"Anything sweet, please" she sighed, grateful and relieved with a faint smile on her face.

____________________________

A few minutes later, the goth waitress returned. "Sorry for the wait" she said, her eyes attracted by the rainbow colored drink on Marinette’s long glass. "Rose, don't tell me you gave her your crazy original cocktail?" She sighed.

"Yes, Juleka! She loves it!" Rose grinned happily.

"Really…?" Her eyebrow arched in doubt. "I bet she's only faking it to not hurt your feelings… Anyway, here" She offered a DVD case to Marinette. "I don't usually do this, but we record all our performances and I'm making an exception and letting you have a copy of yesterday's live"

"Can I really have it!?" The designer's eyes glowed in hope.

"Only if you erase this terrible depressed expression from your face" she flicked Marinette's forehead with her finger. "Luka hates unhappy faces"

"Ouch!” she complained, touching his forehead before her grin became wider one second later. “Thank you so much! It means a lot to me!" She jumped, hugging the DVD case while the waitresses exchanged smiles. "See you next Friday! Oh, how much is the drink?"

"Nothing. I could never let you pay for Rose's disgusting original cocktail" Juleka teased.

"Hey! It tastes good!" Rose pouted.

"It tastes like strawberry syrup but with triple the amount of sugar." Juleka rolled her eyes.

"That's not true!" Rose complained. "Tell her, Marinette!"

"Yes, I like it. It's good"

Rose was now showing a proud smile while Juleka shrugged in defeat, one of her hands patting the blonde's shoulder.

"Rose, you're lucky a pure soul is willing to drink that sugary cocktail." Rose giggled at the tall woman's comment. "Feel free to come anytime. Uhm… Marinette, was it?"

"Ah, yes. Thank you so much. For the drink. And for the DVD. And for having me. See you soon!" She giggled while waving goodbye.

"Oh.. wanted her to taste my sparkling unicorn special drink too…" Rose pouted in a low voice.

"Oh Rose, it's ok. I'll take your sweetness later for you instead, how is that?" Juleka spoke close to her ear with a smirk.

"Yes!"

'I think I wasn’t supposed to hear that' Marinette thought, rushing out the bar with flustered cheeks and hugging the DVD.

_________________________________

It was just Wednesday and she was at the bar again. 'Why do I keep coming every single day? I know he only comes on Fridays…'

Marinette felt lonely. After awakening feelings of love again, she noticed how lonely she actually was. When did her loneliness start? Was it something that comes together with growing older? She didn't even realize how single and solitary she was before Luka's performance. She seemed fine on her own, she mostly was... but last Friday proved her wrong.

It had been hours alone at the bar, ignoring her work and phone calls and, as expected, the guitarist was nowhere to be found. The bar was not as crowded as last Friday. In fact, it wasn’t to the point that it couldn't even compare- she almost felt bad for the blond guy performing. When the clock on the wooden wall turned to 11:30 PM, she sighed in defeat. She took her wallet out of her purse to pay for her 'sparkling unicorn drink' and her mango soft drink and got ready to go home, expecting to have better luck tomorrow. She raised her hand slightly to call the waitress.

"Excuse m-"

"Hey. Didn't I mention no sad faces were allowed here?"

A familiar voice cut her from the side, close to her ear. It startled her, making her gasp, but her pupils lit up as she turned and her gaze met the blue eyes she had been eager to see for days. She couldn't help to blush at his closeness, unable to control her wide but shy smile. He smiled back at her and her reaction.

"That's better" he winked, resting his arm at the bar counter. "So you've come back, huh? Did you enjoy your time here last Friday? Are you feeling better?" Luka attentively asked.

He kept smiling at her, melting the young woman's insides. She flustered in realization. "You remember me?"

"Of course. Not many people come here looking as terrible as you did. You seem better now. I'm glad"

"Oh- Uhm- Thank you…" she lowered her head to hide her blush under her bangs.

"What brings you here? Today's performances are Electro-pop, but you don't look like you're interested in those?" He curiously asked.

Marinette looked back at the stage. "I guess you're right… I've never really liked XY…" she confessed and Luka snorted.

"Wanna know a secret? Me neither. We just keep him because his father pays us"

"We? Us?" she blinked twice.

"Ah, crap." He noticed his mistake. “I mean the owner- Anarka" he answered.

"Oh…"

"Lu, it’s fine. You can tell her" Juleka approached, and Rose nodded in agreement. Luka seemed uncertain, but that didn't stop Juleka. "You see? Luka is my older brother and the bar owner is our mother.  We all live together here, except for Luka when he's out studying abroad"

"Jules…" Luka glared at his sister. "You can't give customers private information about us, you know that. Mom is going to kill us if she finds out…"

"She's not a customer, she's our friend. We can tell a friend. Especially when she's-" Juleka's words were cut by Marinette in panic, scared she would let him know about her feelings for him.

"Aaahh! It's ok! Thank you for telling me, Juleka. I'm not going to tell anyone! Not even my best friend!" she promised. The women were smiling while Luka let a deep sigh out.

"Anyway, may I join you?" Luka asked Marinette, titling his head to get a better angle of her face.

"Her name is Marinette," Rose interrupted and winked at him.

"I think he already knows by now, Rose. Especially after-"

"Shh…" Luka signaled, his index finger in front of his lips in a warning. "Don't continue Jules, or I may spill the beans about you know what…"

"My bad" Juleka apologized under Rose's confused expression and Luka's knowing look.

"So… Marinette? Fancy a drink with me?" The young man returned his attention to her, making her blush as he pronounced her name in his voice. Marinette stared at him in awe. She short-circuited. "Marinette?"

"Ah- yes! I mean- Really? Is it really ok...?" She blushed.

Luka looked back at the designer after shushing his sister and her girlfriend, who giggled at the scene. "Yes, it's fine. I want to have some drinks too and I'm sure it's going to taste better with company"

"Oh… ok… Let me remove my jacket from this seat..." She offered.

"No, not here" Luka stopped her movement by placing his hand on her jacket and getting closer to whisper close to her ear. "We're starting to get looks on us. Go outside, turn left and go upstairs. It says staff only, but you have my permission to go. Wait for me there. I'll come in a second". He moved farther and lifted her jacket. "Don't forget to put on your jacket. It's cold outside"

"Oh- Ok…" Marinette blushed while rushing out to follow his directions. She tripped on her feet when walking up the stairs, still flustered by the unexpected invitation.

After Marinette left, Luka waited for Rose and Juleka to prepare some drinks, and kept unavoidably smiling while seeing Marinette turning left once out the door. The ladies smirked at his rare expression.

"Lu. We like her. Don't mess up, ok?" Juleka stated and Rose nodded effusively. Luka rolled his eyes with a subtle blush on his cheeks until he eyed the glasses Rose had just handed him.

"Are you really planning to make Marinette drink that?" He looked at Rose's original cocktail raising an eyebrow in disgust.

"Why does everyone complain about it? It's delicious! Marinette thinks so too!" Rose pouted.

"Think about it, Rose. Luka isn't much into sweet drinks. How can he kiss the girl if you make her drink that?" Juleka teased.

"Oh… Oh, no! You're right! Let me prepare something else!" Rose excitedly exclaimed and Juleka smirked triumphantly at Luka, who rolled his eyes in response.

"First she would have to want to get kissed, you know…? And what makes you think I-" he could foresee Juleka's counterattack before it happened, so he surrendered beforehand. "Nevermind"

"Oh, she would be more than happy to kiss you, I know that much" Rose grinned, handing him the new drink while sharing a knowing smile with Juleka.

"Whatever" the musician sighed, grabbing the glasses and a pair of bottles of his favorite liquor and moving upstairs. Juleka knew her brother well enough to know he had a smile on his face even if she could only see his back.

___________________

The upper part of the boat was nicer than Marinette had expected. The decorations there were fancier than downstairs and despite it kept the pirate theme, colorful flowers surrounded the space, like a little garden in the middle of the river. It was chilly since it was late September, but the breeze felt nice on Marinette's flustered face (perfect to help her cool down).

Marinette moved to the river side to enjoy the view of Paris at night time. The city was shining bright, beautifully, she has seen it multiple times from her apartment. And despite that, the view from the ship felt more special and even prettier and magical, she couldn't seem to find light inside of her. Her monotonous life was draining her, and her lack of inspiration didn't help her either.

Why…?

She shouldn't be thinking about that. Luka had invited her! And that was clearly the first spark she felt in a long time. She should be happy! Why was it always negative thoughts that stand out the most? She knew it was wrong, but her negativity kept spiraling... She had given Luka a bad first impression and he had probably invited her just because she looked pitiful. Why would he be interested in a workaholic and depressing woman like her, anyway? Someone plain and boring, more like a heartless robot than alive most of the time. It was impossible, wasn't it? Plus, he was going to find popularity and fame soon and he may have so many beautiful fans around him, definitely a better audience than her.

She sighed again. She knew she was being crazy- acting like one of those fangirls from the previous week. Because, in the end, she knew almost nothing about him. 'I'm not special. I'm not amazing as he is'. But she still wished, hoped, for this new found love to not end like her previous one. She wished to feel alive again, like last Friday night when he was on that stage and his eyes met hers.

And her crush on him was making her feel alive again, which was exactly what she wanted. But she was afraid everything could end in a blink before it even started. And with those thoughts in mind, some tears started forming in her eyes. What if he rejected her? It was crazy to think he would accept her feelings just like that. They had just met. Geez- it was the first time they even talked! What was she even expecting? He was out of her league, she convinced herself, and the thought alone made her feel lonely again. Back to her lifeless life.

"Sorry for the wait." Luka arrived, and when her face turned to him, he noticed her tears. "Hey, what's wrong? No crying allowed here, remember?" He emphatically said, placing the drinks on the table and approaching her.

"Sorry... I don't know what's gotten into me..." she tried to stop her sobbing, with no results.

"Easy. Shhhh... A beautiful face like yours shouldn't get tainted with anything, especially not tears" he said, offering her a handkerchief she hesitantly accepted. "Listen"

Luka took a few steps away to get some space as he took his acoustic guitar from his back and started playing a familiar song. When her eyes locked on his, he started singing the lyrics she had listened to hundreds of times on the DVD Juleka gave her.

The times you don't wanna wake up

'Cause in your sleep it's never over when you give up

The sun is always gonna rise up

You need to get up, gotta keep your head up

Look at the people all around you

The way you feel is something everybody goes through

Dark out, but you still gotta light up

You need to wake up, gotta keep your face up

"Sing with me, Marinette"

"Luka…" she whimpered.

"C'mon!" He encouraged her, and she started singing with him. At first, she just babbled the chorus between sobs, but after a few repeats, her voice started making sense as she sang in unmatching rhythms. His music dragged her face to smile faintly.

Alive again.

"There you go," Luka smiled tenderly, making her blush. "Your bad times are just a phase. This bad stage is going to end. Take it easy and be yourself. You are good enough"

"Am I really, though…?" She furrowed her eyebrows.

"I have no doubts" he assured her with a bright smile that made Marinette's heart throb. But doubt and fear still remained.

"How can you say that? You don't know me. Or my life. Or my feelings! How can you say that so lightly?" She gasped at her own words,  immediately regretting them. Why was she even getting angry? She was making Luka pay for her frustration and that was horrible. Before she could apologize, he interrupted her.

"Because you're sincere, Marinette. Your heart, your eyes, your gestures, your voice, your whole aura- they all tell me about you." He stared at her eyes. "Not only verbal language can communicate. I myself work better with music rather than words. And with those pieces of information together, I can tell you're going through a bad phase, lost motivation, maybe you're not even sure about where you want to go or your purpose in life, but that's normal. As the song says, everyone goes through that at some point. I did have one myself too"

"You… You did?" She asked, incredulous.

"Is it that surprising? You can ask Juleka, if you don't believe me. I'm not perfect- nobody is." He shrugged with a sympathetic smile. "But that's not the point. I can see your potential whenever I look at you. The Marinette from last Friday shone brighter than a diamond to me. I've known you were special from the first time my eyes landed on you, and, the more I see you, the more convinced I am. You're extraordinary, Marinette, and your heart song is the most beautiful I've ever heard." The young woman couldn't help but blush and show a hopeful wide smile at Luka's words. "Now, that's a beautiful smile! There's no way anyone can deny you anything to that" He smiled while staring at her eyes.

"Even you?" She involuntarily asked, and his eyes opened wide. "Ah-" her hands rushed to cover her mouth.

"I would be the first to fall for it" he laughed, but kept the second part to himself: 'if I already hadn't'

Marinette blushed even harder. Luka was even more impressive than she thought. Wasn't it too good to be real? Too incredible. Especially for someone like her.

This wasn't a crush, she realized. The spark in her heart was something more- the warmth she felt and the butterflies in her stomach… all of it made it obvious.

It was LOVE.

Was it even possible? So fast, so easily.

"It pains me to see how you don't believe in yourself and your potential," Luka continued. "Besides, Juleka and Rose like you, and let me tell you, that's already a big accomplishment."

Marinette's smile became even brighter but shy. "I like them too. Do you think they'll want to become my friends?"

"You heard them downstairs. I'm quite sure they already consider you that. Just how much time have you spent here since last Friday?" He teased, and Marinette flustered red, mumbling something incomprehensible that made Luka smile even wider before returning to the topic. "Anyway, don't put fences or walls to yourself. Life itself will already do that, there's no need for you to add more unnecessary difficulties. Try to give more credit to your positive features instead of blaming yourself for the negative ones. Flow with it"

"What if I can't? Or what if it's not a fence, but an unbreakable wall?" She asked, thinking of her neverending work routine and Audrey Bourgeois.

"Nothing is unbreakable, Marinette. You just need to believe you can do it. And if you can't go straight through it, then you can go around it, or even jump over it. Maybe get help too. There is nothing wrong in getting support when you need it. Definitely nothing to be ashamed of" Luka strummed the strings of his acoustic guitar lightly, in an unknown melody that spoke to her heart. She could relate those new tunes more than to any song she had ever heard. She closed her eyes to enjoy the notes that ran from her ears to her heart. Luka looked at her smile, pleased. "That's my favorite part of playing music, you know? Help people feel better and put smiles on their faces. And it's specially rewarding when is someone as beautiful and pure as you"

Marinette stared astonished at his fond expression. His smile was so perfect she wondered if it was even real.

"Marinette?" He called. "Let's enjoy this moment, this view, the breeze. Forget about all bad things for now. Take it easy and relax. Have a drink with me?" he suggested,  pointing at the glasses on the table with a welcoming smile.

Marinette’s eyes glowed in awe. She had thought she would be fine with just a little bit of Luka, even if it was only during his performances. But now? She wanted it ALL. She wanted to feel as alive as she felt whenever he was close. She wanted her love- this electric feeling to be mutual and last forever.

With those feelings in mind, her face rose up to meet his blue eyes with conviction.

"Thank you, Luka. I won't be looking down anymore," she proclaimed, and took the glass Luka offered her. Once in her hand, Luka lifted his tall glass, encouraging her to cheer with him.

"Face up?" he smiled, satisfied as she confidently bumped her glass to his. "Face up" she replied, and drank the alcohol while staring at his eyes and returning him a shy smile under his gaze.

With their empty glasses on the table, and without even noticing, naturally, they started leaning towards each other, lost in the deepness of their eyes. Their faces were barely a few centimeters apart, his fingertips brushed her skin and her hands moved to his chest. Their lips were almost touching when two voices interrupted them.

"OMG!! Isn't that Luka!?" "OMG, yes he is!!" "LUKA!!" KYAAAH" Two fangirls called from the nearest bridge.

Marinette jumped and backed away, nervously, and Luka turned around to awkwardly wave at them from afar after giving Marinette an apologetic look.

"Lukaaa!! Let's go have some fun?" "Yeah, like old times!" "Yeah, come have fun with us"

Luka turned to Marinette in alarm, and her mouth twisted.

"Sorry, girls! I'm not interested. Go have fun on your own" he told them off, somewhat angry, and they protested.

"Shh… He's already with someone!" One of the girls said to the other. "Hey! Didn't you say you didn't do that anymore? Liar!" "Oh, c'mon! She looks boring! Come with us instead, you'll have more fun!"

Marinette's expression turned into a mix of betrayal, sadness, anger and embarrassment.

She felt like the spell he had casted on her just faded away and Luka's heart ached in guilt and frustration.

"Shut up! I told you I’m not interested! Stop insisting! Don't you know what NO means!?" Luka finally yelled, losing his usual cool. But the fangirls continued.

"Oh, we may be scaring the lady! Poor thing, thinking she can have Luka all by herself..." "Have fun with your boring catch. How disappointing…" "What a shame…" "It's his loss, girl! Let's go" "Yeah, whatever" the pair of fangirls finally walked away.

Luka exhaled deeply and nervously turned to Marinette. "Sorry, Marinette. It's not what you think. Fangirls can get very annoying..."

Marinette's eyebrow arched, both demanding and hurt. "Not what I think? You owe me no explanation..." she was more hurt than she was willing to admit, and her face was at the lowest yet.

'It was my fault for having expectations… of course it was too beautiful to be real… Why did she even think she could be special to someone like him? To have him all by herself? She didn't know him! She thought he was amazing and sweet and caring… but her first impression has been proven wrong- absolutely wrong' she thought.

"Marinette! You're misunderstanding! I don't date fans, that's my policy!"

"So you just play around with them? Is this why you invited me? Am I your toy for tonight?"

She wanted to cry. She had fallen in love with an illusion. Of course someone that perfect couldn't exist. What was she thinking? She should have learned her lesson with Adrien, but this time was even worse. It hurt. A lot. More than a heartbreak ever hurt her. Because, this time, it also took hope away with her.

"No! Of course not-! You're getting it all wrong! That's all in the past! I was young and stupid- and... I don't do that anymore." He sounded so desperate Marinette almost believed him. "I wouldn't have invited you if I didn't genuinely mean it. Believe me, please" He pleaded, but she directed a glacial glare at him.

"Right… so that's what you say to all your fangirls, huh? No wonder they all fall for you. But I guess I have nothing else to do here: I know your policy now. I won't make you break it. Goodbye"

'How stupid of me to have hope something magical or exciting could happen to me. All that time invested for nothing. Not only out of his league, but also a playboy who had taken advantage of her weak state to seduce her with pretty words and music. How pitiful she was!

She wouldn't have minded to be his even if it was only for a night until moments ago. But now, she had decided she wanted it all- mutual love. And it was obvious he didn't feel the same.

Before leaving, her eyes darted to the empty glasses of alcohol. She grabbed one of the bottles Luka brought with him and refilled her glass violently. Luka was too late to react, before she drank it in one shot.

"Marinette, wait-"

Too late. The alcohol was already making her feel dizzy. That wasn't the soft drinks she used to drink, neither water: it reeked of alcohol. Logical, since it was something strong Rose prepared for Luka, not for Marinette. And her tolerance was incredibly low (which is why she always went with soft drinks in the first place). Luka rushed to catch the young woman when she slowly fainted.

"Marinette? Hey! Wake up. Open your eyes. C'mon! Don't do this to me" he lightly shook her small body. "Come back, please. You've got it wrong" he insisted, but Marinette left a light snore that made him calm down in relief. "Why are words so complicated…?" He sighed in worry.

After confirming she was deep asleep and nothing made it seem like she would wake up anytime soon, Luka carried Marinette in a princess style downstairs in concern.

"Marinette!" Rose gasped and rushed to her friend in Luka's arms.

"What have you done, dumbass? Is she ok?" Juleka slightly hit his arm, before checking on Marientte.

"Yes… Yes. She's just sleeping. The alcohol was too much…” He lamented. “Do you know where she lives? Or any relative or friend?"

The waitresses shook their heads in negation, and exchanged a worried look. "Lu… What happened up there?"

"I guess I'm still not good with words…" he shrugged, after a long silence, letting the Marinette's body rest on his bed. Juleka and Rose exchanged a worried look watching Marinette sleeping in distress, mumbling Luka's name in her dreams.

________________________________

The next morning, Marinette woke up in an unknown room. 'Where? What? How? Why? When…?'

Music coming from the next room startled her. 'That song…?' It was a song she had never heard before, yet it felt familiar for some reason. 'Who is playing it?' stepping out of the room, she realized where she was: the Liberty.

She jolted in realization and she looked at herself in the mirror. She looked horrible, but her clothes were still the same. She sighed in relief. 'What happened?' before she could think more, her eyes met Luka's in one of the couches.

"Good morning. How are you feeling?" He asked her with a soft and apologetic smile.

"I- ugh… my head… what happened?"

"You don't remember?" He asked and she shook her head. "You passed out," he explained, signaling for her to take a seat. She complied. "You seriously startled me, Marinette. It was so sudden... And since you didn't seem to wake up, I let you sleep on my bed"

"Oh- sorry… and thank you…" she muttered, looking down, embarrassed.

"Hey. No more looking down, remember? Face up" He raised his own face in encouragement.

"Face up" she repeated, following his lead with a shy smile.

“You know? About yesterday… I want to-” Luka started, breaking the silence, but Juleka interrupted them.

"Lu, the label called you. You better say yes this time or-" Juleka noticed her friend. "Oh, sorry. I didn't know you were still here, Marinette. How are you feeling?"

"Better, thank you," Marinette answered. 'Label?' She wondered.

"Jules. Marinette's got a headache. Could you give her some medicine while I'm on the phone, please?" Luka asked Juleka and she smiled tenderly, aiding her friend to the counter.

"Here" Juleka offered her an aspirin and a glass of water, and Marinette accepted. Juleka noticed how Marinette kept staring at Luka's direction with curiosity.

"Luka had an appointment 10 minutes ago. Jagged Stone's label wants him to sign a contract with them" Juleka explained, proudly. "He has been turning them down for weeks, but this time he seemed to have decided to sign. That's why he came back one day earlier than usual, actually. Isn't my dumbass brother amazing?"

A contract… with Jagged Stone's label? Luka was going to sign it? Marinette remembered Nino's words: 'he's gonna be big in no time'. She had agreed with that affirmation… She just didn't expect it so early. So sudden. Where would their chances be if he became famous…? With all his fangirls- wait- what was that about fangirls?

She remembered.

"Fangirls" Marinette mumbled to a confused Juleka. "Why did you lie to me, Juleka? You said I was special, but Luka just thinks of me as a fan! And he doesn't date fans! Were you making fun of me?"

"What? Of course, no! Where did you get those ideas from?"

"Those fangirls from yesterday said it, and Luka confirmed"

"That dumbass…" Juleka's tongue clicked and Marinette started to cry. "Hold on, Marinette. You're misunderstanding everything. It's true Luka had a 'rebellious stage', but that's part of the past now, he's different now. If he invited you it's because he is really interested in you. I promise. He ditched the meeting with the music label so he was there when you woke up and he even-"

"How can I know you're not lying?" Marinette demanded in a yell and Juleka looked at her in shock.

"We hate lies, Marinette. We may be chaotic and a bit crazy, but we're always honest. Luka too." Juleka explained, hurt by her friend's distrust.

At that moment, Luka returned. "Sorry- I have to go now. Will you be- Marinette?" Luka cut them, and the fashion designer showed him an enraged expression and took her things and rushed out.

"Marinette, wait!" Both siblings called, but she didn’t stop. Luka ran and somehow caught her by the wrist and Marinette was finally letting go of the tears she had been holding. "Marinette…!"

"Let me go, Luka!”

"You remember the misunderstanding," Luka realized. "Let me explain, please," he begged.

"No! I don't want to hear it. Do you want to make me look even more pathetic? I'm sick of it! I'm sick of my own stupidity. Falling in love with you was a mistake!"

"Love...?" His jaw fell, leaving him puzzled with his mouth open.

"You have fun with your fangirls, you don't date fans as per your policy and you'll soon be famous internationally and forget I exist! Coming here every day was a waste of time. Goodbye, Luka. Good luck with your life" she freed herself from his weakened grip and started running away.

Luka's feet were glued to the floor in shock. Did she really say love?

"What are you doing!? Go after her, stupid!" Juleka shouted and Luka snapped out.

"Shit!" Luka ran, "Marinette!" but she was nowhere to be found. "No… Dammit!" He cursed.

When he returned to the Liberty, Juleka and Rose scolded him. "You better pray for her to be here tomorrow evening for your performance. But now go and sign that contract before they give up on you.  Hurry up!" Luka nodded, took his guitar with him and started walking, deep lost in his thoughts.

____________________________

As soon as Marinette arrived at her apartment, she let herself fall on the bed and started crying uncontrollably. She received some phone calls and messages, but she didn't feel strong enough to check. She was supposed to be working at Audrey's at that hour- of course she would call. Her boss was going to kill her. But she didn't care. Instead, she played again the live performance of the previous Friday, when she felt more alive than ever. Music to accompany and silence her tears- tears of heartbreak and betrayal.

Once again, she let her negativity win. Again… And without listening to his excuses.

She felt at her lowest yet.

____________________________

And just with that, in a blink of an eye, Friday arrived.

Marinette coped with heartbreak with stress working- she had a lot to catch up after the time she had spent in the Liberty the past days, and she worked better under stress, anyway. At 6 PM a message from Alya arrived on her phone.

'Girl, we're going with Nino to Liberty again. Wanna come? Your hot guitarist will be playing tonight! We'll be waiting for you there!'

She ignored the message.

________________

Just before 11PM, the Liberty was absolutely crowded. The last performance had ended, and people could already feel the rush in anticipation for Luka's performance. But the musician wasn't feeling it as he usually did. He had been rewatching past Friday's performance in loop, focusing on Marinette exclusively. He felt terrible. An unfortunate misunderstanding due to the past he was ashamed of, had come to chase him at the worst possible moment- the moment he had finally found the person with the heart song he had always wished for.

It was past the time for Luka's performance, so Juleka knocked and entered his cabin to call for him. "It's time"

"Marinette…?" He asked and she shook her head in negation, biting her lip. He sighed deeply.

Once at the stage, he looked at the empty chair he had reserved for Marinette in the first row, and then he looked around to confirm she wasn't there, indeed. He was sad, more than he had been in a while, but the Liberty was a place to be happy and he was a professional, so he had to give it his all, like always. Only those who really knew him (or really devoted fans like Nino) would be able to notice something was wrong with him.

"Good evening, everyone! Thank you for coming. Ready for some rock & roll?"

"Yeah!!" "Woohoo!"

_____________________

Marinette checked the clock on the wall of her apartment: 11:58 PM. Despite her efforts, she couldn't take Luka and the Liberty out of her mind.

Luka's performance would be ending right now, she thought, moving forward the DVD recording to the moment he thanked the audience and fans had asked for an encore. At that moment, he had asked her and only her, if she wanted one too, and she raised her voice like she never had before. It felt great, she remembered. ALIVE. The video ended when Luka left the stage, mentioning a new song. Did he play it tonight? She wondered, but she had no way to know, because she hadn't been there and his performance had already ended...

The clock pointed past midnight when she buried her face in the pillow, tears finding their way out.

________________________

At the same time, at the bar, Alya and Nino were talking at the counter.

"Woah Alya! It was amazing! Too bad Marinette didn't come. I thought she enjoyed last week?"

"I know… She's been stress-working since yesterday, it seems. Something must have happened, but she's keeping it for herself. I wish I could help her more… She should be enjoying her youth! Falling in love and-"

Suddenly, fangirl squealing started and Alya and Nino felt a hand on their shoulders that startled them. Neither expected to find Luka when they turned.

"You two- You're Marinette's friends, aren't you? From last week-" He asked and they nodded when their voice refused to come out, shocked and processing what was happening. "I need a favor, please." Luka asked.

Alya and Nino exchanged a look and followed him to his cabin, shoving his fangirls away as they walked through the crowd.

_________________________

‘Girl. You better tell me what's going on asap, because I'm losing my mind’

Marinette stared confused at the screen as a new message arrived on her phone: a video. Marinette was a little unsure to play it seeing Luka in the preview image, but her longing feelings for him and her curiosity won over her fears.

She played it.

"Hi again, everyone. Ugh" Luka looked unexpectedly nervous. "I know it's way past the time we're allowed to 'be noisy', so I'm going to make it quick before agent Roger comes and gives the owner one of his fines." Some people laughed at the back. "I composed this song for a special lady who, sadly, isn't here today- which is why I asked these amazing people to make it reach her. Thank you, guys!" 'He called us amazing!' Nino fuzzed and Alya laughed at her boyfriend. "Anyway- I hope I make myself more clear with this song than with words. This song is for you, Marinette"

Marinette's eyes opened big and she audibly gasped. A song for her…? She knew that melody- the one he was practicing and that reached her heart. And the lyrics…

A confession of love…? Could it be…? She felt tears in her eyes, moved by the perfect harmony between the acoustic guitar's melody, the lyrics he sang with his beautiful angelic voice and the conveyed feelings through it… His feelings for her- his love and his wish for her to be confident and shine.

The song ended and he looked directly at the camera.

"Marinette, I'm sorry for our misunderstanding. I hope I made myself clear this time. Whenever you want, if you want- of course-, you know where to find me. I'll wait for you."

Marinette let out a restrained cry as she pressed the replay button.

______________________________________

Luka was at the upper part of the ship, alone, with a tall glass in front of him. He had only taken a sip, and had focused on his guitar instead, playing 'Marinette's song' tunes.

It had been hours since Marinette's friends- Alya and Nino- had sent her the video, but she didn't appear or reply to them. Being almost 4 AM, he wasn't expecting much. 'So my feelings didn't reach her, huh?' He sighed in defeat.

"Didn't you say no sad faces were allowed here? Or do you have privileges? Because that's unfair"

Luka turned his head and met Marinette's eyes, who had just seated next to him, bringing out all her courage. His face immediately lit up in relief.

"Marinette. You came" he smiled. "Did you-"

"Did you really mean it? The song… those feelings..." she asked in determination. Her heart was about to burst out in both fear and expectation.

"All of it" Luka didn't even flutter, no doubt in his voice.

"Hmm…" Marinette secretly smiled under her bangs and soon, her eyes darted to his drink. She blinked in surprise. "Rose's unicorn special drink? I would have never expected you would like it."

"I don't. I have no idea how you can drink this, actually. It's way too sweet" he stuck his tongue out in disgust and Marinette's lips curved wider.

"Then…" her hand moved to cup the rainbow colored glass. "I hope you don't mind it if…"

"Go ahead- sorry it's not very cold anymore..."

Was she doing it on purpose? Licking her lips, so teasingly after taking a sip… He was feeling all hot out of the sudden, so he rolled his sleeves up. His throat felt suddenly dry.

Still seated next to him, Marinette moved her head to rest it on his shoulder. "Could you sing again...?"

"Of course. Which part?" He strummed his guitar's strings, but she didn't answer and just hummed, as if she was telling him to guess it. "Ok, let me guess. Maybe that you're…

'An extraordinary girl. Clear like a musical note, sincere as a melody. The song that's been playing in my head since our first encounter'

He sang and she blushed, shaking her head. "Not this one? What about this then?" He continued.

'Clear all the fog around you and raise your voice to shine, like the diamond you are. A bright smile no one can deny. Don't be afraid to feel ALIVE'

She shook her head again, and he sang another part, hopefully.

'You're the one in my heart, the perfect melody to admire'

Marinette's smile widened, but she shook her head once again. It didn't pass him how she looked at him from under her lashes.

'Face up, so I can see your glowing eyes and your dazzling smile'

Always up, never behind, don't be afraid to take my hand. A new love story to write, the clock no longer in standby. Give me a second chance and I'll never say goodbye'

Redness found its way to Marinette's face, as she hummed happily. Luka smiled back at her, equally happy, but Marinette didn't have enough yet. She stood up and yelled loudly to the river: "Encore!"

Luka laughed, remembering their first meeting one week ago. "You want an encore? Any requests?" He asked, confidently.

“I want to listen to something PURE” she blushed. “Something that tells me your feelings are genuine as mine. Something that tells me that I’m special to you. Something to clear all the uncertainty I may have left…"

Luka listened to her attentively, and after giving a thought, he knew exactly what to play. He left his guitar aside and took a step closer to Marinette- very close. She was trembling but expectant when he held her hand, exhaled deeply and pressed the palm of her hand on his chest.

His heartbeat.

"This. This is new, even for me. It only happens when you're around, Marinette. And if you allow me to kiss you, I'll prove it right. Shall I?" Marinette opened her eyes wide and her face flustered again. Next, she nodded, and looked up so he could brush his lips to hers softly, carefully, treasuring the feeling the contact gave them… With her hand still on his chest, Marinette noticed how their heartbeat soon beat as one. In unison. Matching tempo, same feelings of love. And that was the best encore she could have ever received.

She was certain now: like the song said, she had cleared up all the fog and was ready to hold his hand without ever looking back.

And with that, all her fears vanished. No more redness on her face. No more stammering. No more nerves. No more negative feelings. She just felt as she always wished.

ALIVE.

More than ever.

Confidently, Marinette raised her glass and drank it whole while staring at Luka’s eyes. Luka gulped, feeling thirsty out of the sudden.

"Marinette. I think I made my feelings clear now. Will you give me an answer? Or at least say yes to a date?" Luka asked, a little impatient.

"I thought you didn't date fans…?" She teased.

"You're not a fan, Marinette. What kind of fan would miss their favorite artist's live performance on purpose? You're the one my heart chose and the most beautiful person I've ever met. You inspire me to compose a thousand songs"

"I can't be your fan, then?" She tilted her head to the side, playfully.

"You can be whatever you want, Marinette," he assured, and her smile brightened.

"Even your one and only official girlfriend?" She said, reaching for his arm.  

"Please be?" He almost begged.

Marinette felt shy out of the sudden. "Yes… I really want to" She nodded and hid her blush burying her face on his shoulder.

"Marinette. Face up" Luka reminded her, happily, and she raised her head to meet his eyes directly, lost in its blueness and his loving smile. One of his hands moved to her hair, brushing her bangs to have a better look at her face, while the other held her hand steadily. Her face flustered and her fingers squeezed back at his. Slowly, they moved closer until their lips melted in a tender kiss. A slow, longer kiss followed.

"That drink sure is sweet" Luka mentioned, licking his lips and making Marinette smile. "But it's not that bad, I guess. I think I could get used to it…" he said, and Marinette giggled.

"See? I told you it was good!" A high-pitched voice yelled from the stairs, followed by a loud gasp.

"Rose!" Another voice called.

"Ah-" the blond lady covered her mouth. "Sorry, keep going! We're not looking! Or listening! We're just here- chilling- we won't interrupt! Go on!"

Luka rolled his eyes and Marinette giggled again. Soon, Juleka excused Rose and dragged her downstairs, giving the new couple some privacy.

"They were worried about you, you know? Don't get mad at them"

"I know" Marinette smiled widely. "I have to apologize to them later, especially to Juleka. What I said… I'm sorry I didn't listen to your explanations…" she lamented, looking down.

"Shhh… That's for later." Luka shushed her and tilted her face up with his hand under her chin. "Do you have more spare kisses to share or are you tired?"

"I- I do have them… a lot, actually" she blushed at his closeness. "And you?"

"For you? I don’t think I could ever get tired of them" he gave her a short kiss, before continuing. "But next time drink something else, please. You're sweet enough, I don't need the extra amount of sugar" Marinette laughed and pressed her lips to his. And he immediately kissed her back. "I love you, Marinette"

"I love you too, Luka" she embraced him closer, her face finding comfort in his arms.

And like that, they kissed until the sunrise. 

[bentforkent]

to the moon and to saturn - chapter one

spencer reid x fem!reader

navigation and summary 

word count: 2753

no content warnings 

next chapter

seven

“you’re boring.”

“no, i’m not, y/n!”

“you never want to play pirates with me!”

spencer’s hair is long and his glasses are sliding down his nose. the light seeping into y/n’s room from her large bay window is muted by the white sheet covering it. the sheet rests precariously over a chair, forming a blanket fort carefully engineered by spencer, and haphazardly constructed by y/n. there are throw pillows tossed throughout the fort, and spencer makes an attempt to straighten them whenever he gets the chance.  whenever he comes to y/n’s house, ringing her doorbell with a backpack full of books, they work together to add on to their secret hideaway. the white sheet is the newest addition, especially designed to let more natural light into the blanket burg. this follows a poor mishap where a lamp y/n had left on too long burnt a hole through her carpet.

previously, the pair had constructed a stuffed animal room, a reading corner, a designated snack area. y/n’s starting to run out of linens. the fort has been standing for weeks now, y/n’s parents very rarely involved enough to enter her room, giving her and spencer free reign to create their own imaginary worlds to play in undisturbed.

except spencer, with all his practicality, isn’t particularly adept at the “playing in imaginary worlds” part. y/n can’t comprehend that. it’s simple for her to slip into a different universe, enjoyable, even. she’s begged spencer to play mermaids, bank robbers, fbi agents, firefighters, princesses---you name it. spencer indulges her for the most part, but y/n can always tell that he’s not that into it. he’s much fonder of tucking into some obscure poetry book, reading aloud when y/n requests. she never comprehends much of what he’s saying, but he reads so confidently that it fills her with glee anyways.  

for seven year olds, it’s clear to outsiders that they both don’t quite act their age. y/n, with her big doe eyes, dreams too much, her escapism both her greatest asset and most fatal flaw. spencer’s a stickler to the realistic, his pragmatic nature an unconscious choice that gives him a beautiful worldview but will make him grow up too fast. for now, though, the children don’t worry about that. they worry solely about balancing each other out and the purity that comes with being in youth.

y/n is splayed on her back on the floor of the fort, where her scratchy carpet is covered with a fluffy pink blanket. her hair fans out around her head in a halo. spencer’s physics book is closed and set gently in the corner, and he’s attempting to braid a small chunk of y/n’s hair. “pirates is my least favorite game,” he says.

“what about knights?” y/n angles herself to look back at him. she’s far too young to execute a soul searching gaze, but the way her eyes strain to scan his face comes close. she takes note of his facial expression giving away his inner thoughts. the way his lip quirks up indicates that he definitely does not want to play knights with the girl in front of him, but the softness in his eyes tells y/n that she’s won.

without another word, they crawl out from their blanket fort and jump onto the bed. “my armor is blue,” y/n says, unsheathing an imaginary sword and holding it up in joust. “knight armor was typically made of iron or steel, and there was no way to make it blue in the late 15th century,” spencer piped up, mirroring her actions. he likes playing at y/n’s house. his parents would never let him jump on the bed. y/n’s parents let the two of them do a lot of things, spencer thinks, and he’s never heard them fight like his parents do either.

“cool, spencer!” y/n says enthusiastically. she’s always enthusiastic when he tells her a fact, even though she rarely really understands him. she knows people are terrible to spencer because of his intellect, and had made a pact with herself when they first became friends that she would never ever ever be mean to spencer for being smart. “we can pretend, though. yours can be blue too!”

“okay,” he replies, and y/n begins to coach him through the game, attempting to loosen him up a bit. they play, bouncing around on the bed and wielding fake medieval weapons until the sun begins to go down and spencer remarks that he needs to go home before dark or his mom will be upset.

y/n reluctantly lets him leave, knowing that he has a lot less fun at his house, but finding comfort in the fact that he’ll come back the next day.

spencer and y/n spend every day together, without fail. they’re young, and they don’t know much about life, but they know that they’re the only people for each other. they’ve been inseparable since y/n had toddled into spencer’s first grade class and heard him reciting a john lyngate poem. her favorite book at that time was a brightly colored picture book, so she was both fascinated and confused by the boy in glasses in front of her. that day, they’d sat together on the bus and chatted the whole way home. the pure elation that occurred when the children realized they shared the same bus stop was unmatched. y/n, who’d just moved to las vegas, was relieved she’d met a friend in her new hometown.

she didn’t really meet any other friends after associating herself with spencer. he’d warned her that being his best friend was basically social suicide, but y/n was already attached to him like superglue. once, a girl in their class had tried to invite y/n to sit with her at lunch. the girl not-so-subtly made it clear that spencer was not invited to the table, and y/n had shut that down quickly with a swift spoonful of red jell-o down her shirt. spencer decided then that red jell-o was his favorite.

to sum it all up, in super simple terms, y/n and spencer were close. and everyone in their town knew it, including their parents, although both sets of adults were generally nonplussed about what their children were involved in as long as they were alive and surviving.

y/n’s parents aren’t neglectful, per se. she’d just had to learn how to fend for herself very early on. y/n’s existence had been an accident, and although she didn’t know that in explicit terms, it wasn’t hard to figure out based on the lack of maternal instincts from her mother. y/n’s mother sat on the back porch of their house a lot, looking out at their tiny, barren backyard with a cigarette in hand. her father went away on many business trips, coming back to greet the family only with a pat on y/n’s head before he padded up to the bedroom to slip into bed. one day, y/n would realize the intensity of the mental health problems both of her parents were suffering from, but as a child, the adults in her life just felt far away.

spencer’s parents were similar in a sense that they weren’t the best. rather than the silence that settled over y/n’s house, his home filled with argument. it’s why he found solace with y/n, with their blanket fort. y/n’d offered to let him live with them constantly, but spencer couldn’t leave his mother. his father? he couldn’t care less. but his mother...as much as spencer longs to spend his days curled up in y/n’s bed, reading, he knows above anything else, he’s got to protect his mother.

after closing the door behind spencer, y/n skips to the kitchen to pour herself a drink. her and spencer had made fresh lemonade the day before, squeezing lemons y/n had stolen from her neighbor’s tree. spencer had been in charge of the sugar, and he’d added way too much. the pair tried it, though, and liked the super sweet taste.

y/n fills her glass with ice, having to stand on her tippy toes to reach it in the freezer. after the cup is filled with the sugary beverage, she takes a second to peer out of the window and check on her mom outside. y/n expected to find her in her usual plastic chair, cloud of smoke encircling her. but she wasn’t there. this was odd. she sets her sweating glass down on the table, and wanders upstairs to get a location on her mother.

loud moans float down from the top of the stairs, and y/n, ever naive, follows the sound to its source. the stairs creak under her feet, her house old and probably close to crumbling. y/n pushes the door to her parents’ room open with both hands, and is immediately sick at the sight. at seven years old, she doesn’t fully understand what’s happening, but she knows that whatever she is seeing is wrong.

william reid, spencer’s father, is laid naked next to her mother, also fully exposed. they’re startled by the door opening, shocked to see young y/n standing there, witnessing their adultery. the three of them are in a trance, suspended in surprise. y/n’s brain is moving a mile a minute, she knows, but she can’t seem to form any cohesive thoughts except “this is not right.”  it feels like forever that y/n is holding eye contact with william before her mother speaks. “y/n,” she starts, but y/n doesn’t stick around to hear the end of the sentence. she’s out of the bedroom and out of the house in 30 seconds flat.

as she runs down the suburban street, she’s barely aware of the tears rolling down her cheeks or the pain in her feet. she’d forgotten shoes. she runs, runs, runs, hair flowing behind her. she runs until her thoughts catch up to her. where can she go? she realizes that her body had been taking her straight to spencer’s house, but she couldn’t. how could she look him in the eye? how could she tell him that her own mother is responsible for his family falling apart? how could she ever even be near him again? stopping in the middle of the road, y/n lets out an anguished scream. a ferocious scream. a scream that claws its way out of her chest. and then, sufficiently exhausted by both her physical activity and her emotional despair, she turns back the way she came and begins to trek back towards her house.

- - - - - -

“penny, i have no clue how you do your job,” y/n says, handing the blonde woman before her a hot macchiato in a to-go cup.

her hair is longer now, her eyes more weary. the wonder she felt as a child is long gone, sucked out of her on that fateful night. y/n hardly thinks about it anymore, but that night after she had gone home, her mother made her pack her bags and took her as far away from vegas as possible. as far away from spencer as possible. she never saw him again. it’s been almost twenty years since she’d last seen the geeky boy. the loss of her childhood best friend was a dull wound now, one tucked safely in the back of her subconscious. sometimes she wonders how he turned out, but their time together feels more like a dream than a memory.

y/n moved away from her parents as soon as she turned 18, straight to washington d.c.. with no money, no degree, no friends or family, y/n turned to her work. she got a job in a tiny coffee shop, and the elderly lady who owned it took her under her wing. her name was janice, and she was an old, childless widow. y/n’s kind disposition filled a void janice had given up on trying to fill, and the two became a fierce pair. janice provided y/n with the apartment above the shop, higher-than-minimum wage, and when janice passed five years later, y/n inherited the coffee shop itself. she’d been owning and running it ever since.

it was at this shop that she met penelope garcia. penelope frequented the kitschy coffee place before work, and had gained quite the soft spot for the raven-haired owner. the two of them chatted every morning as y/n flitted around behind the counter, making whatever caffeine-filled concoction penelope had ordered. eventually, their friendship progressed past casual small talk at y/n’s work into wine-filled sleepover nights at their apartments.

“my job is hard, my friend,” penelope replies, shuddering. “some of the stuff i see gives me the heebie jeebies.”

“yeah, like dead bodies.” y/n turns and begins making her own personal coffee to start the day, penelope leaning on the counter in front of her. “heebie jeebies is an understatement!” y/n faces penelope again and grins, pouring copious amounts of sugar into a mug that janice had used while running the café.

“you know, y/n, i only know one other person in the world that takes that much sugar in their coffee,” penelope remarks while she watches the barista stir her obscenely sweet coffee with a wooden stirrer.

“hmm, they must be my soulmate, then,” y/n says. penelope’s ears perk up at that. she makes her way to the door, and y/n raises her mug in lieu of a wave. “have fun at work, pen! see you at your place tonight! i’ll bring wine!” penelope responds with a witty goodbye and heads to work, just the jingle of the bells on the door to signify she was ever there.

-----

penelope saunters into the behavioral analysis unit office 30 minutes later, cup of coffee long empty. “good morning, babygirl,” derek says.

“i’ll show you a good morning, hot stuff,” penelope deadpans, walking through the bullpen to greet all of her coworkers. penelope’s so bright that she immediately lights up the dreary BAU.

“spencer!” she calls, prompting the shaggy haired doctor to look up from his desk.

“good morning, garcia,” he says with a small wave.

“this morning, i got coffee at my favorite place,” penelope begins to gush, “and the barista puts just as much sugar in her coffee as you do!”

spencer doesn't understand why garcia is telling him this until she continues.

“this particular barista happens to be super cute and also one of my closest friends.”

spencer shakes his head with a laugh. “no, garcia, i’m not letting you set me up again.”

“okay, the first one was not good, i’ll admit.” she perches on the edge of his desk.

“but i actually know this girl! and i love her!”

spencer shakes his head again, giving penelope a light, joking push off of her seat. “no,” he emphasizes, and garcia gives him a dramatic sigh.

“okay,” she says, dragging out the word. “i’m going to go to my lair now to give you time to

think about it.” she presses a kiss to the top of his head, and with a ruffle of his hair, she floats to her office.

i’ll convince him, she thinks. i mean, how could i not? coffee aside, the kids are perfect for each other. she doesn’t know how she missed the blatant similarities between them. penelope’s usually very perceptive, and that makes her really good at setting people up. i might as well be cupid, she thinks, except for that one date i’d sent spencer on. she chooses to ignore that one. a minor lapse in judgement.

penelope pulls out her phone to text y/n.

penelope (7:56): y/n, my love, my light, i have found the most perfect guy for you

y/n (7:57): no penny, not again

y/n (7:57): remember the last date you set me up on?

oh yeah, penelope remembers. she’d sent both of her friends on two completely separate, shitty dates. maybe cupid wasn’t the best nickname for her.

penelope (7:59): you’re right. ugh. ix-nay on that idea then

she attaches a lot of sad emojis, then tucks her phone away. there goes that. penelope tucks that idea away, into the depths of her brain, and forgets about it.

[iam93percentstardust]

Masterpost for @tonystarkbingo Mark IV

Bingo Fills

S1 Kink: Lingerie: Hold Me Closer (ao3, tumblr) NSFK

Tony is floating.

Eyes closed, mouth parted, wings tucked up against his back, head lost in the clouds that make up his subspace, the collar around his throat the only thing anchoring him to the here and now, making sure he doesn’t float too far away. Sometimes, there’s a gentle, familiar hand on his head, ruffling his hair, and a rumbling voice that reminds him of home telling him what a good boy he’s being. Sometimes, there’s a spoon at his lips and that same voice urging him to try whatever is in the spoon. Sometimes, there’s a change in the vibrations teasing his prostate and his breath hitches and his hips jerk needily.

And always, always, he is floating alone amongst the clouds.

T2 Baking: You Make My Dreams Crumb True (ao3, tumblr) Bling: Sugar - Fluff

Sam learns about an important family tradition he must take part in if he wants to propose to Tony.

A3 Free Square: Here’s to Las Vegas (ao3, tumblr) Bling: Extra Whip - Happily Ever After

The day after Steve gets married, he wakes up in a Las Vegas hotel with a ring on his finger and Tony Stark snuggled up beside him.

R4 Polyamory or Open Relationship: Call This Bliss (ao3, tumblr) NSFK Bling: Cream - Smut

Steven notices it first: a gradual sweetening of Tony’s scent from something warm and homey to alluring and intoxicating. It takes him a few days to realize what it means. In all the months Tony has been here in Sauoa with them, he’s never once had a heat. This isn’t unusual for omegas. Heats can be affected by anything, ranging from exercise to stress and everything in between. And Tony had certainly been stressed in the first few months after coming to the village. It’s no wonder he hasn’t had a heat before this.

K5 Ghosts: Haunted Houses (ao3, tumblr) Bling: Tea - Wrote an AU

Bucky decides that he doesn’t want to move toward the light after he dies. Instead, he settles down where he’s always lived and keeps everyone else out by haunting the place. He meets his match though in Steve, a real estate agent who’s too stubborn to give up on the house, and Tony, recently come into his inheritance and looking for a place to hide.

Extra Fills

S4 Sharon Carter/Agents 13: what i know about you (would fill a thousand books) (ao3, tumblr) Bling: Blueberries - Tony has Insomnia

Here is what Tony knows about Sharon: she tells people she likes blueberry muffins because she thinks it makes her sound grown up, but she prefers chocolate donuts. She likes wildflowers and lilies and violets, but Queen Anne’s lace best of all and that’s what Natasha had brought her for their third date that had tipped her from liking this red-headed spy into loving her. On bad days, she curls up on the couch with the softest blanket she owns and watches old cartoons.

Here is what Sharon knows about Tony: he used to love carrot cake but hasn’t touched it since the day his parents died while he and Sharon were out at dinner. He insists on always having her burner phone’s number when she’s a mission because the one time Fury told him he couldn’t have it, Sharon ended up with three broken ribs. He hates roses because they were what Tiberius always gave him after he did something like cheating on Tony or hitting him or mocking him in front of the press (Steve gives him blue poppies the same shade as the arc reactor and Sharon loves him for that).

S5 Misunderstandings: One Song (My Heart Keeps Singing) (ao3, tumblr)

When Thor is old enough to understand what a Heartsong is, he goes to his mother to ask her why he can’t understand the language his is in. He listens as she tells him about the first soulmates who couldn't understand their Heartsong until the day they meet, excited by the thought of a grand adventure, one that will take him across the cosmos in search of his One.

He’ll search all the Nine Realms if he has to.

A4 AU: Western: Under a Wandering Star (ao3, tumblr) NSFK

In the days following the Confederate surrender at Appomattox, Bucky Barnes packs his bags and heads west to his father's ranch. Three years later, Tony Stark, laden with his father's debts and unable to find a new business partner, accepts Bucky's offer to wed in return for his debts to be paid off. Excited for what he thinks will be the adventure of a lifetime, Tony hops on a train heading west. But this lawless country is different than what he expected and it isn't adventure that Tony ends up finding - but love.

R3 Teenage Tony: Part of Your World (ao3, tumblr)

Tony grows up without a pod.

Howard doesn't believe in pods, after all, even though nearly every other killer whale-mer out there has one. But the Stark patriarch is convinced that he's too good to need a pod, too special, too skilled a hunter. Pods are for weaklings who can't hunt for themselves, not for the likes of Howard Stark.

Uncharitably, Tony thinks that maybe a pod might have saved Howard from the kraken.

R5 Sam Wilson/Falcon: I Know You (ao3, tumblr) Bling: Kiwi - Sick Tony, Peach - Mentions Tony’s Butt

When Tony gets sick and hides away from everyone else, it's up to Sam to find his wayward boyfriend. Good thing he knows him so well.

K3 Flying: Falling with Style (ao3, tumblr) Bling: Cherry - Tony in His Armor

When Tony was a little boy, his favorite thing to do was go to the airport so he could watch the planes take off.

[vannahfanfics]

If Love Was A Color

Category: Mild Romantic Fluff

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Characters: Katsuki Bakugo, Ochako Uraraka

Additional Tags: Quirkless AU, Soulmate AU

Katsuki’s red eyes zeroed in on the word outlined in the fine print stretching across the six-inch-thick book in front of him. While many of the students congregating in the library would find the massive treatise daunting— especially considering its contents were as dull as the lightbulbs flickering in their dumb heads— Katsuki absorbed every syllable. Committing laws to memory was no easy task, but he embraced the challenge. After all, one day, he would be Japan’s most renowned prosecutor. 

Katsuki’s eyebrows twitched as the loud giggling of girls disrupted his concentration. He glanced over his shoulder with lidded eyes to watch two first-year students clutching coffee cups stroll by.

“So you met your soulmate in Introduction to Biology?” one asked, a pretentious-looking girl whose ponytail looked tight enough to rip off her scalp. 

“Yes! He’s so handsome and so dreamy! He wants to be a doctor; I can’t believe I lucked out with someone so smart and driven!” the other squealed as she pressed a hand to her flushing face. Her cheeks darkened as her friend joked that she should just drop out and marry him since he’ll be so rich; the girl laughed and insisted no, she couldn’t, how improper… But Katsuki could see the wheels turning in her head. He scowled as they disappeared behind some shelves, but their giggles floated behind them, clouding Katsuki’s study sanctuary with obnoxiousness. 

Katsuki hated the concept of soulmates— or really, love in general. First of all, it was so fucked that there was some predetermined person you were miraculously just supposed to commit to spending your life with. What if they were a bitch, like that girl who would rather slide right into a rich man’s pockets and had no work ethic? What if they were some bum who lived in their mother’s basement? It burned Katsuki up inside, the fact that he was supposed to just accept someone without them earning his approval first. There was no way in hell he would let someone ride his coattails off the pretense of love. He had way too much to worry about anyway, as a college senior. 

Still… Sometimes he had to admit that having monochromatic vision was a problem. Although the world adapted to the fact that people were colorblind until they met their soulmates, most people actively sought them— so by Katsuki’s age, most assumed that you had colored vision. He had to continually nag his professors for including color-coded charts and the like in their lectures because how the fuck was he going to differentiate? Still, that problem could be solved just by making waves— and Katsuki was damn good at that. 

Ugh. I have a headache now, listening to those two bimbos prattle, he scowled, rubbing his temples as a dull pounding made a home in his skull. He pushed away from the table, leaving the open books and notes behind to walk the short distance to the coffee shop that adjoined the university’s four-story library. As he stood in line to order himself a plain black coffee, silently reciting the laws he’d just memorized in his head, he didn’t notice the door slam open and someone flurry into the small shop— that is, until they plowed into a chair, tripped over it, and slammed right into Katsuki’s back. 

“Uwahhhhh!” they screeched. With a surprised yelp, Katsuki reflexively arched his back as their face crashed right between his shoulder blades. Crimson eyes wide in confused, he whirled around to face the clumsy stranger— 

and then recoiled because color exploded into his world. He groaned as he staggered back into the display, eyes twitching as his previously inactive rods and cones sprang into life to fill his vision with a million different hues. He held his hand over his eyes, trying to adjust to the thin slivers of color peeking out through his fingers, and watched as a short, round-faced girl with a bob cut slowly straightened up while rubbing her nose. 

“Ow, ow, ow,” she whined pitifully before cracking an eye open. Katsuki gawked at the dark, warm hue that filled her irises, the same color as the tables’ rich wood— brown? Was that brown? Her hair was the same color, so if she was a brunette, it would make sense. Slowly, he lowered his hand from his eyes, squinting as the pain ebbed. She raised her head, mouth opening to apologize— and then she inhaled sharply. 

“Wow. Your eyes are such a beautiful color.” 

Katsuki could feel the heat rush from his toes to the crown of his head. His mother had always told him he’d had crimson eyes like rubies. The girl continued to pore over them, a serene smile blooming on her face before it dawned on her. 

“Wait, wait, wait, I— color? But that means we—! You’re my—! Oh gosh!” she spluttered. Katsuki winced as she slapped her hands hard to her cheeks, causing the skin to bloom pink there— pink, yes, that was the color of blushing. She continued to squirm wildly, entirely overwhelmed by the situation, before she managed to squeak out a sentence. “I’m Ochako Uraraka! It’s very nice to meet you, um, soulmate— Oh, that sounds so creepy!” she wailed and tugged at her chestnut tresses of hair. She looked apologetically at him. Her face turned a deep burning red. “Let me try this again… Your name, what’s your name?” 

“Katsuki Bakugo.”

The barista called him to take his order, so he turned on his heel and did. As he was handing a few bills over the counter, Ochako scampered up behind him to peek over his shoulder. 

“A plain black coffee, huh? You see the type!” she chirped. “I like sweet things— iced coffees with lots of cream, sugar, and flavored syrups are delicious! My favorite flavor is Irish cream— hey, where are you going?” she whined as Katsuki ignored her prattling to take his coffee and begin walking to the exit of the store. He grimaced as she followed after him, swinging her arms and hips a little so that the little planet glitter charm— it was dark, could that be purple?— on her bookbag swung back and forth. “We’re soulmates, right? We should get to know each other, don’tcha think?” 

“Sorry,” Katsuki huffed as he pushed the door open. “I don’t do the whole soulmate thing.” 

He tried not to think of the pitifully sad look on Ochako’s face as he closed the door right in it— but he found that it stuck in his memory for the next three days until he came to the library again. 

She had some determination; he would give her that. She found him in his little nook, leaning his chair back on two legs as he pored over another law book— one that had a blue binding, Eijirou had told him. He didn’t even notice her approaching until he heard the soft tap of a cup, and he looked up to see her standing there, smiling pleasantly as she slid a black coffee towards him. 

“You’re a diligent student, I see. Studying pre-law?” she observed with a point at the book cover. Katsuki snorted, half-debating ignoring her again and rejecting the coffee, but he was running on empty. Why refuse free caffeine? Though he loathed small talk, he supposed he could entertain her for a few minutes, as thanks.

“Yeah,” he answered as he picked up the cup and sipped at the steaming hot beverage. The tension melted from his shoulders as the robust flavor of the roasted beans hit his tongue; it wasn’t long after that the caffeine kicked in, giving his dulled senses and attention a nice buzz. He noticed Ochako slip into the seat opposite him, continuing to smile with those big brown eyes of hers sparkling. He saw the purple planet charm— Saturn, he realized— sitting atop her backpack, so he pointed to it. 

“Astronomy?” 

“Aerospace engineering.” 

Katsuki released an appreciative whistle. He hadn’t expected that of the bubbly girl, and despite his reservations, he had to respect her challenging curriculum. She puffed out her chest with a prideful grin and continued, “I want to design rockets!” 

“A space case for a rocket scientist. That’s perfect,” he snorted with laughter, making Ochako puff out her cheeks in defiance. Now that he noticed, they looked so soft and round… He almost had the urge to pinch them and feel how squishy they were. Almost. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m a little spacey, but it doesn’t matter as long as I can solve the equations, does it?” she retorted haughtily. Katsuki shook his head, muttering a “Guess not,” and she reclined in her seat with a satisfied smirk. Katsuki’s crimson eyes fell back to the law book he was osmosing, and he could see her watching him intently above the tops of the thick pages. “What do you want to do?” she asked slowly. She seemed to be getting the hint that he didn’t want to be bothered for long, but there was a stubborn glint in her eyes. 

“Prosecute,” he quipped, not looking up at her. 

“Wow! That’s an ambitious goal. It takes a lot to be a government prosecutor.” 

“Yeah, it does— a lot of studying, which, if you don’t mind, I would like to get back to,” he huffed with more venom than he meant. A strange sinking feeling washed over him as he watched the girl sink a little into her chair and her smile fold down at the edges. Silently, she got up and slipped her backpack on, mumbling a half-hearted “see you later.” As she began to leave, he cleared his throat. 

“Thanks for the coffee,” he added with a frustrating heat rising to his cheeks. Ochako glanced at the half-empty cup, then back to him— and her smile returned a little sliver. 

The next time they ran into each other, he was in line to get coffee again. She came in afluster, face scrunched as she pored over a notebook scrawled with mathematical equations; she was so absorbed in her calculations that she didn’t notice Katsuki standing in front of her, nor that he ordered an Irish cream and hazelnut coffee with extra cream in sugar. As he turned around, she shuffled forward thinking he had exited the line and bumped right into his chest. Her round cheeks pinkened and she looked up to squeak out an apology, but it died in her throat when she noticed it was him. 

Wordlessly, he held out the coffee to her. 

“To pay you back for the other day,” he explained as she took it, looking at him like he’d given her a ring instead of an iced coffee. She hid her bashful smile behind the white lid, slowly turning her body from side-to-side. As they moved out of line, he gestured to the messy array of numbers and letters on the pages. “What’s that? Looks intense.” 

“It’s an extra credit assignment. If we solve this equation, we get ten bonus points on midterms… But it’s presenting quite a challenge,” she groaned as she scratched at her scalp with the end of her pencil. Smiling, Katsuki pulled out a chair for her and she automatically sank down, her brown eyes never leaving the paper. It was kind of cute, the way her eyebrows scrunched together and her lips poked out in a thoughtful pout. Katsuki found himself softening as he gazed at her; though it definitely looked like a challenging problem, the sparkle in her eyes indicated that she was rather enjoying it. 

He liked that. 

Wait a minute, he realized, his train of thought derailing and veering off a canyonside. The gears turning in his brain threatened to overheat and spin out of control as he considered what he had just actually thought. Him, liking Ochako? No. No, no, no. That wasn’t possible. Katsuki didn’t do love, he didn’t do dating, he didn’t do soulmates. 

“Good luck with your problem. I gotta go,” he blurted, using his hand to hide the blush creeping onto his face. Ochako looked up with a confused gasp, but he was already marching out the door. Dimly, he could hear her meekly call, “Thanks for the coffee…” 

As he stalked down the sidewalk, oblivious to the cloudy gray sky and the pattering rain beginning to sprinkle down from the heavens to dye the white sidewalk a deep slate, Katsuki’s mind was whirling. He tugged at his ash-blond strands of hair with a deep, guttural growl. He couldn’t like Ochako. He wouldn’t like Ochako. He’d always sworn that he’d never fall into that trap; he’d never take stock into that soulmate bullshit. It was just his subconscious; it had to be! He didn’t have a crush on her. It was just the internalization of all that soulmate propaganda trying to trick him into thinking he had to like her. 

Right? He didn’t like Ochako. He didn’t like her sweet soft voice, or her warm brown eyes, or her big broad toothy smile her rosy round cheeks complimented so well. He didn’t find that little purple Saturn charm endearing, nor the way she pushed her fingers together when she was nervous, nor her little thoughtful pout and scrunched brows. He didn’t. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. 

Katsuki stopped walking. He tipped his head up to stare defeatedly up at the cloudy gray sky. Gray. He hated that color now. It reminded him of a time when the world was just that— gray and lifeless and dull. Just Katsuki and his law books, all in monochrome. 

Now the sky was blue, and so were the bluebirds nesting in the eaves of his dorm. Now the grass was green, as were the leaves that rustled in the trees lining the walking track by the gym. Now the sun was yellow, like the buttercups growing in front of the library. Katsuki’s eyes were red, like Eijirou’s spiky red hair and the apples he insisted on crunching on every morning though Katsuki hated the sound. Now grapes were purple, like Ochako’s glittery Saturn planet charm. 

Now hearts were pink, just like Ochako’s warm, squishable, cute little cheeks. If Katsuki had to pick what color love was, it would be pink. 

He dropped his head down with a sardonic chuckle. The water dripped down from his drenched hair to run down his face in rivulets. Pink, like Katsuki’s face every time he clapped on eyes on that clumsy, space case, chubby-cheeked cutie who happened to be his soulmate. 

Damn it. He was in love with Ochako. 

The slick sidewalk squeaked under his tennis shoe as he whirled on his heel to sprint back to the library. He surprised Ochako as she was walking through the double doors, making her compulsively chuck the notebook forward. She gasped and reached out as it spiraled out into the rain; if it landed in a puddle, the black ink on the pages would bleed into incomprehensible smudges, and she’d never get that extra credit she was working so hard to earn. Katsuki caught it as it sailed over his head, slowly bringing it to his chest to shield it with his body. 

“K-Katsuki?” Ochako asked uncertainly, looking him up and down. He probably looked a sight, clothes and hair soaked from the rain and his chest heaving from the feverish sprint. 

“You wanna know something? The first time I saw you, I couldn’t help but think that your eyes were the most beautiful color,” he whispered. It’s true, he loved the pink shade her cheeks turned— but nothing compared to that warm chocolatey brown that sucked him in and embraced him in warmth. 

“I… I thought you didn’t do soulmates,” she swallowed, pushing her fingers together. Katsuki walked forward with a soft smile, holding out the notebook to her. 

“I changed my mind,” he said while reaching up to brush a strand of her soft brown hair out of her face. He then grinned devilishly and pinched her cheek, making her squeak in protest. “Can’t resist ya, Cheeks.” 

“What happened to Space Case?” 

“You’ve been upgraded. Congratulations.” 

Ochako blinked at him, then began laughing. She took the notebook back and hugged it to her chest, airy giggles making her shoulders shake a little. Now that he heard them from Ochako, he supposed those girly giggles weren’t that bad. 

This soulmate thing… He could get used to it.

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

[mysticeyeliner]

SA Fanfiction! Ilse getting help to heal from her friends! Part 1

Chapters 1-3, 2,921 words

IDK how to name fics lol but this gets it across. I’ve never posted fics before but I wanted to share this

Tw: Rape mentions, Abuse mentions, Alcoholism and drug addiction

Also includes homelessness, running away

"...Ilse?" Ilse glanced up from her spot in the dirt, seeing Anna standing with Moritz. They looked concerned. "Are you alright?" Anna asked. "I'm- I'm fine. Just hanging out before I leave again." "In the dirt?" Moritz asked. She ran her hands through the clover patch on the ground. "Picking flowers,' she said with a smile. "Can...Ilse, can you come with us for a moment? Moritz beckoned to her. She stood, concerned but too curious to say no. She really only paused to think. So maybe it was in a shadowed alley between two houses, but she hadn't been doing anything. Anna took her hand and smiled. She started swinging it like they were still young girls. Hell, Anna still had the same bows in her hair. They stepped up into her house, which always smelled of tea and fresh flowers. Moritz pulled out chairs from the table while Anna closed the door. Ilse suspiciously sat down and averted her eyes to the blue and pink embroidery of the tablecloth. "Can I make us all some tea?' Anna asked, already pulling out a jar of rose petals from a cabinet. That was the fancy stuff her mother always made when she had guests over, sometimes while they all played outside and only half tried to be quiet. Moritz nodded, and Anna began the rose tea. "We wanted to talk to you. About some stuff," he said. "What stuff? Are you planning something?" Ilse asked. "No, it's...you. We're worried about you. You haven't done anything wrong, but you're not Okay. I don't know what exactly you've been through, but the way you act, the things you say and do...it's not like the Ilse we know. We love you. But Priapia, being away from home...you're too lonely and you have trauma and addiction. I just, we want you to talk to us." Anna came around holding three steaming teacups in her fingers and a bowl of sugar. "We don't hate you, please don't think that, we just know somethings wrong. We're your friends. Please." Ilse stirred her fingers around in her pocket, brushing against the clovers she stuffed in it. "I- I don't know what to...to say." "Then drink." Anna passed her a teacup with marigolds painted on the base. Ilse took a sip, letting the warmth flood through her chest. Anna watched her, stirring several teaspoons of sugar into her own drink. "Martha got beaten. A lot." She looked down into her cup. "I don't know if I'm supposed to tell you thqat, but it's true. She hid it from us. I'll never understand why, but eventually Wendla up and reported her papa. Martha doesn't get hit anymore." Ilse had guessed. She'd seen it, in the long clothing she wore, her demeanor. it was the same as Ilse's own. Thank goodness it was over. "My father isn't a good one either. Nothing compared to what Martha went through, but...still. You're not alone, Ilse. Other people can understand your pain. You have no one to talk to back in that artists' colony, but we're here with you now." Ilse swallowed. She didn't prepare for this. Anna drank some tea, then stood up from her chair and positioned one behind Ilse. "Can you tell us what's happening?" "I- I don't want to burden you- I mean. I don't believe you really want to help me." Ilse's voice cracked. "Oh, we do, trust me," Moritz smiled. "This is all we want to do today. You're not burdening us, I promise we want to be here, listening to and helping you." Anna started gently pulling her fingers through Ilse's hair. About half of them caught on tangles that Ilse rarely bothered to brush out herself. Anna got to work, gently unknotting them. "It's..it's a Lot. I'm used to it by now. The drinking, the smoking..." "Is that all there is?" Anna asked. Ilse brushed her sleeve against her nose. "No." She squeezed her eyes shut. Moritz gently grabbed her hand. "I- I wish I could say I'm used to the violation. The..." She opened her eyes. "But sometimes, all the time, I'm not. Sometimes they start pulling me back to their beds and I'm too drunk to know better, or only enough to know what will happen if I resist. Sometimes they just push me against their walls and there's nothing I can do. Once, the first time, I tried to hit him back, and I ended up with a black eye sleeping out in the freezing cold for two nights. It's a miracle no one killed me then or worse. But every time, I can't stop wondering if I deserve it, thinking maybe it was on purpose. Maybe I wanted it and there's just something sickly wrong with me. Like it's all my fault and I can't blame anyone but myself." A tear fell. "Ilse," Anna said gently. "I know that's not true. I know who you are. You would never. It's those men, they're sick. You're, Lord, you're only fifteen. You were, what, thirteen then?" Ilse nodded. Moritz handed her her teacup. "Wendla was raped. I wish it wasn't true, but it is. She never asked for that. She didn't know what was happening. But I see her ask herself every day if she wanted it. From what I hear, it wasn't clear. But I really don't think she consented to that. No victim deserves to doubt themselves every day, no one deserves to ask if they secrelty desired trauma. But I think, maybe they all do. Look, Wendla is kind and young and caring. She would never ask for that." Anna said, "And you're wild and hopeful and just trying to be free and safe. Please, try and believe us, you didn't deserve that, no matter what you did." Ilse started crying. Moritz reached out and she grabbed him in a hug. He held on tight to her. "You're our friend. We never want you to be hurt again." "That's what they'll do when I go back," she sobbed. "They'll beat me too. They'll get me drunk and make me pose naked and get me high and there's nothing I can do about it." "Stay with us tonight," Anna said, putting a hand on Ilse's knee. "I'll keep you safe in my sister's old bedroom. Or you can come into mine, if you'd like." "They're expecting me back. They won't like it if I'm not." "They won't find you. I promise, Ilse. You never have to go back there," Moritz said. Ilse put her cup down. "I don't deserve your protection." "Yes you do. And it would mean the world to me if you just spent the night here." She looked Anna in the eyes. Ilse couldn't understand every emotion she felt. Still, she told her yes. ====== Ilse stood in Anna's washroom, washing her face off and looking in the mirror. Not the worst she'd seen herself. And at least her hair looked nicer. She felt the heavy prescence in her boot and pulled it out. A flask mostly filled with liquor. She couldn't keep doing this. She always told herself she wasn't a drunk, she couldn't be, but the flask would beg to differ. God, she didn't know if she could get over this. "Ilse?" A call from down the stairs. She set the flask on the counter and went to see Moritz. "I'm gonna go now. I'll be back tomorrow?" She smiled and hugged him. "Of course. And, I'm sorry about your dad. Is there anything I can do?" He grimaced and shook his head no. Then he squeezed her hand and said, "Don't let Anna put bows in your hair. She's tempting, but it isn't worth it." He shuddered. Both girls waved him goodbye. As soon as Moritz closed the door, Ilse said, "He's the next project, right?" "I don't think of you as a project, Ilse. But, I'm not sure there's much I can do to help him. He just failed school, he doesn't have many places to go..." "Christ, I forgot about that. I with I could help him." "He's doing okay. Better than you have been. Now come here." Anna beckoned for her to sit on the rug in the living room with her. She held a notepad and a pencil. "Mama gets home in an hour. We can have supper then. But what do you want to do after that?" "...Do we need to do much?" "Yes! I'm here to make you feel better, so we're gonna talk some, especially with Moritz again tomorrow, maybe Wendla, but for now?  It's sleepover time." Ilse groaned that she had been pulled into this. But Anna played the mother half the times they played house as kids, so at least her stay would be comfortable. "Wanna come to my room?" Anna asked. "Sure." Ilse followed her up the stairs to a room with pink curtains and a bed covered in stuffed animals. "Oh, is this Soby?" she asked, picking up an old pink bunny. "I still sleep with him every night," Anna said proudly. She carefully moved every animal off the bed onto her floor. "Do you want to sleep here tonight, with me? I have plenty of blankets." Ilse was hesitant. "I don't want to intrude." "Please! I want to make sure you feel safe." She began smoothing her sheets out. Ilse moved to look out her window for a minute. "They're not going to find you, Ilse. And they won't be mad at you. As long as you never go back, that is." Ilse sighed and pressed her head against the glass. What was she going to do? "They don't deserve you. For anything. No one does, really." Anna came up and put a gentle hand on Ilse's shoulder. "I'm honored to have you as my guest, Miss." She swept into a curtsy. "For now, the best you can do is just stay here for the night. And a good long sleep in my very comfy bed will help you." "Okay," Ilse breathed. She walked over and picked up Soby, staring into her stitched on eyes. "For now, if you're not too tired..." Anna opened the door to her closet. Inside were numerous dresses with ruffles and bows. She grinned evilly at Ilse. "Noooo!" Ilse ran from her as Anna pulled a purple dress from inside and chased after her. --- Ilse was caught and turned into a doll for Anna. She was grumpily adorned in the purple dress, which had flower details on its sleeves, much like everything here. But before Anna could start on the rest of her, Anna's mother got home. "Oh! Mama, Ilse's staying here for the night. We're having a sleepover." Ilse emerged in her pouffy dress with an exaggerated frown. "Be nice to that poor girl." Frau Wheelan shook her head and started cooking supper. "She doesn't need to know why," Anna said softly, taking Ilse's hand. "But in the meantime..." Anna lifted part of Ilse's hair. Ilse dashed away from her saying no with a smile. Frau Wheelan called her daughter down to help with dinner. Ilse looked down at this princess dress again and craved a hit. No. No, she couldn't think like that. She had to stop. Soon enough it was suppertime. "Go clean your hands!" Anna's mother told them both. Ilse helped set the table while Anna went up to the washroom. "Ilse, it's been a while since I've seen you, dear." "Yeah, I haven't been up to much. It's lovely to see you, though." Her mother smiled and went to bring the food out. Anna came out of the washroom looking a little uncomfortable, sad maybe. Ilse was going to ask about it, but Anna saw food and her face lit up. "Let's eat!" Frau Wheelan declared. ===== They had pieces of seasoned chicken to eat. Despite disliking this dress, Ilse was sure to not drop anything on it. "Ilse, where have you been all this time?" Frau Wheelan asked. "Um...I'm living with some artists. Splitting rent." "Oh! Do you paint?" "I do." Ilse blushed. "And how's life treating you?" Ilse turned even redder. "Mama, can we not shower her in questions? Tell me how I should do her hair with this gown." "Please, she looks miserable...but some bows wouldn't hurt..." "Ooh, can we make hot chocolate after dinner? I wanna put on fuzzy socks and tell stories by the fire before bed." "Of course. Just make sure to go to bed at a reasonable hour." When they cleared their plates and Anna and her mother put dishes away (Ilse was quickly dismissed from the task) and Frau Wheelan went to go read, Anna went to the washroom again and came down to talk to Ilse. "Sorry she asked all that. You definitely don't need to give her details. She's just excited to see you." "It's okay. I'd be curious too." Ilse glanced at a clock. "Ilse, be honest with me...is this yours?" Ilse turned and saw Anna pull out the flask. Which she has left in the washroom. "Um..." Her silence said enough. Anna's voice got sad and quiet. "Look, I'm not trying to judge you. i just need to know how often you do this. How often you drink. Is it a serious problem? Do you need it?" "I...I wish I could say that wasn't mine. I don't want to be a drunk. I just, I'm so used to it...to always being a little inebriated...it makes it harder to feel the pain." "Are you wounded? Is that the pain?" "No." Ilse looked down sadly. "Okay. I'm here to help you. With everything. Any problem you have." "I have a lot. I'm not sure you want to get involved." "You're my friend. I'm always gonna be here for you." Anna touched Ilse's face. "If it makes you feel better, you can help me in return by letting me style your hair." --- Two braided pigtails later, Anna and Ilse were sitting around Anna's fireplace drinking hot chocolate. Ilse had socks on her feet for the first time in years, covering the blisters she was always getting. "No one's cared for me so well in a while." "Well, they should. You deserve it. You've always deserved it. Just wait until I make you take a bubble bath." It had been many years since she'd had one of those. "Wendla is hopefully coming tomorrow. Maybe Martha too. We can talk and figure something out for you. You don't need to go back there." "...I left my paint back there." "I'll buy new paints for you. I have some here. They're old, from a phase, but they should work in the meantime." Ilse smiled. "Thank you. It means a lot." "Of course. And might I just say, you look lovely." "Not my style, but thank you." "We'll all get you clothes you like. That show who you are. Until we figure that out, you can use mine. Your green dress needs a lot of cleaning anyway." "It's fine." "You sat in the dirt in it today." Ilse got closer to Anna until they shared a blanket. "We can go to bed whenever you want, okay? I'm pretty blind to other people's fatigue." Ilse nodded and continued watching the fire. ---- Anna offered her a light blue nightgown, this one without any embellishments. Ilse changed in the washroom, watching herself in the mirror. She hadn't seen herself look this nice- this well-treated- in years. Since even before she left for Priapia. Her brushed, styled hair and not-cheap dress just for sleeping in, her stomach filled from eating right... This didn't feel like her anymore. Maybe the old version of her wasn't right, and she was meant to be a dirty teenage artist who spent her nights between the beds of men and women that she would have to treat with respect the next day. "There's a spare toothbrush and paste in the drawer!" Anna called. A commodity she didn't have for the last two years. The paste tasted weird in her mouth, but, knowing she was doing something good for herself, cleaning herself, it meant something. A small change. A good change. She washed her face again and came back to Anna's room. It had electric lights as well as candle jars with flickering painted roses on them. Anna sat on her bed, adorned in a pink nightgown with plenty of bows. "I got you a glass of water," she said with a yawn. "Now come on in here." Anna turned out her lights, leaving the candles glowing. Ilse followed her, sitting on the cushy bed, facing the door. Faint moonlight shone through the window. Anna pulled out a sleep mask and placed it on her own head. "I'll tuck you in." Ilse slid under the soft covers and layed her head back. These pillows were better quality than she was used to. Anna reached over and pulled the covers up to Ilse's shoulders, then tucked herself in right next to her and pulled the mask down. "Goodnight. I'll see you in the morning," Anna yawned again. "See you," Ilse whispered. A glowing bedroom, goodnights, precious quiet. Someone softly falling sleep next to her, who wouldn't do anything to her. She missed it. Still, she needed something else. Ilse sat up and grabbed Soby with her fingertips, pulling her up by the ears. The soft bunny felt nice in her arms. She tucked herself back in and snuggled the bunny until she slept.

[kiras-sunshine]

I’m gonna hold onto your heart for sure

Written for day 3 of  Carlos Reyes Week: “well, that just happened” + friendship

Summary:

“It’s not out of obligation or anything like that,” he says immediately, “we are friends, no matter what. Besides, you’re basically part of the team, like an honorary member of the 126.” 

on ao3

or

Carlos is surprised to find Paul, leaning against his blue Camaro outside the police station when he finally gets off from shift.

The sun is already setting, painting the whole yard of the police station in golden light.

Paul’s face lights up when he spots him near the doors, and he gives him a small wave. He has changed out of his uniform, but he is still wearing dark pants and AFD t-shirt.

He tries to go through in his mind if he has forgotten any plans they might have made when he walks up to the car and him. He cannot come up with anything, but he is still glad to see him.

“Hey, everything okay?” He asks, mostly out of habit. He looks fine and he guesses he wouldn’t be grinning that widely if something atrocious had happened.

“Yeah,” he agrees and claps his hand on his shoulder. “Just checking up if you’re moping like a lovesick puppy,” he jokes.

Carlos flashes a smile, but he shakes his head as he glances their shoes. “I’m not.”

TK had to leave up to New York to attend his cousin’s wedding. He had been invited too as a plus one, but he couldn’t get four days off from work, and TK had assured that he was completely fine going there alone too, but he misses him.

It has been three days, which is ridiculous considering how much he wants to see him and longs to have him back in Austin. He cannot remember when he would have missed someone this much, and it almost terrifies him a little.

Obviously, they have been texting and calling, but it still isn’t the same thing.

“TK seemed pretty miserable when I called him,” he shrugs, with innocent smile, “just saying.”

He just huffs at that, amusedly, as he tries to fish out his car keys from the pocket of his jeans.

“Also, it’s family dinner today, so I’m picking you up. Well, I don’t have a car ‘cause Marjan just dropped me here on the way to supermarket, but still, the point stands.”

The 126 has created a tradition of having a proper, full-scale dinner once a week. The time and day changes, adapting to their shifts, but they never fail to have one. Owen has dubbed it as a family dinner for team bonding reasons. He has attended it a couple times with TK, but he feels like it’s a quite accurate term.

The crew definitely is a family, and they care each other a lot and deeply, and there is so much love and affection in the air when they don’t have to worry about getting called to scenes, and they always have each other’s backs.

He is almost a little jealous of the bond they all share.

He lets out a small laughter and fidgets with his car keys. “That’s nice but you don’t have to--,” he starts, but Paul is gesturing him to stop talking.

“It’s not out of obligation or anything like that,” he says immediately, “we are friends, no matter what. Besides, you’re basically part of the team, like an honorary member of the 126.”

He would be lying if he said that hearing that wouldn’t make him feel fondness towards the entire team and it makes him feel cared for and a little special. He knows he generally gets along with people well and he has no issues making friends, but he has been missing Michelle and he appreciates it more than he can say that he has become friends with everyone in the team and they aren’t just tolerating him for the sake of TK.

“Okay,” he agrees.

Spending the evening with friends and eating a proper dinner definitely beats his plans of cleaning his apartment and ordering takeout.

“Yeah,” Paul laughs and before Carlos knows he has been pulled into a tight hug. It’s surprisingly comforting hug despite the fact that it’s short and brief.

“Well, that just happened,” he says, and there is a certain edge of uncertainness that wasn’t there before, with apologetic expression when he lets go off him. “Sorry, got carried away.”

“Hey, we’re friends, friends get hugged,” he tells him, immediately, resting his hand on his shoulder.

He isn’t maybe the most tactile person in the world, but sometimes it is easier to say something through touch than words and he firmly believes in hugging.

“Yeah,” Paul agrees, softly and his grin is back and already brighter. He nods towards his car. “Let’s go. Cap won’t like if we are late.”

***

Carlos isn’t sure if his stomach hurts because all of the food he has eaten or because of all the laughter. The food was delicious and there was way too much of it, and they had been talking about everything that came to mind. They had been sharing anecdotes of work and what their lives had been like before they arrived in Texas and the firehouse.

The 126 is back on shift in a couple of hours, and the whole team, except Owen, has sprawled on the couches, trying to survive their food comas. Judd and Mateo are talking about basketball, deep in their conversation and Marjan is showing Paul some video on his phone, and they all seem content in the moment, and the whole room is filled with laughter and chatter.

Carlos smiles as he looks at them, but his phone starts to vibrate in his pocket. He quietly slips away and walks towards the doors to get some more privacy. It’s basically all for nothing because the firehouse been built so that privacy is almost non-existent. Especially with this particular team.

“Hey,” he says, when the video call connects and he sees TK’s tired, but beaming face on his phone screen.

“Hey,” he says back, but tilts his head and squints his eyes at him. “Is that a fire truck?”

He turns his phone a little, so that he gets a glimpse of the bright red side of the truck. “Yeah.”

His grin gets wider. “Missing me that much?“

“Yeah,” he breathes out, with genuine laughter, “also Paul dragged me to the dinner.”

“Oh yeah, the family dinner. I should’ve remembered,” he says, as he runs his hand through his hair, making it stick up slightly. “That’s nice.”

“It is,” he says, sincerely. “I wish you were here with us.”

It’s nice that he is, in their eyes too, his own person outside of their relationship. He knows they are close, and they still keep complaining when they will grow out of their honeymoon stage, but he still knows how to be his own person and he doesn’t feel less whole without him. He feels that together they are something more, but not lacking otherwise either.

“Me too,” he admits under his breath, “we do have pretty great friends.”

It feels like an understatement but it’s still true. “Yeah,” he says, nodding. The corner of his mouth twitches into a gradual smile. “Your dad promised to teach me how to bake a sugar free key lime pie.”

It makes him laugh, and it’s such a beautiful sound and he would gladly spend rest of his life listening to it. His eyes are glistering with what looks like happiness. “He doesn’t teach just anyone,” he points out. “Kitchen is like a sacred place for him. He certainly hasn’t taught baking to anyone I have dated.”

“Yeah,” he says, rubbing his neck.

He likes Owen, and he feels like they would get along even if he wasn’t dating his son, but it is sort of a big deal for him that he seems to like him, too. He knows he doesn’t need anyone else’s approval, but he still loves the fact that all of them just took him in as one of their own.

“Also,” he starts, and points at the screen with grimace on his face, “his sugar-free key lime pie is terrible. It tastes like flour, so good luck.”

“Ah, I’ll just make the others eat most of it. Practice the fine art of guilt tripping,” he deadpans, but it is getting impossible to hold back the smile.

“Good strategy.”

“Your dad misses you, too,” he points out softly, “he had a baby pic of you on the dinner table.”

He had placed the framed picture on the spot that he usually sits on. It had been mostly a joke, a way to boost the team morale, but he had noticed how many times Owen had glanced at the picture during the dinner. The picture had been of TK, barely standing on his own, grabbing leg of a table and he was wearing orange overalls and grinning as widely as a one year old can.

TK groans, and he cannot help but chuckle. “It’s on the wall now. According to them, they have put it high enough so you cannot take it down when you get back.”

“I hate them all,” he mutters, but there is no heat behind his voice.

“You were a cute baby,” he adds, just because he can.

“I wasn’t,” he insists, “especially if it was the orange overalls picture.”

“It was, but I guess I have to ask him to show me the entire photo albums,” he says, mostly just teasing him and mostly because he genuinely wants to see the photos.

“Please don’t,” he says, but the amusement shines through his voice. “He would love it.”

It would probably take hours, but he might do it one day when he has time.

“How’s the wedding?”

“Good, it has been nice seeing everyone,” he tells him, sounding genuinely happy. Carlos knows he hasn’t seen his mother’s side family in years. “It would be more fun if you were there. They all keep asking about you.”

“I’m sorry for not making it,” he says, gently.

He would have loved to go with him, but the wedding had seemed a little like a last-minute thing for him, and the invitation had come in mail just a couple weeks before and there was no way he could have managed to change all of his shifts.

“Hey, I didn’t mean it as a jab,” he remarks, softly.

“I know.”

“It’s mostly just funny. I head a bunch of my aunts talking and doubting if you’re even real because you sound a little too perfect, and that if you’re real, how did you end up with me,” he explains with a huff, but his voice sounds amused and there is certain mischief in his eyes.

“You could tell them that I’ve a very specific type,” he jokes, because he can feel the warmth creeping up on his neck.

He knows how to accept a compliment, but perfect definitely isn’t a word he would associate with himself, let alone expect a bunch of people he has never met to describe him as such.

“What would that be?”

Before he has any chance to answer, he spots Judd walking towards him and he claps both of his hands on his shoulders and flashes a smile at the phone screen. “Rude green-eyed firefighters who don’t let their family know they are calling,” Judd quips into their conversation.

TK is laughing again, but he is definitely delighted to see him, too. “I feel like you can find twelve of those in a dozen.”

“More like once in a lifetime,” Carlos murmurs, as rest of the team swarms in and forms a sort of half-circle around them. He knows TK hears him, because he holds his gaze, and his face softens. His smile is tiny but genuine and he feels like it’s only reserved for him.

“Ugh, you’re too sappy,” Marjan complains, but she ends up sounding mostly fond.

Carlos tries to hold up his phone high enough that he manages to see everyone. They keep waving at him, and he looks genuinely touched. “I’m glad you’re there.”

“We are glad to have him,” Mateo pipes in.

“We miss you,” Paul adds, “but we think we like Carlos better,” he says, deadpan.

“Cannot blame you for having good taste,” he shoots back, with a wink, and suddenly the warm feeling in his neck creeps back up.

“At least he knows how to cook, unlike certain someone,” Marjan says, with a glare that doesn’t linger on her face.

“Hey, the casserole I made last week was edible,” TK argues.

“Yeah, kid. Edible, not good,” Judd says with deep sounding laughter.

“It made my stomach feel funny,” Mateo admits, sounding a little distraught.

“Even Buttercup didn’t eat it,” Paul reminds him.

“Y’all are so ungrateful,” he says, with mock exasperated sigh as he stares beyond his phone, but amusement doesn’t disappear from his eyes.

Carlos knows that TK’s culinary skills are common joke for them, and he can admit he shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near kitchen and unfortunately, he had gotten the leftovers of the casserole too. It had been dry and tasteless, but he still he had eaten it.

“I wouldn’t have eaten it if it wasn’t made by you,” he admits, too.

“Ah, blinded by love,” Judd says, shaking his head.

“You’ll end up with food poisoning,” Marjan tells him, as she pokes him in the arm.

Before he has any chance to reply, TK looks like he is listening to someone speak in the other end of the call. He flashes them a smile. “Sorry, I gotta go. Carlos, I love you. The rest of you are okay, I guess,” he jokes in a light tone, and his smile is so wide and genuine that it definitely reaches his eyes.

His crew fake exasperation around him, but they all end up erupting in laughter and keep telling TK how much they miss him before they manage to actually end the call.

[noir0neko]

salt and salvation- jjk

“The sea is emotion incarnate.” 

genre: mermaid!au w/ fluff, angst, v light smut | 11.8k words 

req: hi! i’d love a mermaid!au with jungkook x reader! the reader hates the beach but one afternoon runs into an injured jungkook there and falls in love? i love mermaid aus but honestly this could apply to any supernatural/mystical au you want! thank you in advance if you do do this request! thank you!

I hate the ocean. 

Everything about it. 

I hate the salt that seems to weigh down the air. I hate the granules of sand that get stuck in between my toes. I hate the froth of the water and how it collapses against the land like it's trying to swallow the earth whole. Like it swallowed my mother. I hate the wind and how it always seems to make my clothes rustle as I try to slip quietly without being seen or heard. 

Like it’s doing now. 

I try to pull my cloak tighter around me to quiet the sound. Why did my mother have to leave me her beach house when she died? She knew I would have loved the quaint cabin in the woods. The one with the big roof made of dark timber logs and windows painted by her hand. But she had left that to no one, and therefore, it reverted back to the Duke, with his stupid long face and slithering stare. I had tried to locate the cabin multiple times since my mother’s death, but no matter how many times I waded along the pier and into the thick woods behind it, I could never find it. Almost like it vanished like she did. 

The sea probably swallowed that, too. I think, bitterly, not looking out at its vast expanse next to me as I walk on towards the sea cottage. 

The property had been inherited by my mother through generations of noble women. When she fell in love with my father, though, a peasant farmer from across the border, she was denounced of her titles and forced out of the Duke’s estate. Not before she seized the deed to two very secluded properties: the beach house and the cabin. They were far enough from town to be acceptable to her still doting mother, but not far enough that gossip didn’t spread and damage the family name. 

The problem with the beach though, much to my chagrin, is that everyone else wants the land my mother's property sat on, despite the name that owned it. Merchants want it to build a port and extend the current pier further down the island's coast to encourage trade. Nobles want it to build an estate with a view of the water to impress their wives, mistresses, and rivals. Even the Red Revivals want it, to build a new pleasure house that would allow for ultimate discretion and easy access in and out of the establishment. I don’t want it at all. But it is the last thing of my mother’s that I have. 

And I will happily tell the Duke’s son, Marquess Savoa, where he can stick it if he asks me for my price again. He has been courting me for the better part of two years about the property, ever since it came into my possession. He had started out pretending like he didn’t want it, following me into the woods at night when I tried to find my mother’s cabin and talking to me as if we were old friends. Part of me knew I was still here at the mercy of his father, especially living alone as a young woman. But another part of me wanted to scare him away so he, and everyone else, would leave me alone. 

When my mother died, it was almost as if all of her “indiscretions” against her household were forgiven. I received letters from aunts and uncles I never met, welcoming me back to the Duke’s estate and into the family fold. They said that family was so important during these trying times, and they would see to my education and manners, even though it was well past the time. I burned all of the letters or flung them over the small cliff by the cottage and into the sea, pretending the wind was my mother’s laugh as she read them below the waves. Where were they for the past near two decades of my life? Where were they when my mother died and before they found out I was alone? 

I had been taught to read, to write, to do arithmetic and to dance. My mother taught me and my father in tandem, both of us giggling behind her back when she’d chastise us for not paying attention. I don’t know where my father is now. He left after my mother died on what he told me was a visit to see his family, and never returned. Part of hopes the sea swallowed him too. That would be easier than thinking he left me of his own free will. Until I truly was, I thought I knew what loneliness was when up alone as a child. But I didn’t. Part of me feels like I still don’t. 

I almost turn back around when I see a shape standing near the door of the house, tailcoats blowing in the wind and a hat resting in his hand. I roll my eyes and steel my breath, watching him knock on the door and call my name again, as if trying to rouse me from the sleep I’m not in. 

“I hope you don’t make a habit of coming around at this hour.” I grumble, staying at the bottom of the porch stairs. He turns around and looks down at me, a smile playing on his lips. Another unfortunate thing about this property: because everyone wants it, everyone knows where it is. And that I am its only resident. 

“There you are!” Marquess Savoa exclaims, bowing slightly for pretense. 

His shock blonde hair glints off the moonlight, tan face and dark lips turned up. His green eyes are swimming with expectation, excitement, and nerves? I look him over, taking in the black of his coat and trim length of his trousers, neatly tucked in to long boots with shiny silver buckles and a white undershirt billowing slightly in the wind. He looks more kept than usual, despite the jittery twitching of his hands. 

I thin my eyes at him. “What can I do for you, Marquess?” 

He waves his hat at me. “We are too well acquainted for titles.” 

“I didn’t know we were well acquainted at all,” I say, flatly, hoping he’ll get my hint and leave. He is here to give the same speech he always is: we are friends, I want to impress my father, what can I offer you? Please let me see inside? 

He doesn’t get my hint. 

“Such fire!” He exclaims, holding his hat over his heart in mock hurt. “I surrender.” 

The marquess always does have a flare for the dramatic. Some days, when he would walk with me in the woods and teach me about the different types of trees and flowers, I would allow myself to admit that I didn’t mind it. I would allow myself to let him pick my favorite flowers and put them in my hair and say sweet things to me. But right now, with another failed search under my belt and the stench of the ocean clinging to my clothes, I want to push him off my porch and board my door. 

He climbs down the stairs with his long legs, pocket watch chiming against the inner silver of his coat rhythmically with every step. As he approaches, I can see the pink of his cheeks, the pearly white of his teeth, the perfect line of his eyebrows. He is a fine man to look at, especially with the moon reflecting off every shiny buckle and belt, and I hate that the thought crosses my mind. Unfortunately, for all of my experiences, I still remain a romantic at heart. 

“I have another letter for you,” he says, reaching into his coat and pulling out a neatly folded creme envelope with my family’s deep purple seal. I sigh inwardly, forcing a smile to my lips as I take it from him. 

“Thank you,” I say, not letting our fingers graze during the exchange, “I’ll reply soon.” 

He gives me a knowing smile, as if he can see right through me, then regards the sticks in my cloak and slightly frizzy hair with disdain. “You went without me? Did you find it?” 

I shake my head, swallowing back the tears of frustration that rise in my throat. I have been looking for nearly two years. When will I be able to let go? When will I admit to myself that I won't ever find it. That the Duke probably tore it from the ground and used its beautiful amber wood to build a stable house. 

“I asked my father about it,” Savoa pipes up, and I can’t help but feel a slimmer of hope rise in me before he continues. “He said he never remembered claiming a wooded estate. And that, if he did, it was probably removed or the deed returned to the family.” 

Another thing about the marquess, his iron honesty. 

I always told him that it didn’t serve him well in court. 

He always replied he was only honest around me. 

I didn’t know if I believed him. 

He seems to sense my defeat and annoyance, because he hurries on. “I will continue looking for it though. We can go everyday, if you like. My education is over, Father rarely allows me to sit in on business matters, favoring little brother, and I know how to ride,” he rushes, out of breath. “I could bring you a horse! I could teach you. Every Lady should know how to ride.” 

I can see the regret on his face as soon as the words come out of his mouth and I slam back into reality. No matter how handsome or how thoughtful he may be, the marquess and I are from two very separate worlds, and even he subconsciously understands that. He steps closer to me and I can smell the fine lotions and soaps of the estate on his skin. He wants to fix me. To take my “wild” and “uncivil” upbringing and groom me into a pleasant, silent, noble woman. 

“I’m not a Lady,” I reply, meeting his eyes indignantly. 

“I didn’t mean that,” he backtracks, hanging his head like a sad puppy. “I’m sorry.” 

“I don’t think a Marquess is supposed to apologize,” I say, trying to make my tone flippant as I look beyond him at the house. It looks eerie in the night, with the moon shining through its windows and blue wood shimmering, almost iridescent. I stare up at the slats, unsure of how I never noticed it before, the wood seeming to sparkle blue and purple and jade, like the glitter of sugar candy or the scales of a-

“Marry me,” Savoa’s voice comes crashing into me almost as hard as the waves on the cliff side. I refocus my gaze on him, still standing in front of me, a small box lined with velvet and trimmed in gold between his palms. My stomach bottoms out, unsure of how I can navigate this situation on my own. 

Mother? Father? House? Please help. 

“Do what?” I sputter, ungracefully. 

“Marry me,” he repeats, more firm and sure. I think back to the times I had gone into the main square on errand, listening to the gossip that the young peasant and Lady’s alike whispered, pretending they thought I couldn’t hear. They always talked about how handsome Marquess Savoa was, how he would never deface his name by consorting with those below his station, how he would marry a Princess or another Duke’s daughter and the world would be as it was meant to. 

He opens the box in his palm and my eyes widen as I look at it. The ring is pure silver, glowing with small, almost clear purple and green gems weaving in a beautifully intricate pattern atop the ring with diamonds glittering around the back. Purple, for my house. Green, for his. And the pattern, like lavender. My favorite flower. How conveniently that worked out for him. 

And how bad it worked out for me. 

I open my mouth, unsure of what to say. How to say anything. 

I can’t say no. I can’t say yes. 

The wind lashes at my cloak, the midnight fabric coming unlaced to reveal my simple, pale pink dress underneath it. The marquess reaches forward and catches a strand of my dark hair in his fingers, still holding the ring in the other. I watch him in silence, begging him to take it back. Willing the universe, the gods, to let me wake up from this nightmare already. 

They don’t. 

“Marry me,” he repeats for the third time, eyes pleading. “We can keep the cottage for ourselves, we can join our families, we can search for the cabin in the woods and when we find it, we can stay there and I will pick lavender for your hair, and our children’s-”

“Savoa,” I cut him off abruptly, correcting myself and rushing on. “Marquess. I-I’m flattered by your offer. And I have come to know you as a dear acquaintance, but… I can’t.” 

“You can’t?” He asked, the puppy look filling his face once more. 

“These letters,” I explain, holding them up, “did you ready any of them?” 

He shakes his head side to side, light hair brushing his forehead. Maybe in a different life I would have married him. Maybe we would have grown up together and been promised to each other before we could walk. Maybe I would run my fingers through his light hair and let my lips run over his perfectly bronze skin. But not in this life. And not on this island. 

“My family,” I start, treading slowly, carefully, “they’ve been looking for a match that would be most advantageous to the family since my mother passed. I got word a few weeks ago they found a young man from across the Delta. He’s to be here any day to ask for my hand.” 

“Across the Delta…?” He trails, “another foreigner? Haven’t they defamed your family name enough?” 

His words sting, but I brush them off, shrugging. “I suppose not. They would rather embrace the reputation and turn those notions into something positive.” 

He studies me, wetting his lips and blinking. “But I haven’t heard a word of this.” 

“I hope not,” I reply, tucking the letter back into my pocket before he can ask to read it. “My uncles would like to keep it a secret until it is sealed, in case things don’t work out. None of us want another situation like my mother’s on our hands.” 

The words taste wrong in my mouth, like ashes, and the waves seem to crash even harder against the cliff. I swear that Marquess Savoa’s stare is full of suspicion, but before I can examine him, it falls into hurt. He was never good at hiding his feelings, another quality that didn’t serve him well at court. 

Luckily, that was one realm that I succeeded greatly in. 

“Well,” he starts, closing the box with a snap and trying to mask his disappointment behind false cheer, “I hope to meet him soon. He’ll arrive at the estate within the week?” 

“Yes.” I lie, wishing I hadn’t.

“Until then,” he almost whispers, turning around and climbing the rocks alongside the cottage to the main road, no doubt to where his carriage waited. I take in a deep breath, trudging up the steps of the house with thousands more pounds of weight on my shoulders. I sag with my back to the door once I enter, the fire I stoked before I left still burning lightly. Throwing off my cloak, I pull the letter from my pocket and immediately feed it to the flames. 

I don’t know what it says, but definitely nothing about a mysterious foreign suitor. 

Adding more peet to the fire, I sit at my desk and draw a piece of creamy paper from the cache, positioning my quill over its blank surface. I don’t know what to say. Or how to even begin. How does one talk to a family that they’ve never met? 

I write out my best attempt at redemption, seal it with thick purple wax and place it in the small box outside, marking it as full for pick up. In the morning, the page boy would come, he would deliver the letter, and I would wait for a miracle. 

---

Two days later, the miracle didn’t come, but the letter did. 

I had refused to go back into the forest for the past few days, tired of feeling disappointed and hopeless. I just sat in my cottage, desperately trying to think of a way out of the lie I had spun. I could say the engagement fell through, that my family would never admit to it to save face. I could say my family had only tricked me into believing there was a marriage to get me back to court. I could say a million things. But the worst one was that I could marry Savoa and that all of those excuses would push me into that. 

His matrimony would give me anything a proper girl could ever want: money, status, and noble children. It would put to rest all of the sneers and jibes by the town girls and court women. I could be reunited with my family and build bonds that would allow me companionship. It could pull me away from the wretched sea and further inland, with the trees and fields of blooming lavender. 

I think of the marquess, ring in hand, expectant eyes, and a pool of dread fills my stomach. He is a great man, just not for me. I would never be an equal to him, never anything more than a girl that he saved. His charity case to try and catch his father’s attention. No matter what he says, he would always consider his marriage as a debt to me that I would need to pay by servitude and obedience. He wants me as a noble lady, not as a woman. 

I groan, shaking the thoughts from my head and breaking the wax seal open with my fingers. I recognize the elegant script of my aunt immediately, the tall and flowing letters seeming more alive than usual. Her excitement at my engagement is palpable. The letter explains her pleasure at me finding a match, especially one I claimed as royal from across the Delta. I told her the connection was made through my father, who had worked on his estate farms for some time, with my mother making an initial introduction on a trip across the small sea. I said we had been communicating through letters since then, and he recently asked for my hand, saying he was coming across the Delta to meet my family and wed me. When writing, I felt ridiculous, fraudulent, like whoever had received this letter would see right through my facade. 

Luckily, this aunt did not. 

I told her my suitor would arrive on the shores in three days, one from now and that it would be my honor to present him. She ate it up, declaring she would arrange for a gathering to celebrate both my return, and my marriage. She couldn’t wait to meet us. 

Leaning back against the chair, I blow a low sigh through my teeth. Instead of burning the letter, I clench it in my fist. I have no reason to be upset with her excitement. I am the one who got myself into this mess by deceiving the marquess and writing my aunt in the first place. Throwing on a thick wool cloak and boots, I trudge out my door and into the mid afternoon light. The sun is setting over the sea, reflecting off the froth and blinding my eyes. 

I won’t look away. I think, begrudgingly. You can’t have me too. 

The waves crash against the shore in response, in challenge. Tucking the letter into my inner cloak pocket, I breathe through my mouth to avoid the salt as I trek down the cliff and towards the tree line. I know I should be staying inside. That I should be devising a plan. But my legs itch, my mind is racing, and all I can think is how desperately I need to be out. Out of the cottage, out of earshot of the ocean, out of this reality and into another one. 

I don't notice the body until I am tripping over it, stumbling in the sand. I bite back a scream, looking down to find a boy beneath me, drenched in water and bleeding. He’s on his stomach, face turned away from me, and completely nude. I shove down my embarrassment and kneel down to flip him over, shocked and relieved to find he is still breathing. Shallow, but any breath is a sign of life. And life is good. 

I push the wet hair from over his eyes and forehead, noticing how soft the black tendrils are to my touch. His face is more pale than I have ever seen on a human being, especially on this island. He is bleeding from his arm, a shallow cut, but still heavily flowing. His torso is lined with light muscle, planes and ridges quietly defined and covered in flawless skin leading down to his- 

“Hello?” I place my hands on his chest, pumping up and down in a steady rhythm. 

I can feel his pulse, slow and weak in his throat. I am terrified that I will watch this boy die before me. That I will watch the sea take another victim and have no power to stop it. Inhaling deeply, I place one hand on his jaw and the other over his nose, bending down to place my mouth over his when he suddenly gasps violently, shooting up and nearly knocking me in the head. He looks around wildly, big brown eyes settling on me. His thick, pink lips are wide with astonishment, and when he moves his good arm to push his hair back along his scalp again, I can’t help but notice how handsome he is. 

A miracle, indeed. 

“Who are you?” I ask, tilting my head to the side, still very aware of his nakedness. 

“Jungkook,” he replies, voice scratchy, but deep. 

“Jung..kook?” I test the name in my mouth, the syllables rough and foreign. 

He nods, looking around as if to gather his bearings.

“Do you know where you are?” I ask him. 

He nods again. “Dashni Island.” 

I give him a reassuring smile. “Where are you from?” 

He turns back to me, voice stronger. “From the Delta.” 

“The Delta?” I inquire, “do you mean across the Delta? On the mainland?” 

“No,” he replies, sure. “The Delta.” 

A pirate then. Or an orphan forced to work on a pirate ship. Maybe both. I have heard stories in the main town of ships being unloaded with human cargo, as well as raw goods. The people are usually orphans or servants from the mainland, who are either indentured to estate houses on the nearby islands or who serve for captains aboard merchant ships. 

“Where are your clothes?” I ask, deciding to return to the past topic later. 

“I don’t know,” he admits, but doesn’t try to cover himself. “I must have lost them.” 

I nod slowly, taking the cloak from around my shoulders and handing it to him. He smiles at me, almost as blinding as the sea foam, when he takes it. I stand up and brush the sand from my dress, turning away as he rises and wraps the cloak around himself. 

“Your arm…” I say, with my back turned. “What happened to it?” 

“Must have scraped it when escaping the boat,” he says. Definitely an orphan or servant, then. “It’s not deep,” he continues. “It should heal quickly. You can turn around now.” 

I do so, the wind seeming to slow. The boy, Jungkook, is now standing, his frame tall and lean. His face is angular, yet soft, cut like an angel. His eyebrows are thick and airbrushed on his face like a painter created him. His hair falls over his forehead in wet clumps, the black strands pasted to his skin. Sticking my hand into the space between us, I introduce myself, attempting to calm my rapidly beating heart as his impossibly soft hand shakes mine. 

“Do you have anywhere to go?” I ask. 

He shakes his head side to side, looking from the ocean to the tree line. 

“I have a cottage just up the cliff,” I say, jerking my hand in that direction. “You’re welcome to stay there until you heal and can find work.” 

His face noticeably brightens, the lost boy in him perking up. I smile at him and let him follow me back up the rocks and into my home. The stew I put on the fire earlier is still warm and I offer Jungkook a bowl of it while I move into the spare bedroom. I have kept the door closed for months, not wanting to release my emotions by opening it to find what’s inside. Inhaling, I turn the knob and push it open, the scent of must and dust hitting me like a ton of bricks. 

All of my mother’s and father’s things are piled in the small space, paintings, porcelain, books on agriculture and art. My mother’s jewelry boxes are full and overflowing, the gems and pearls glinting in the light. I cross over to the armoire and open it, wistfully running my hand over my parents clothes. While my father had taken the majority of his items when he left, there were still a few pairs of trousers and tunics left. Pulling out the smallest looking ones I can find, I firmly close the door behind me and go back out into the main area. 

Jungkook is sitting at my small dining table, cloak hanging off one shoulder to reveal the bare expanse of his torso. Despite his looks, he eats slowly and dignified, as if he was raised royally instead of as a merchant orphan. I watch him before he notices me, studying the regal lines of his face and upright posture. An idea flits through my mind. 

“Jungkook,” I begin, folding the clothes on the table before him. “What kind of work do you do?” 

“My trade… is complicated.” He says, looking intently into his soup. 

I sit across from him, waiting for him to elaborate and continuing when he doesn’t. “How long have you been in the Delta?” 

“All my life,” he replies. 

“You don’t eat like you were raised on a ship.” I challenge. 

“Maybe I wasn’t,” he counters. 

I study him more and this time, he studies me back. I watch his eyes roam over my face and torso, over the length of my hair and from my shoulders to my hands, which are now placed on the table. A slight smile bewitches his lips, and I clear my throat when I feel myself start to blush. He obviously likes what he sees. 

“Were you in the company of merchant nobility often?” I ask. 

“Yes,” he says, slurping his soup softly. 

I hum, forcing myself to continue before I lose my confidence. And my only chance. “What would you say if I told you I had an opportunity for you that can make you money?” 

He looks up at me through his thick lashes, lips wet with broth. “What do you mean?” 

“I need someone who is - or at least acts, like a royal to go to a ball with me in two nights.” 

His eyebrows raise and an almost comical grin consumes his mouth. “A ball?” 

I soothe out my dress, trying to sound dignified. “It’s a long story.” 

His lips twitch into a smile, the action making my heart jump a bit in my chest. I shake my head minutely, dispelling the sinful thoughts. I may not worship the Gods as I once did, but I know trouble when it crosses my mind. Jungkook takes his lower lip between his teeth, as if taunting me. 

Refusing to back down first, I raise my eyes to meet his. His smile broadens, cheeks puffing out to give him a slight baby face. I wonder how old he is, how he learned to eat this way, to talk this way. How he came to be on the beach, naked and alone and hurt. The blood that I can see on his exposed shoulder has dried, crusted and red. Relenting from my staring contest, I get up and soak a rag in freshwater. 

“We should clean that,” I say, changing the subject by referring to his wound. 

He nods silently, turning sideways to straddle the bench as I sit next to him. He pulls down the shoulder of my cloak further, revealing more of his arm and torso. If I look down, I would be able to see straight down the lines of his body. Expelling those thoughts again, I swallow and focus on his cut, wiping at the dried blood with the rag. 

“What happened to your parents?” Jungkook asks. 

I try to hide my surprise and discomfort at his question. “They’re gone.” 

I can feel his eyes on me, watching my face as I work. He had been bleeding so much when I found him I thought the wound was deep enough to expose bone. But now, as I reveal it, it barely has scratched the surface of his pale flesh. I draw my eyebrows together, puzzled. 

“Mine are too.” He says, voice solemn. 

I can still smell the ocean on him, salt stuck in his hair and on his skin. He exudes sorrow and something deeper I can’t place. He starts to hum slowly, a wistful tune that makes me feel haunted and enchanted at the same time. It is slightly whimsical, with varying notes and sounds that rise effortlessly from his throat. Shivers go up my spine, and I take my time wiping his arm down, wanting to get lost in his melody forever. 

“I’ll help you,” he stops to murmur quietly, the tenderness in his tone causing me to look up at him. Our faces are a mere inches apart and if he leans in any closer our noses would be brushing. The breath catches in my throat. 

“You will?” I say, hushed. 

He nods, the corner of his deep pink lips turning up in a smile. I can feel my heart beating wildly in my chest and heat rising to my cheeks. He is looking at me so deeply, as if I am the only person on this planet. I swallow, unsure of what to do with the weight of him. The depth of him. 

“Thank you,” I say, dropping my hands and studying the bloody rag. “I’ll make it worth your while.” 

“I know you will.” 

His response makes my knees go weak and I am suddenly very grateful to be sitting. The tone of his voice is impossibly deep, making the roar of the ocean go silent in my ears. I can’t tell if I am reading into his response or if his tone is trying to say more than those four words are. Biting my lower lip, I get up and clean the rag, desperate to get some room to breath and clear my head. 

If I am going to pull this off and save myself misery later, I need to leave my heart behind. 

---

The next morning, the mail boy gives a curt knock on my door. Before I can get there, Jungkook is opening it, an undershirt billowing in the morning wind and a goofy smile on his face. The boy’s eyes widen to the size of saucers, handing over a large purple box with deep cobalt ribbon holding it together. I peek around Jungkook’s shoulder to take the box, thanking the mail boy swiftly and closing the door. 

“You know, you’re going to spur horrible gossip about me,” I quip. 

“Oh?” 

“It’s not proper for a young, unmarried woman to have men in her home, especially not without male supervision.” I explain. 

“I’m a male,” he counters, giving me a knowing quirk of his eyebrow. 

“Not the kind of male fit to supervise.” 

He hums, the low melody instantly turning me to mush. I don’t know what it is about his voice that makes me forget everything I’ve heard before. The extreme range. The beautiful tragedy in the tunes he chooses. The way his notes flow and rise on one another like he was born a song.  Like music is a part of him, like hands or feet. Placing the box on the table, I carefully untie the ribbon and open the lid. 

“Wow,” I breathe, unable to help myself. 

I place the letter embossed with my family seal aside carefully, and run my hands over the beautiful dress that sits inside. The color is the richest shade of purple I have ever seen, bordering on amethyst, with silk and taffeta flowing to the floor. Small lavender jewels glitter on the bodice, interlacing with diamonds to create an intricate pattern that must have taken hours to weave and a fortune to create. 

It makes me think of the ring Marquess Savoa tried to propose with.  

Swallowing thickly, I fully remove the dress from its packaging and two boxes beneath it, also carefully tied with purple bows. Picking one up, my mouth nearly falls to the floor when I open it. A gorgeous diamond necklace sits inside, gems gleaming and glittering against the morning light. Setting aside the hefty box with as much care as possible, I unwrap the next one. It looks like a tie, soft purple silk tightly wound in a coil. Pulling it out, I turn to Jungkook, who is watching with mild interest from behind me. 

“It’s for you.” I say, extending the sash to him. 

He comes closer, head turned to the side and takes the material from my fingers. It’s perfectly sewed and extremely delicate, the silk softer than anything I have ever owned. He flips it around and I can see that on the inside of the sash, there is a golden emblem stitched, it’s of my house sigil. An overwhelming sense of shame washes over me. I have ignored these people’s pleas for my company for years, burned or drowned their kindness, citing their faults. I reached out only when I was desperate for help, when I needed them to back a different marriage than the one to Savoa. I had only neglected them, and they’ve shown me kindness, generosity, and faith. 

I pick up the card, thick paper embossed with a seal, and break it open. The letter is from my aunt, wishing us safe travels to the estate in the carriage she will be providing and saying she is excited to watch us dance the first waltz to announce our engagement. I inhale deeply, trying to imagine the steps my mother had taught us in my head. 

“Bad news?” Jungkook asks. He had put the sash on, the immaculate and expensive material looking out of place on his chemise. 

“Do you know the waltz?” I give him my best hopeful smile. 

To my amazement, he nods, pretending to wrap his hands around an invisible body as his feet trace the steps. He is always surprising me with what he knows. With how familiar he seems but also so foreign. An answer to all of my prayers bottled up into one ridiculously handsome package. 

“My mother taught me when I was young,” I begin, watching his steps. “But, I’m not sure I remember it all.” 

Jungkook moves forward, reaching out for me to practice with. I step back involuntarily, inhaling sharply. His hands linger in the air for a second and he quirks his eyebrows up in invitation. Suddenly, I feel extremely naked in my shift, with my robe coming open. Jungkook licks his lips, repositioning himself in the waltz position and starts to hum to the tune of his steps, as if nothing happened at all. 

The low tenor coming from his throat sounds nearly identical to the violins the dance is set to. His Adam's apple bobs up and down when he swallows, only taking quick and even breaths in between his melody. Half embarrassed and half mesmerized, I can’t stop watching him, how he moves and how he sounds. Without thinking, I place the card on the table and step forward into his outstretched arms. 

He doesn’t break his hum, putting his arms tightly around my waist and waiting patiently until I settle into my position. The weight of his hands on my hips is deliciously heavy and hot, goosebumps pricking on my skin. He lowers his tone, as if he is encapsulating us with a bubble made of his song. I can see the slight black of stubble on his jaw, the melted chocolate in his eyes. He smells of salt and sand, two scents that typically repulse me. But now, surrounded by it and by him, it feels like I am being called home. 

“Were you classically trained?” I ask him, dazed and trying to ignore the rapid pounding of my heart. He slows down his steps, seeming satisfied with my progression, before looking at me. 

“You could say that,” he gives me a devilish smile, before breaking away to neatly fold the sash in a pile with the clothes he had worn yesterday. I can never seem to read him, to figure him out. An orphan raised in the Delta? Who can dance and is classically trained? It doesn’t add up. Against my better judgement, I push my suspicions aside, blaming the fact that I’ve been alone so long for my hesitation. I know nothing of character. Of human contact. Besides the marquess. And I don’t know what I classify him as, but he and Jungkook are in a whole other realm of man. 

Jungkook looks back and catches me staring, flashing a grin in my direction. Blushing profusely, I turn around and hurriedly put the dress and jewelry back in the box, nearly running to my chamber. I can’t seem to remove my heart even if I try. This is either going to be my best choice or the worst mistake I ever make. 

I’ll know by the end of the night. 

---

The carriage arrives right before dusk, the sky bleeding from black to purple to orange on the horizon. Jungkook and I had spent the afternoon tailoring one of my father’s old suits to fit him, which mostly consisted of me trying not to look at him so I could try and ignore the heat on my skin and pace of my heart and him making sly comments and jokes about the situation I had gotten us in by lying. 

We step out of the door, me feeling ridiculous in my gown and Jungkook looking artfully royal in the suit. It was a crisp gray, dark purple of the sash perfectly complementing both the color of the outfit and his hair. By some miracle, my father’s only pair of clean dress shoes fit on Jungkook’s feet and I can’t help but feel a surge of pride that I am really pulling this off. Two days ago I thought my life was ending, that I would be forced to turn my hand and marry Savoa. Now, I am being escorted to a party being thrown in honor of my engagement to an extremely attractive foreigner. I prayed for a miracle and it came. He came. 

Jungkook smiles at the driver, asking him how his night is and if he is being treated well. It doesn’t dawn on me until we are seated in the carriage and it’s bumping down the road that he was talking to the driver in a different language. I stare at him, trying to burn a hole in his apparently incredibly diverse brain. I know he can feel me looking at him, but he decides to ignore me and stare out of the coach’s window, inhaling the ocean air. 

 The carriage is small, lined with purple velvet on the inside with studded seats and a small glass window on top of both carriage doors. I can hear the horse hooves clomping outside, taking the path towards the estate quickly and efficiently. The horses make me think of Savoa, his comments about teaching me to ride. I’m not his charity case. His little cottage girl that he can fix up and parade to his father. But then, what am I doing? My family is doing the same thing with me. I am doing the same thing to myself. 

Agitated, I put my attention back on Jungkook. “How do you seem to know everything about everything?” I ask, trying and failing to hide the bitter awe in my voice. “Where do you come from?” 

“I told you,” he replies, clasping his hands behind him, “I came from the sea.” 

“Only death comes from the sea,” I bite back, more irritated. 

He looks at me for a moment, as if considering my words. My face flushes lightly at my drama, fiddling with a piece of my hair. I feel ridiculous, like I’m a glossed up show pony about to be taken on the course. The dress is open and breathable, but the heavy cloak I laid over it is making me sweat in the carriage. 

Jungkook swats the hand from my hair, his fingers impossibly cold but causing heat to surge through my wrist and arm. “Stop that,” he says, voice melodic and teasing. “If you act like you’re out of place, then people will think you are.” 

“Such wise words,” I muse, peering at him. “Where did you learn to be so diplomatic?” 

“Not here, clearly.” He gives me a teasing, pointed look. The carriage stops and the driver opens the door, giving Jungkook a reprieve from my ire. After Jungkook exits, I step from the coach and let him take my hand into the crook of his elbow. 

“If I’m to be your stand-in fiancé,” he responds to my inquiring look. “Then I should at least play the part.” I hate how he can be so humorous, how he can make me smile with a single word from his languid lips. 

“An actor too,” I raise my eyebrows at him. “What exactly do you do in the Delta, Jungkook?” I stress the syllables of his name. Each time I say his name, it churns into a sweeter butter in my mouth, so different from when I first fumbled over it at the beach. 

“My trade is… complicated,” he repeats his words from the other day, vaguely. “But I can assure you, on a fake fiancé’s oath, I’m rich and powerful.” 

Before I can press him any further, we reach the green groves that line the estate gardens, my heart pounding loudly in my chest. Bushes are trimmed into the shape of roses, horses, and deer, leaves floating to the ground in the crisp autumn air. Jungkook holds my arm a little tighter, as if sensing my trepidation. My fear. 

“Just stand up straight and pretend you belong here. If you believe it, they’ll believe it too. That’s what I do.”  Jungkook whispers in my ear. I barely have time to look at him and register his sage wisdom before the ten foot tall gold estate doors are opening. 

Multiple people I hardly recognize rush forward from the estate doors, their purple cloaks billowing in the wind. I see the dark waves of my mother’s hair on one woman, the round shape of her face in a man, the gait of her stride in a set of twins. With a start, I realize, these people are my family. They hurry towards me as diplomatically as they can, embracing me in deep hugs and giving me kisses on the cheek. We exchange introductions hurriedly and, the aunt that I have been exchanging letters with, who has a round face and solid build, pushes me towards the estate with a rush. 

“The festivities have already started.” She says excitedly, taking my arm into her elbow and leaving Jungkook with my three uncles. “Oh! We are just so happy you’re here, dear!” 

They pull me towards the estate, my stomach twisting in knots. I can hear the sound of violins and organs playing, a beautiful and upbeat melody that reminds me of my mother’s bubbly laugh. If she could see me now, what would she think? The doors to the estate are pure and solid gold, buff guards opening them before us and allowing us inside. There is chatter, music, and the smell of food wafting through the entry hall and I can’t help but gape at the estate’s interior. 

Lining the walls are hundreds of intricately hand sewn tapestries and more gold everywhere I look. It’s bordering on gaudy and excessive, even the stone and brick of the walls seeming to glitter with flakes of gold. I immediately feel out of place again, thinking about Jungkook’s words to me as we entered the gates. Throwing a look behind me, I see him easily making conversation with my uncles, probably divulging more of his mysterious past to them than he has to me. As if sensing my gaze, he flicks his eyes to me and gives me a smile, all sweet with a hint of that Jungkook deviousness I have become so fond of. 

We turn down the main hallway and walk to the left, the sounds of celebration getting louder. Is this the life that Marquess Savoa leads everyday? Is this where he goes to after he ambushes my forest adventures? To a waiting party full of women and wine and dancing? Why would he ever want me over that? From the few men I have made acquaintance with, that seems to be their greatest dream. 

“We are about there,” my aunt stops and turns to me, pinching my cheeks and looking me over. My uncles bring Jungkook up to my side and arrange us in a position very similar to that of matrimony; with his hand atop mine and our elbows just barely touching. I feel like royalty being introduced to society for the first time, all dressed up and paraded. Part of me loves it, after being alone for so long. Part of me feels like a fraud. 

“You look beautiful,” Jungkook says when my family falls behind us to allow us to enter first, his voice quiet and sincere. “Don’t be nervous.” 

His words send more butterflies into my stomach, swallowing deeply as we continue to approach the ballroom. There is heavy light flooding into the hallway from the open doors and I feel the warmth of Jungkook’s hand like a fire of its own. We round the corner and into the space, the amount of people and smells and sensations completely overwhelming me. I blink, going deft from the rushing in my ears. The people closest to the entry turn, looking us over and studying our faces, our postures, our clothes. I stand up a little straighter, walk with a little more confidence, and smile a bit when I hear the hushed whispers of women and men appraising us. 

The whole room is gold and silver, chandeliers hanging from the ceiling with strands of diamonds and pearls. The food is plated on gold, the silverware shiny and clean. The floors are a beautiful patchwork of tiles and large banners of the Savoa house line the walls. Everything is so bright, even all of the women’s dresses catch the firelight and sparkle luminously, like a thousand suns. More and more people turn, parting for Jungkook and I as we make our way to the center of the room. This is when we dance, this is when I am truly put to the test. 

I swallow down the bile rising in my throat, inhaling deeply. Jungkook had reminded me well, he said he would lead the way, but there would be no hiding it if I screwed up, if I turned wrong or stepped on his feet or fell on my face in front of all of these strangers. Dancing with your mother as a child is very different from dancing with a man in a crowded ballroom. 

Surveying the space, I don’t see the Duke anywhere, unsure if this display is for him or for the pleasure of my aunts. I don’t see the Marquess either, a surge of irritation coursing through me. I didn’t persuade Jungkook into doing this and dressing up and coming all the way here so the marquess could just decide not to attend. I was under the distinct impression I would never hear the end of his platitudes and be forced to accept his proposal if I didn't silence him with this charade. I huff under my breath, the sound turning into a sharp gasp as Jungkook circles his arm around my waist and pulls me in closer. 

His grip is strong and sure, yet light like a butterfly, making me completely forget about my annoyance with the marquess. I don’t understand how Jungkook can be so many different things at once. Strong, yet sensitive. Devious, yet kind. Beautiful, yet tragic. I don’t comprehend how I have known him for so little time and yet I feel as if we have been in love all of my life. In love. 

I look at him, his dark eyes glittering and a small smile gracing his thick lips. He smells so much like the ocean and I am baffled by how little it bothers me. How the sea has seemed to become something less evil with him, something more peaceful and more human. He licks his lips, my eyes following the blessed movement. He has completely and utterly enraptured me in just a few days' time, my feet easily following the rhythm of the music and of him as we move. We quickly fall into sync, as if we are one body and one soul coming together as he softly hums the melody of the waltz. 

He moves in closer when he brings me up from the final dip, his breath on my face before he seals my fate with a light kiss on the cheek. I close my eyes, the feeling of him on me melting my core and igniting my soul. The music slowly fades as people clap and I part my lips, ready to be kissed for real. Everything in me is screaming that I need him, that I have to have him. That he is the best thing the ocean has ever given me and I long to taste the sea on his tongue. 

His breath brings shivers up my spine, voice hot and low. 

“We can’t kiss. Yet.” 

I open my eyes, completely dazed as he brings us into a fully erect position and bows.   

I curtsy back, stunned and with only half of the brain cells I had before. The feeling of his lips on my cheek has left a mark on my mind, like a brand. His words burn and solidify in me like wax, the anticipation of what could be so palpable and tangible between my fingers. A servant offers me a flute full of sparkling liquid and I take it while the party resettles and Jungkook is pulled away by an uncle to talk more, a million things on my mind. As soon as I finish the flute, a servant hands me another one, my dress feeling too tight and my skin feeling too warm. Before anyone can stop me, or rush to meet my acquaintance, I hurry through the crowd and out the ballroom doors. 

Everything looks so much more rosy and sweet than it did before out in the hallway. The ornate walls lined with tapestries and gold that seemed like too much when I first came, are now so impressive and respectable. The floors, a slab gray stone, are so colorful and filled with fun patterns for me to jump over. I meander down the hall, the opposite way from where we came in and try to calm the inhuman racing of heart and fever of my brain. I think about Jungkook, the solidity of his hold, the surety of his step, the softness of his lips, and the steadiness of his voice. I don’t know how I wander so far from the main event, but next thing I know I am standing on a terrace at the end of the hall, overlooking the gardens and basking in my thoughts. 

Everything is so perfect here. Every detail tended to and no expense spared. I bet each blade of grass is trimmed to the exact same inch, to ensure precision. No wonder all of the girls in the village looked at me the way they did. This estate was a far cry from living in town and the prospect of living here, or even spending a few hours here, is probably all they pray to the gods for. The night air is cool and refreshing, my tight lungs opening slowly with every breath. 

“You’re missing your party.” A voice comes from behind me. 

I turn around, startled, and instantly start to sober. The marquess is behind me, his head tilted to the side in question. The black suit and combed hair does his frame such sweet justice. I can see the lines of his torso and arms through the waistcoat, the tan of his skin contrasted with the crisp white of his shirt and white of his hair. He wears a golden brooch with his family sigil on his lapel, directly above his heart. 

Marry me. I hear him say. 

Swallowing thickly, I face my back to him and place my hands on the terrace railing. 

“It was too warm in there. And besides, you’ve been missing it too.” 

I feel him come closer to stand beside me, tall and confident, looking out over the gardens. He stays quiet, a rare occurrence for him, and I can count the times I wished to sew his mouth shut, but now, in the night, at this party, at his home, the silence feels too thick. I find myself wanting him to say something, anything that will break it. That can puncture the wound between us like a clean hot knife. 

“He seems very foreign.” 

That's not what I was hoping he would say, the tension continuing to rise. “Yes, he is.” 

“And that’s what you want?” He asks. 

I don’t know if it’s the alcohol or the fact that I am practically engaged to another man, but I answer him honestly. 

“I don’t know.” 

I just met Jungkook. I don’t know who he is or where he comes from. Besides the Delta. I don’t know his family or his mannerisms or his preferences. But I know Savoa’s. And something about that, the familiarity amongst all of this unmarked territory, is so comforting. For a moment, just a moment, I fall into it. The comfort of not having to be someone else.  

“The ring… the lavender.” I begin, looking at his side profile. Strong slope of his nose and cut lines of his jaw. His face was built stronger, more fierce than Jungkook’s. If I hadn’t known Savoa better, I would think he was as stoic as a rock. “It was beautiful and so incredibly thoughtful.” 

 He turns to me, a slight smile etched on his even lips. “I designed it myself.”

“You have exquisite taste.” 

His eyes roam my face, the strands of my hair, the diamonds at my neck, the purple length of my dress. “Not exquisite enough.”

The words hit me like a ton of bricks, inhaling sharply and shifting away from him. “You’ll find someone who can appreciate all you have, and more.” I try to sound reassuring, but it sounds so patronizing from my tongue, like I am lecturing him after I broke his heart. 

“I don’t want someone else,” he states, plain and factual. 

“We come from two very different worlds,” I reason, “regardless of where my family comes from. I didn’t grow up here. I didn’t learn the ways of court life. I wasn’t groomed to be a lady. And you were raised to be with one.” 

“And Jungkook wasn’t?”

“Jungkook…” I sigh with frustration, running my hands over my face. “That’s different.” 

“How?” The marquess asks, closing the distance I had put between us. 

I open my mouth to reply, but then shut it. I don’t know. I don’t know how it's different. Because I think Jungkook was raised as an orphan? Because he had worked for his life? Because he had suffered? Like I had? But the marquess didn’t know any of that. He couldn’t.

“I don’t know. He just understands me,” I end up saying, lamely. 

“I understand you. I understand you more than you know.” Marquess Savoa counters, placing his hands on my upper arms so he can turn me to him. I can see something burning in the green of his eyes, like wildfire, barely kept at bay beneath the surface. I’ve never been this close to him before, and I can see a small scar on the side of his cheek, a white line that so obviously sticks out from the rest of his skin. Why hadn’t I seen it before? Had I really been looking? 

“How would you feel if I kissed you?” He asks, voice barely above a whisper. 

“I don’t know,” I repeat. 

He does it, leaning in to place a featherlight kiss on my lips. It’s barely a graze, just the slightest touch, like the whisper of the wind. He smells smoky, like firewood. The opposite of Jungkook, who smells of salt and wet clean air. Savoa is still holding onto my arms, his grip slackening and sliding down to my wrists as he keeps his lips on mine. 

My stomach turns, but I can’t tell if it’s from the marquess or not. 

I would be able to tell with Jungkook. The thought bubbles to the surface without me allowing it to, causing me to stumble away until my back is against the terrace railing. I can feel the cool night air on my back, smell the flowers and green grass from the gardens below. Savoa just stands, looking at me with slight confusion on his face, as if the kiss didn’t feel how he thought it would either. 

I’m not sure if that is a good thing or a bad one. 

Licking my lips, I push down the rising blush on my cheeks and hurry towards the hall, noises of the ongoing party ringing in my ears like a war drum. 

“I… I should get back.” I stutter, awkwardly stammering away. 

I scurry back down the hallway, focusing on the click of my shoes instead of the rushing of my brain. I focus on the smell of roasted pig and toasted pastry. I focus on the intricate tapestries and golden torches lit with burning fire. I focus on everything and nothing at the same time, willing my mind to quiet and everything around me to get louder. 

Well, not everything. 

I slam into a warm body, hands immediately going out to steady me as I trip backward. It’s Jungkook. His hair artfully disheveled and sash off kitler on his gray suit from the impact of my body. I can feel the warmth of his hands on my arms, so different from the way Savoa’s felt. I can feel his lips on my cheek, kindling a flame in me that Savoa never could. 

“Gods,” I say, out of breath. “I knew I smelled the ocean.” 

“Aren’t you island people supposed to like… worship the sea?” Jungkook’s lips tilt in an infuriatingly handsome smirk. “You always say it like a curse.”

I take my lower lip between my teeth, chewing on it thoughtfully. “My mother drowned in it two years ago. And my father disappeared across it and never came back.” I say, honestly. His gaze intensifies, taking my hand in his. I can see the sorrow in his eyes, but no pity. Nothing but support and understanding. I fall harder for it. In the dim glow of the candle-lit sconces and the shadow of the moonlight, he looks devastatingly handsome. His skin seems to sparkle in shades of blue and purple, reminding me of the cottage under the moon. He looks ethereal, like he has transcended this world and stepped into a different one.  

“Would you like to go home?” He asks, softly. 

Home. The cottage. A place that never felt like home before this. 

I nod, letting him take me under his arm and lead me back down the hall to say our farewells and show our appreciation. The ball room is buzzing with laughter and music. I can see the Duke, an obnoxious smile taking up the bottom half of his face as he flirts with young court women. He is gulping wine from a golden chalice, wife nowhere to be found. Just like his father, the marquess’s younger and more favored brother stands at the other end of the room, talking animatedly in a war uniform with another set of young women. The apple fell about as far from the tree as it could get with Marquess Savoa. 

“We were starting to worry!” One of my aunts says in a shrill tone, pulling me from Jungkook with a wink. “It’s all set up.” 

“What is?” I can barely say before I am being pulled by my aunt to the front of the ballroom. I can’t see Jungkook, looking around for him wildly as my aunt holds me firmly by her side. I pretend to be interested as she introduces me to some of her court friends, who discuss my beauty in relation to my mother and nothing more. Suddenly, the band stops abruptly and the crowd turns to the orchestra. 

All of the musician’s are waiting, poised and ready for the music to begin once more. To be directed into a melody. Standing in front of them, his lean frame tall and dignified, is Jungkook. He looks completely at home on stage, in front of hundreds of watching eyes. He finds me quickly in the crowd, throwing me his signature devilish grin before he begins to speak. 

“I never thought I would have the opportunity to be here,” he says. “To meet the woman of my dreams and fall in love.” He pauses for effect, the entire crowd hanging on his every word. Some girls, that I recognize from the village, turn to look at me, half in jealousy and half in amazement. Clearly one of us had underestimated the other. 

“I want to dedicate this song to you, my soon to be wife,” Jungkook continues, the words burning lava through my core. My aunt holds onto my hand so tightly I lose blood flow to it while she dabs at her tearing eyes with a handkerchief. The music begins slow and steady as Jungkook gives the signal, a sharp raise of his artful hands. 

He begins to sing. And the room goes completely silent and still. He sounds like one of the gods, his voice so incredibly soft yet powerful. I don’t know how he pulls such a deep sound from his throat, gliding over the notes in a dance even more entrancing than our waltz. I can feel myself falling harder with every sound from his lips and I no longer care. I let myself get lost in listening to him. I let the sound and sight of every other guest go away until it is just us. Me and him. He always has this uncanny ability to make me feel as if I am the only person he sees. I have never felt less alone in my life. I could have him and only him and be the happiest girl on the Earth. 

I can barely hear the loud eruption of claps as he finishes, barely feel the release of my aunt’s hand from my arm. I hardly register the quick goodbyes I make and the walk from the ballroom to the carriage. All I can hear is Jungkook’s voice, playing like a loop in my brain. He sounded celestial, paradisiacal. I could hear nothing else but his voice my entire life and be satisfied.

I keep my head on Jungkook’s shoulder the entire ride back from the estate, feeling as if I am floating above the ground as we disembark and walk towards the cottage. When we reach the landing, Jungkook sits on the step, but only to take his shoes off. He looks dazzling in the night, looking up at me through those thick lashes. 

“What are you doing?” I ask, the sound of my own voice guttural compared to his. 

“Let’s take a walk,” he says, a hint of mischief in his tone. 

I smile at him, bending down to slip the heels from my feet. A few days ago, the idea of a midnight walk along the beach would have repulsed me. But now, with Jungkook at my side after such a magical night, I couldn’t think of anything more I wanted to do. To keep me from cutting my feet, Jungkook takes me amply into his arms and carries me down the cliff side, like we are a newlywed couple. I feel giddy, short on breath and full of life. 

“Your voice… it was…” I can’t find the words, at a complete and total loss. 

“I’m told I’m a beautiful singer.” He says defensively with a smile, pretending to hear pity and disgust in my tone. I giggle, giggle, like a little girl, inhaling his scent as it effortlessly mixes with the sea. 

Once we reach the sand, Jungkook sets me down, brushing his hands over my cheek and sending shivers down my spine. He holds my hand and walks me along the shore, my feet bare and the sand deliciously cool on my feet. The wind whistles through my ears, the waves lap at my ankles, and Jungkook’s presence is radiating heat through my body. I am on with the gods, high on champagne and the sound of Jungkook’s voice in the ballroom. He truly is inhuman. I have never met anyone like him in my life. 

He stops and turns to look out at the ocean and I look at him. His hair, so beautifully black and soft, waving in the breeze. His skin, flawless and glowing in the moonlight. His frame, the lean build of his body beneath the suit and my family sash on his broad shoulders. His long legs in the trousers, cuffs wet with sea water. His feet and ankles shift as the water slides over them, sparkling and glittering blue and purple and jade. I get hit with a damning sense of deja vu, but I don’t have time to think about it before he’s there. 

Jungkook kisses me. My stomach completely flips and turns and I know it’s from him, his passion, and his hunger and his heat. His lips hot and brimming with desire; hands two burning masses on my side, nose and hair and cheeks barely grazing my face, yet setting me ablaze. 

And gods, I can practically feel my lungs emptying air into him. I can feel my heart speed up incredibly fast, then slow to a languid pace, as if I am giving him my loyalty, my love, my life. His hands clasp around my waist, the pressure deliciously sweet on my spine. My knees buckle at his touch, but, as if expecting it, Jungkook’s arms catch my fall, my fingers hooking under the waitband of his trousers for purchase. His lips are everywhere, running through my veins and stopping the blood in them like lead. 

I want to open my eyes, to see him, but I can’t. 

Screw my heart, he can have it. 

All I feel is him. I don’t even need to breathe when he’s kissing me like this. He can have my air, he can have my blood, my balance, my life. He can have whatever he wants. He can have the ocean and the forest and the desert and the sky. His tongue snakes along mine, the air getting caught in my throat. 

My eyes pop open. I can’t breathe. 

I unhook my fingers from his trousers, trying to stumble back to find he won’t let me. He’s still kissing me, his hair on my forehead and leaving cuts in its wake when he moves. I can feel his torso singeing my skin through my purple dress, the fabric billowing smoke between us. I attempt to say his name, but all that comes out is a cough. 

Jungkook pulls back from me minutely and I take the space to my advantage and push him roughly, falling to the sand without him holding me up. His lips are an unnatural blue color, his skin whiter than the foam of the sea, and his exposed arms, neck, and face seeming to glitter in the morning light; purple, blue, jade. Like the scales of a mermaid. 

I convulse in the sand, unable to fill my lungs with air. Jungkook watches me with mild fascination, his eyes the color of dark amethyst and his neck pulsing with power. His words come rushing back to me as I look at him, every single time he tried to warn me and I didn’t listen. Every time I only saw what I wanted to see.  

I came from the sea. 

My trade is… complicated. 

We can’t kiss. Yet. 

I’m told I’m a beautiful singer. 

Water begins pouring from my throat, mixed with blood and mucus. My eyes fill with tears, Jungkook’s figure blurring as he kneels down beside me. His eyes look… remorseful. Sad, even. Like he feels sorry for doing this to me. For entrapping me with his beauty, with his siren song. Maybe if I hadn’t been so desperate, I would have seen it. If I had said yes, if I hadn’t lied. If I hadn’t told this lie. 

Jungkook brushes a piece of hair from my face, his hand wet and sticky, like he’s just come from the water. I writhe, my body finally shutting down and my brain giving in. I would die just as my mother had, drowning in an ocean. I would die with the waves and with them carrying my body out to sea. I would die with the wind and the sand and the froth. With Jungkook. 

“You were right,” Jungkook says before I go, his voice broken and beautiful and melodic, like a siren's call, “only death comes from the sea.” 

---------------

a/n: I’ve never written anything mermaid before and I had so much fun doing it omg thank you for the request @celestialgguk​! Sorry, not sorry, for the length, I really wanted to flesh it out and I didn’t intend it, but the story turned more angsty than I thought in the end and took me fOREvER to finish. Sometimes the story just goes where it’s meant to. Hope everyone is staying safe and healthy! <3 Much love! Requests are still open for anything, not just BTS stuff. Also, the beautiful quote at the beginning is by Christopher Paolini.  

~Admin Eggplant

[notyetneedcoffee]

Date Nights 5

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Smut

New Naughty Series

Steve pulled you closer, dropping your hand in favor of putting his arm around your shoulder. Several people walked the sidewalks even though it was late on a Thursday. It was a rough corner of Brooklyn, and since parking the car meant a bit of a walk to the bar, you were happy to take advantage of Steve’s protective embrace. He pulled a slip from the jar that said “share an old memory” and he surprised you by taking several days to come up with a plan.  

You could tell Steve was anxious. His jaw clenched. He kept playing with the keys in his coat pocket with his free hand. “Hey, you okay?”

“Hm? Yeah. Fine. Why wouldn’t I be?” His smile didn’t quite touch his eyes.  

You stopped, forcing him to do the same. Before he could say anything, you wrapped both arms around his waist. “I don’t know what you’ve got planned, but if it’s making you feel uncomfortable, we don’t have to do this.” He sighed your name, but you pressed up on your toes to kiss him briefly. “I know you. Your less nervous meeting with the President. What is it?”

Steve sighed. His eyes closed and his head fell back face to the sky for a moment. Finally, he opened his eyes and touched his forehead to yours. “Feeling guilty. Where we’re going, this little bar, I know the owner. I met him through Sam at the VA. Turns out, I knew his granddad back in the day. He was a boy from the neighborhood, a friend of Bucky and mine. Even ended up serving in the 107th with Buck. He was injured in the War and sent home.”

“But you guys don’t stay in touch?”

“I have some. Not as much as I should. For Buck, it brings up a lot of hard memories. Max has a lot of family photos up at the bar, and his granddad, Joey, um, had a thing for Bucky little sister.”

“Bucky has a sister?” You took half a step back, eyes wide. “He’s got family?”

Steve’s face crumbled. “We don’t really talk about it. Becca died in ‘52 in a car crash. It was the night their mom died of cancer. She never had any kids. He’s like me, the last of family.”

“Oh Steve,” you cuddled close. “I’m sorry.”

His strong arms wrapped around you, squeezing you tight before shaking off the feeling.  He smiled, “But, Max has great old pictures, serves good wings, plays nothing but oldies, and has a pool table older than I am.”

You beamed back. “Sound wonderful.”  

“Okay, Sugar, let me buy you a beer.” He guided you back down the street to the little neighborhood bar. Steve held the door open for you.  

Inside, a dark wood bar was heavily polished and surrounded by stools covered in dark green leather. Four tall tables were clustered near the front and a pool table a dart lane took up space toward the back. Tony Bennett played over the speakers. Only the bartender and three others occupied the bar.

“Well, holy shit.” The bartender smiled.

“You kiss your mother with that mouth?” Steve smiled. “How you doing, Max?”

You settle on to one of the bar stools as introductions were made around the room. The regulars asked for a couple selfies with Captain America, and Steve happily complied especially when Max insisted that they leave him alone. You began to look over the wall of photographs behind the bar. There were dozens upon dozens.  

A black and white picture that looked like it was taken at a street fair caught your attention. Bucky’s shining smile stood out to you. He looked so innocent, still, that smile was the same. A crowd of five stood around him. One of his arms was around a brunette girl with his eyes. His other arm was around a short blond boy who . . . holy fuck. “Steve!”  

“What?” He extricated himself from the others and rushed to your side. “Are you okay?”

You looked up into his face, eyes roaming over his broad shoulders, floored. “That’s you.”

He followed you finger. A sweet, awkward grin spread across his face. “Yeah, that’s me.”

Looking back to the photo again, you couldn’t keep the smile from your face. “How old are you there?”

“Fifteen, sixteen maybe.”

“Fifteen-year-old me, would totally be into fifteen-year-old you.”  

“What?” He laughed.

“Look at you. You’re so cute. I mean, that smile.” The picture captivated you. He was so light.  

Steve’s arms wrap around your shoulders. His breath tickled your ear. “I think fifteen-year-old me would have fainted at a fifteen-year-old you.”  

You giggled. “It’s amazing to see you and Buck so young. I mean I know you’ve been friends forever, but it’s so cool to see pictures.”

“Yeah, there aren’t many.” Steve stood up straight, pointing at a different one. “There’s one of Joey, Becca and Bucky. Below it is Joey and his cousin, but that’s my old building. I lived there.”  

“Wait, what’s that?” You pointed at a very faded news article.  

“That,” Max took it off the wall and handed it to you. “Is the world’s first look at the new Steve Rogers.”  

The news clipping had a picture of Steve in too small clothes, holding the door off an old yellow cab. Steve leaned close to you. “That was the very day Dr. Erskine changed me, changed everything. Then he was killed. I was chasing his killer when that picture was taken.”

“Wow. How did you do that? Weren’t you like on newborn wobbly legs?” The absurd question popped in you mind.  

Steve snorted a laugh, pulled out of the dark memory. “I fell through Miller’s dress shop – totally through the front of the shop – because I was just moving but it was all new. Too much adrenaline to be wobbly, but I was far from graceful.”

“He sure did scrub up, though.” Max handed you another photo frame. This one held a promotional photo from a USO Tour. Steve posed holding a woman in a little red white and blue outfit on his shoulder and a cheesy shield in his other hand.  

You smiled. “Oh, that’s classic.” You heard him groan. Your hand slipped down to stroke his thigh. “I like the uniform you have now.”

“You want something to drink, Sweetheart?” He leaned a little closer.  

“Jameson, neat. Please.”  

“Pint for me.”

“Coming up.” Max left you and Steve sat on the bar stool next to you.  

He pulled the stool a little closer so you were practically between his legs. His hand slipped from your knee, under your skirt to your thigh. Steve stared at you with a mischievous smirk.  

“What?” You giggled.  

Steve waited until Max dropped off your drinks and left for the regulars at the other end of the bar before he leaned forward and kissed you briefly. “It’s shouldn’t be such a big deal, but saying a younger you would be interested in me when I was young... Sweetheart, that just makes me want to kiss every inch of your body.”

You turned toward him a little more, back to the others in the bar. Your fingers traced over his face, touched his lips. “Steve, I care about you for you. It doesn’t matter how strong you are or how powerful. Who you are is sexy... how you treat me, your sense of humor, your intelligence.” Your voice dropped to a whisper. “The fact that you use that amazing body to fuck me until I come so hard I pass out, that’s just a bonus.”

His fingers dug into your thigh as he sharply inhaled through his nose. “Damn, woman. I want you.”  

You leaned forward and he kissed you, slow and deep. Steve didn’t normally do such things in public. It took your breath away.  

A crowd of people poured through the front door. Steve pulled back, a sly smile on his face. He took a long pull from his beer before looking over his shoulder at the pool table. “Care for a game?”

Three games and two drinks later, the bar had filled with locals. The volume increased, people yelling over one another and laughing. Thankfully, almost everyone left the two of you alone. However, you never did see Steve pay for another drink.  

You’d discovered Steve was a masterful tease without anyone else being the wiser. You would lean over to take a shot, and he would stealthily slip a hand over your ass. He would trade spots with you, and while your back was to the crowd, his fingertips would trace over your breast.  

Then there were the sinfully dirty promises dripped into your ear on his hot breath. He made your whole body shiver by the time he whispered, “Do you think anyone will notice if I have your panties in my pocket and my come on your thighs when we walk out of here tonight.”

“Steve.”

“I want you,” His arm encircled your waist and he pressed himself into you. “Now.”

His eyes scanned the room. You bit back a protest when he moved you closer to the door that led to the bathrooms. Steve looked alert, watching and listening. He opened the door and guided quickly, but smoothly, inside. In the hall you saw only three doors, the men’s, women’s, and office.  

“Steve, what are you...” He cut you off with a deep, but much too short, kiss.  

Pulling you into the women’s room, he locked the door. Steve gave you a wicked grin. “Quiet.”

His hand bunched your skirt until he felt the flesh of your ass. Your fingers buried in his hair as your tongues dances. When he tore your panties with a sharp tug, you gave a little yip of shock. Steve’s mouth left a wet trail over your neck as his finger slipped into the wetness between your legs.  

“Shhh, love.”  

But his fingers slipped in and out, rubbing against you perfectly. His teeth scraped along the nerves of your neck. Breath came fast and heated. You clutched at him. A whine escaped your throat, but Steve smothered it with a kiss. 

His hand worked to release his cock. Before you could reach for him, Steve spun you around. His mouth attacked the sensitive spot on the back of your neck as he flipped up your skirt and rubbed himself along your slick. You bit your lip to hold back a moan as he slipped into you.

Steve locked eyes with you in the mirror. Flushed and panting. Clothes and hair mussed. So hot. You breathed. “Fuck me.”

His hips snapped, thrusting into you. Steve’s arms wound around you. A palm on your mound to finger your clit.  His other hand clutched at your breast. You put both hands on the counter, holding on and his cock slammed against your g spot, making your legs shake.  

You panted, open mouthed, and fought to stay quiet. Still the exquisite ache, the coiled tension, the fire in your belly, grew. Steve’s breath washed over your flesh, his brow drew together, as his cock pound you. Skin hit skin. It didn’t take long. You were both wound tight. Your cunt spasmed. Steve pulled you flush to him. 

His eyes caught yours. Everything broke. You shook. A moan crawled out your throat. Steve’s hand covered your mouth. You quivered, coming hard. He growled. Hip pressed into you hard, deep, emptying himself. Steve held you there, mouth pressed against your neck as your breath returned to normal. 

As his hand lowered from your mouth, a giggle escaped. Steve slipped free of you, stand straighter, but still holding you. “Hmm?”

“I just,” You sighed. “I love that I’m the one who get to know this side of you.” Another giggle erupted. “You’re so naughty.”

“Hey,” Steve smirked while he helped straighten your dress and squeezed your breasts. “These date nights were your idea. Are you saying you’re disappointed with the results?”

“Oh hell no.” You turned around, feeling the mess between your legs.  

“Good.” Steve put his own clothes in order and kissed you again. “Because the smell of you is going drive me crazy all the way home.” When your mouth fell open, he chuckled. Steve pulled your lower lip lightly between his teeth. “Hypersensitive senses are really a blessing sometimes.”  

“I think you’re the blessing.” You grinned. “Now go on, give me a second to straight up so I don’t walk out of here looking thoroughly fucked.”

“You’re beautiful.” Steve pressed his lips to your forehead. He opened the door but stood there waiting for you. Running your fingers through your hair, you tried to ignore his smile. It didn’t work. “Come on, Sweetheart. Let’s make a run for it.” 

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